At the beach. Watching surfers catching fast closing surf. The camera bag at the ready if the big swells would come in as predicted. The oldest son out among the other dark clad wetsuit surfers.
Reaching for the mini binoculars and only found air. They were gone. Fallen out of the camera bag in the space of only 60 feet.
They weren't expensive, they were sentimental in value mostly. Loss and recrimination fought for attention. If they had only been secured to the bag.
Back and forth, looking, to no avail. The oldest boy was drying off for the ride back to across town. One more look while he toweled off.
A tall man was talking to his son in Portuguese, saw the searching and indicated to a note under a pebble.
"Found: Binoculars" etc..
A call, an identification.

At Wahoo's restaurant she would drop them by. An exchange was made. binoculars and in appreciation two gift certificates to the restaurant.

An exchange was made; a gift of a lost memory for a gift of unspeakable gratitude.

An exchange of heart felt smiles.

An exchange between what human beings do for each other.
Her gift was far the greater.