“What does Google say?”
He flattened the old coin against his palm and curled his fingers around it, not wanting to say. Not wanting her to get another look at the laurel-wreathed profile on one side, or the cryptic lettering on other. “It’s probably just a kiddie coin.”
“Were there any more of them?”
“No,” he said.
This time it wasn’t a lie. After all, he had no way of knowing if the hard clunk his shovel made was not just a garden rock. His heart raced the possibilities. “So how soon will you be leaving for your mum’s?”
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting this prompt and thanks to Connie Gayer for this week’s photo. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.