Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“Good, dear. How are you?”
“Same. Fine.” I swivel my chair to the side and extend my legs, taking the opportunity to stretch.
“I’m calling because we’ve been going through your dad’s things, and we’d like you to come over so you can decide what you’d like to take.”
“Oh … um, I don’t think there’s anything I want.”
“Why don’t you come over anyway, Caroline. Can you come for lunch today? Rachel would really like to see you.”
Though I’d like to say no, I really can’t. I haven’t seen Rachel since the funeral, and I wasn’t exactly supportive that day. The least I can do is go see how she’s doing.
Rachel’s always been good to me, in her own way. The older I get, the more I realize how hard her life must have been.
She was married before my dad, to the twins’ father. I guess having four little babies under the age of three was too much for the man, because he ran out on his family, just like my mom did. Rachel and my dad had that in common.
I learned from the twins that Rachel dated a lot of men before she met my dad. Some of them treated her badly, and none of them stuck around. That explains why she always seemed so grateful to be with my dad, even though I didn’t think he was much of a prize as a husband. At least he took care of her, I guess, and he never abandoned her. Maybe from her point of view that was enough.
Fridays are usually my slowest work day, so I agree to Michelle’s invitation, and head over at noon. It’s strange, pulling up in front of my dad’s house, knowing he won’t be there.
There’s only one vehicle parked outside that I don’t recognize. I assume it’s Michelle’s, and hope that means the Stone brothers won’t be here. If they are, I’ll be cordial. I’m not going to say anything to upset Rachel.
At the front door, I knock twice and enter without waiting for someone to respond. I immediately wonder if that’s still appropriate, now that my dad isn’t here. This was my house when I grew up, but it’s Rachel’s now.
My stepmother and her sister don’t seem bothered that I’ve let myself in. They’re both in the kitchen; Michelle’s at the sink, and Rachel’s sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her.
“Caroline, how are you, sweetie?” she asks, giving me a sad smile that appears to take some effort.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
Instead of answering my question, she says, “I’m sorry I haven’t called. The boys told me they’d seen you, and that you were doing okay.”
“I’m all right.” I wonder exactly what her sons have told her.
“Have a seat, dear,” she says with a gesture to one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
Nervous energy is bubbling inside me, and I’m not in the mood to be still. “Can I help with anything?” I ask Michelle.
She shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’ve already made a salad, and the lasagna is in the oven.”
“The neighbors have been so nice, with all the food,” Rachel says with a sniffle.
“That’s good.” If Rachel is getting emotional over the kindness of neighbors, I’m not sure she’s ready to show me my dad’s things. Michelle must agree because after she dries her hands, she tells me to follow her, leaving Rachel sitting with her tea.
Michelle leads me down a hall and into a room that used to belong to Lincoln and Lennox, but that had long ago been converted into a spare room, suiting various purposes over the years. It’s piled with boxes now, and Michelle directs me to a group of them.
“We assumed you wouldn’t have any interest in his clothes,” she says, “but we found things that were yours — things from your childhood — in your dad’s closet and dresser, and there are pictures that I’m sure you’ll want.”
I’m confused at first about what my dad would have of mine, but I immediately see stacks of childhood artwork overflowing one of the boxes. As I move the papers aside, I find that the bottom of the box is lined with diaries and notebooks.
I left in such a hurry when I turned eighteen. I mostly cared about taking clothes and a few keepsakes from my teen years; I forgot all about these.
When I was younger, when it was just Dad and me, I spent a lot of time writing. Mostly diary entries, but also stories. And I loved to draw. As an only child, I was used to spending my time alone, but that all changed when my dad married Rachel.
Instantly, our family grew from two to seven, and it was quite an adjustment. I was used to living in a quiet house, and at first I kept to myself, continuing to spend my time reading, writing, and drawing. But Rachel would urge the boys to play with me, and it didn’t take long for me to appreciate the energy and laughter they brought into my life.