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“Do you want to sort it first, then?”
She paused. “I suppose I could make a pile of clothes I’m willing to sell now. What’s that site you’re using?”
“Facebook?”
She giggled. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Their marketplace is fantastic. I’m targeting just this area to get things sold quickly. But if you broadened your selling area even twice that, you’d sell this stuff like lightning.”
“How do you price it?”
I shrugged. “I just look up the listing price for things like this in the store, take ten percent off the top for wear and tear. Then drop it another hundred bucks. It’s worked for me every time.”
“That’s actually not a bad price.”
“We can sort, then take pictures of everything. If you get even a few items up tonight, by morning you’ll have an inbox flooded with people waiting to buy your stuff.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?”
I paused. “It is.”
She grinned. “I noticed some things missing.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s obvious because I’ve been around here for more than a week at a time. It wouldn't have been had I been dipping in and out like your father.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.”
“Are you using a separate account? Or, just your regular Facebook?”
“Oh, no. I’m not that dumb. I created a separate account. Which is why you only post a few items at a time this first time around. If you post too many, the site flags you as a bot and shuts your account down.”
“How many did you post the first time?”
“Five. I got those items sold first. And now, I’ve got eight more people I’m meeting tonight to sell things.”
Her eyes bulged. “Eight more people? Really?”
“Yep. So come on. Let’s get sorting and start taking some pictures.”
“Will you help me make an account? You know, on this site?”
I threaded my arm around her shoulders. “I’ll even help you post the pictures and come up with neat ways to sell the items.”
“Thanks, Clinton.”
“Of course.”
I kissed the side of her head, then we got to work. In the midst of sorting her dresses and shoes, accessories and bags, I took breaks to pack up things of my own. Silverware I’d sold and a set of fine china I’d found in the attic. Dusty from being up there for years. Never touched. Never seen. Never used. I found a shit-ton of things in that attic to sell, actually. Old Armani suits. Genuine leather Gucci shoes. All sorts of things that hadn’t seen the light of day in at least a decade.
I packed it all away in my duffle bag, preparing it to be sold.
There were moments where I saw Cecilia tearing up over items. Things she tossed into the ‘sell’ pile I knew she didn’t want to get rid of. And my heart ached for her. But I kept reassuring her this was the right decision. That she was taking the right strides to try and get away from my father. I rubbed her back and listened to her stories. Romantic tales of my father that were almost too much to believe. The man she’d once known was foreign to me. It was as if she were speaking about another person entirely. But, I still listened. I still cried with her. I still held her and helped her through the pain.
Of course, until it was time for me to make my way to the corner.
So I could make some money of my own.
