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“Is he gone?” Matt hissed.
“It’s safe.”
Emily smirked. “Olly olly oxen free.”
Cautiously reappearing, Matt said, “Brat.”
“Jerk.”
Peace restored. Temporarily.
* * *
SUNDAY MORNING, Beth ripped tape off the top of a big cardboard box she’d dragged from beneath the long-forgotten workbench and folded back the flaps to see clothes inside. This wasn’t the first—they’d found countless boxes of children’s clothes, neatly folded and presumably saved by Mom for the next baby. Beth was beginning to think Mom had saved every scrap Matt had ever worn, certain she’d have another boy. There were girl clothes, too, but they’d been handed down once, and Emily had worn some of them out. Why hadn’t Mom realized at some point that, nope, she wasn’t having another kid, period, and maybe she ought to get rid of all the tough-boy toddler-size overalls and sweaters with tractors and rocket ships decorating the front?
Huh. Maybe this disaster wasn’t totally Dad’s fault. Maybe Mom had had her own pack rat tendencies. Beth remembered stories about how poor her mother’s family had been when she was growing up. Maybe that kind of upbringing ingrained in a person the belief that it was best to hold on to anything that might conceivably be useful later.
This box, though… The clothes had just been dumped in it. Beth poked a little and realized that not only were these adult-size but each garment was still hooked on a clothes hanger. She reached in and lifted out a blouse. Pale pink with subtle white stripes. Mom had loved pink. She wore a lot of it. Petite, blonde and blue-eyed, like Emily, Christine Marshall had embodied femininity.
Beth was vaguely aware that Matt was slowly turning to her. “I remember this blouse,” she whispered.
He swore and took a couple of steps to look into the box. He started to reach for a dress but pulled his hand back. “It’s the clothes she didn’t take. Dad must have wanted them out of sight.”
Beth’s stomach tightened. Even her father had emerged from his alternate world briefly when his wife disappeared. She’d left Word open on the computer with a note explaining that she was leaving him and she’d be in touch when she was settled. After that…nothing.
Dad had called the police, who hadn’t been interested. Christine had taken her purse, her birth control pills out of the medicine cabinet, some of her makeup and jewelry. Obviously, she’d left voluntarily.
Beth, Matt and Emily had refused to believe she would do that. Leave Dad, sure. She’d taken to yelling at him a lot. But she wouldn’t have abandoned her children. She, of all people, had known how inadequate he was as a parent. For a long time Beth, at least, had held on to the belief that Mom would fight for custody once she had a new job and someplace to live.
“She loved this blouse.” Beth could hardly take her eyes off it. “Why didn’t she take more of her clothes?”
“Because she left in a hurry?” Matt suggested, old anger roughening his voice. “Maybe she thought she’d try a new style for a new man.”
“Maybe.” Seeing her sister’s distress, she shook herself. “Well. This is sort of creepy, but I can see why Dad didn’t want to get rid of everything.”
“I’ll bet I’m the same size she was.” Emily stepped forward. “There might be clothes I’d like.”
Not even thinking it through, Beth dropped the blouse back into the box and slapped the flaps closed. “No.”
Looking indignant, her sister said, “What do you mean, no?”
Matt turned on her. “Don’t you speak English? She means no. N.O.”
“Don’t talk to me that way.”
Beth shut her eyes and sought her equilibrium. A couple deep breaths, and she was back. “Emily, I hate the idea of seeing you in some shirt I associate with her, and obviously Matt feels the same.”
“Dumpster,” he said, sounding hard.
Beth shook her head. “Can we just set this aside? Keep it for now?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just…don’t want to make that decision yet. Anyway…” She hesitated. “Her clothes were nice. When we do get rid of them, they should go to a thrift store or maybe a women’s shelter.” She didn’t include garage sale. What if she breathed in the faint scent of her mother while she was handling her mother’s clothes. Attaching little price tags. The idea made her shiver.
