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Right before I heave open the front door, I look over my shoulder to find him leaning on the handle of his axe, a full grin on display.
It only makes me even more mad as I stomp into the house.
nine
The attic doorsticks as I yank it open. It’s only the third door I tried on the second floor, and the only one that proved not to be a closet.Yass, I congratulate myself internally.I’m coming for you Christmas decorations.
The stairs creak under my weight. I hug my arms to myself. If I thought the draft was bad in my room, this stairwell to the attic isn’t heated at all. I turn, going back down to the attic door to close it so I don’t freeze Cameron Michaels’ remaining tenants right out of the inn.
I blow into my hands, rubbing then together before they turn to ice. Hopefully, this is a quick job. If my Grandma Junie is as organized as my mom, there’ll just be a tub labeledX-MAS decorationsthat I’ll be able to grab and carry downstairs.
The top of the staircase opens up to two pitched areas. I can walk without stooping through the middle, but the gables sloping down are only good for storage. And they’ve definitely used every nook and cranny. There’s an old TV set. Several dressers. A couple of standing mirrors that freak me out. And amidst those other things, there are boxes and boxes…and even more boxes. In fact, there are so many boxes that the only clear space in the attic is the walkway down the center that leads to a circle window that overlooks the side yard.
Part of me just wants to turn around, but the other part of me refuses to be bogged down by all the stuff. It’ll be nice to have the decorations up before my mom and dad get here. Of course, there are the other guests too. I don’t care what they think about my uncle, but it would be nice for them to get some Christmas cheer, I’m sure.
The first few boxes I look through just have old clothes in them, musty sheets, and a bunch of knickknacks. In between every box, I stop to rub my arms, trying to bring some warmth back into them.
Okay, if I were Christmas decorations, where would I be?
I spy a couple of boxes to themselves on the other side of the attic and decide to check those next. I see a distinct C on one and joy fills me until I get the box open. Inside are a bunch of trophies. I pull one out, turning it around to find that it’s for football. They’reallfor football. There must be at least a dozen in here, and all of them are inscribed with my uncle’s name. High-School All-American. College All-American. MVP. Most Running Yards.
Wow. I guess he was something special.
The next box with a big C is filled with old jerseys. There are small maroon and yellow ones that look aged. Then there are bigger gray ones, and in the very bottom, I find a New England Captains Jersey. Michaels, number twenty-nine. I don’t know why but I bring it to my face, breathing the jersey in, but all I smell is must and dankness.
I’m tempted to Google his name, to figure out what happened. I’ve been trying to honor his privacy, but fuck it, I can’t take it any longer. Reaching into my back pocket, I come up empty. Ugh. I must’ve left my cell phone downstairs somewhere. I’ll just have to search for it later.
All this history though. You don’t keep something like this unless you don’t want to give it away. But to not have it displayed somewhere, I’m willing to bet there’s some hurt that goes with all of this stuff too.
His words from earlier ring through my head.Well, I’m short on family.
Uneasiness churns my stomach. Maybe he’s just lonely. Or lost. If Grandma Junie was the only person he had left, I can imagine what her death did to him.
I rub my temples, blowing out a breath, before boxing all of his gear back up. It feels icky to look through his stuff.
Pushing those boxes aside, I keep combing through more until I spy a very small pine tree in the corner. “Ah!” I cry out, pushing boxes aside before I pick up the small tree. It has two small, crisscrossed pieces of wood for its base and the tiniest of ornaments hanging from its branches. If this is here…
Sure enough, the boxes surrounding the small tree are full of Christmas decorations. I’m up to ten of them as I leave them by the stairwell to take downstairs.
One of the boxes in the back is actually labeled Christmas. I run my hand over the swirly C, recognizing it. This is Grandma Junie’s handwriting. Peering inside, I find a red sleigh being pulled by eight reindeer. The reindeer’s antlers hold pictures in their grip, and in each one, there’s a picture of a member of my family. At the front is a picture of me when I was a baby dressed in a frilly red dress. There are more as I grow up, but they stop when I’m about twelve. Then after that, there are some of Mom and my dad, then of my mom alone when she was a baby.
I run my fingers over it. Grandma Junie had this the whole time. Even when my mom wouldn’t talk to her. Even when she ignored her, she still had us here.
My heart breaks a little. My eyes heat, but I force back the tears and add the box with the others. I’m going to be pretty busy putting up all of this stuff. And, I haven’t even started dinner yet.
Maybe I can get Uncle Cam to get off his prickly ass to come help bring this stuff down.
I pick up the small pine tree that helped me discover the rest and trudge down the steep stairs with it. I get to the bottom and turn the door handle…nothing.
The door won’t open.
I keep turning and turning, pushing as hard as I can, but it won’t budge.
I’m locked in the attic.
Thefreezing coldattic.
ten
