Page 37

“You make me the happiest man alive.”

I can’t stop staring at my ring. I’ve been wanting to tell Nora about it, but she and Elias are spending the weekend at The Nest Box Inn. She confirmed she is not in “the bow” room, though, so at least I don’t have to worry about her sanity.

This morning, after waking up in Upton’s bed, sadly without him, I had him take me home so I could relieve Janey. I’d hoped he would hang out with me, but he had to run into the office to take care of a few things. It gave me time to make Dad breakfast and help him with his bath.

Now that the Christmas stuff has been brought down and the cottage has been decorated, I need to busy myself. This would be a great time to clear out the attic. After Mom died, and Nora cleaned up the house, she told me she never made it up to the attic. I’ve put it off for months. It’s time to face the music.

“You okay to watch this movie?” I ask Dad, peeking my head into his bedroom. “I can find you something else if you want.”

With his head injury added to old age, he can’t work the remote to save his life.

“I like this one, Lovebird. I watched it a lot at the facility.”

It’s a Wonderful Life is a Christmas classic. Since Dad seems at ease watching it, I give him a quick kiss, let him know what I’ll be up to, and then head up the ladder to the attic.

It’s musty and cold up here, but I think it beats the heat. When Nora was renovating, she said it was a thousand degrees and was miserable the whole time. I note that it’s indeed much emptier now that Christmas has been taken downstairs.

The overhead bulb casts a yellow glow over the clutter that’s stacked in every corner. I’m slightly overwhelmed on where to start. I find a box labeled “Nora’s art” and decide to start there. Inside are paintings and crafts and other random projects she did whenever she’d come to stay with her grandma for the summer.

I pick up one of her latest ones, when she was older, and admire what looks like budgie footprints all over in various colors.

With my heart feeling lighter, I close up the box and then stretch before digging around in another one. I find a bunch of melted, ruined candles and ancient home decor that will definitely need to be taken to the curb. Once I move it near the ladder, I uncover another box filled with random dusty junk.

I have myself a pretty huge pile of stuff that can be thrown away when I stumble upon three shoeboxes stacked neatly on top of each other. They’re all labeled. Amos. Sandra. Nora.

My heart seizes in my chest. I sit down on the cold particle board floor and slide the stack over to me. Dad’s is on top, so I open that one first.

There are stacks of pictures of my parents together. Since they weren’t together for long before he disappeared, the stack isn’t that big which makes me sad. I can’t help but smile as I look through them all. There’s also an old paper menu from The Budgie Café from 1978. I shake my head as I realize how much prices have gone up over the years. There’s also a few mementos that must’ve belonged to Dad.

After closing his and setting it aside, I purposefully pass mine and open Nora’s. There are pictures of her and Mom over the years, some dried out flowers from the yard, and a handful of movie tickets. Nora will appreciate this treasure box.

What’s inside mine?

It’s likely pictures of me and Mom, though I can’t remember taking many. I’ve blocked out a lot of the pain of my childhood.

Just get over it and look.

With a huff at my hesitation, I fling off the lid and peek inside. It’s stuffed full of pictures going from when I was a baby all the way until the last Christmas we spent together in New York City. We’d gone to see The Nutcracker and Ron took the picture of me, Mom, and Nora. We’re all sitting in a row, grinning at the camera. It makes me smile at the memory.

Mom wasn’t perfect, but she did go out of her way often to come out and see us. It meant more than I ever let on.

Sometimes I wish I could have told her that.

At the bottom, there’s a composition book. I pull it out and when I see what’s written on the front, my heart flutters.

To my sweet Sandy.

I smile because Upton calls me that. I’d like to believe Mom is looking down from heaven, pleased at that little tidbit.

When I flip it open and see her scrawled handwriting, my throat tightens with emotion and tears well in my eyes. Something tells me this little notebook is going to be painful to read.

It’s completely full of notes to me, all of them dated, and they span over my entire lifetime. I land on one where I’d just turned sixteen.

Sandy,

Let’s hope you drive better than your daddy. He liked to watch the grass grow as he passed. I’m not condoning speeding by any means but at least obey the posted limit. There’s a minimum for a reason.

Love, Mom