Linda stepped through the doorway beside her brother, and the breath went out of her.
It was their father's office, exactly as he had left it. Her eyes fell on the papers and the cracked paperweight that had broken with the force from Uncle George shoving it off the desk. They were still there, but back on the desk.
The room was the same size as Uncle George's, the mirror image of it. The blinds on the far window were drawn shut, so the only light was what spilled in from the office behind them, soft and gold across the floor. But Linda could see everything she needed to see.
The desk. Their father's big oak desk, the twin of George's, sat in the center of the room with a leather chair behind it. There was a blotter on the desk, a pen stand, and a brass lamp with a green glass shade. There was a coffee cup beside the blotter,washed clean and turned upside down on a folded cloth, the way a person left a cup they meant to use again in the morning.
"It's clean," Linda said, and her voice cracked on it. "Michael, it's completely clean. There's no dust. Nothing."
"Rosa," Michael said quietly. "Or the cleaning crew has been cleaning it at least once a week for fifty-two years.”
"Oh." Linda pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a sob as the emotion hit her even harder. "Oh, Michael." She sniffed. Her hand reached out for her brother’s. It closed over hers. Warm and comforting.
"I know." Michael's voice was heavy with his own emotions.
After a few moments of standing there, Linda moved into the room slowly, her eyes going everywhere at once. There was a low bookcase along one wall, the spines faded but upright. There was a coat stand in the corner with a man's jacket still hanging on it, a tan summer jacket she could almost, almost remember her father wearing. There was a wide corkboard on the wall behind the desk, and Linda's heart turned right over when she saw what was pinned to it.
Drawings.
Children's drawings. Dozens of them, layered and overlapping, every one of them faded soft with age, but every one of them was still there. A crayon house with a lopsided sun. A blue boat on a green sea. Two stick figures holding hands under a rainbow, one tall and one small, with the word DADDY printed above the tall one in careful wobbling capitals.
"Those are ours," Linda breathed.
"That boat's mine," Michael said. His voice had gone rough. "I remember drawing that boat. I was so proud of that boat."
"The house is mine." Linda moved closer to the board, her fingers hovering over the brittle paper without quite touching it. "Look. I signed it. Linda, age five. Look at my terrible little L."
Michael let out a sound that was half a laugh and half something else.
"He kept all of it," Michael said. "Every scrap we ever gave him. Look at the board, sis. There's no room left on it. He pinned up every single thing."
Linda's eyes were streaming now, and she didn't bother to stop them.
“That chubby cat was one that Maggie drew.” She sob-laughed.
“She was so proud of that cat!” Michael remembered.
“Well, look at it!” Linda sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “It’s art.”
“Maggie is an artist,” Michael pointed out. “She was always able to draw. I think she was drawing before she could walk.”
Linda glanced at her brother, frowning when she saw the soft glow in his eyes, and her brow furrowed.Does Michael still have a crush on Maggie?She raised an eyebrow. Linda had known since she and Maggie were fourteen and Michael fifteen that her big brother and best friend liked each other. A spark of guilt rushed through her when she thought of her failed matchmaking attempt. One that had cost her one-hundred dollars of her hard-earned money.
She’d thought it was the perfect setup. Linda had even left them alone in a quiet spot on the beach, but nothing had come ofit. After all the dominoes she’d had to line up to get that date setup just right and make it seem natural. Linda had to bribe the head cheerleader, who was actually grateful to get a date. And Trevor Collins was a catch. While he and Maggie had dated for two years, she’d known neither of them was that much in love. Trevor actually had feelings for the head cheerleader, and Maggie for her brother. Another idea surfaced. They were both single now. Maybe she should give herself another chance at matchmaking. Guilt hit her again. Gosh, if they both know she’d been the mastermind behind Trevor dropping Maggie, then Linda giving Michael a gentle push into standing in as Maggie’s hero.
“Linda, are you okay, little sister?” Michael’s voice held concern. “I can do this on my own if it’s upsetting you.”
“What?” Linda blinked in confusion at her brother. For a while, she’d forgotten where they were as she’d been so lost in thoughts of having another go at matchmaking her brother and Maggie. “Sorry, I’m fine, and I want to do this with you.” She looked at him. “But, I get Uncle George's office.”
Michael glanced around the room and gave a slow nod. “I can agree to that.”
“Good,” Linda said and walked towards the blinds. “We need to let in some light.”
She was stopped by her brother's sudden hissing intake of breath. Linda swung around, and his face had gone ashen as she stared into an open desk drawer. Linda walked forward and stopped short. She knew that drawer. It was the goodies drawer. Her father hid everything in there.
"Linda," Michael said. "Come and look at this."
Linda came around beside him. The deep drawer was full of cards. Handmade cards, the paper soft and frayed at the edges, the crayon and marker faded but legible. Birthday cards. Father's Day cards. Dozens of them, stacked carefully on top of one another, every one of them made by a small hand.
