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“I wasn’t insinuating anything,” he hastened to say. “I just wondered if you had it, or knew who had disposed of it.”
“Well, I went through it afterwards. Packed up a few things, that were mine to begin with, mind you, things that I wanted back! Most of it was trash. She didn’t have a pot to piss in. Pathetic.”
He unclenched his fists, and kept his voice even. “I’m looking for one thing in particular. Did you remember an antique jewelry box? It came from Grandpa’s side of the family. It was his mother’s, from the old country. Mamma had it, when I was a kid. About so big…” He indicated with his hands, “and covered with mother of pearl.”
Grandma Pina’s shoulders jerked in an angry shrug. “I don’t remember it, but I suppose you can look through those boxes if you like. It’s not much to look through.”
His heart sank. The box was memorable. If Grandma Pina hadn’t seen it, it probably wasn’t there. But he had to be sure.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”
She led him through the ferociously clean house and a white, sterile kitchen, decorated with framed cross-stitches of flowers, lambs, bunnies and Bible verses. She flung open a door, flipped on a light, and hesitated, as if afraid to go down into a dark basement with him.
He sighed. “I’ll go down alone, if you like,” he offered. “Just tell me which boxes they are. Point them out from the top of the stairs.”
Her lips tightened into a prissy arc. “No, I’ll show you.”
He followed her down. The room was lit by a single hanging bulb, and stuffed with boxes. She led him through a corridor between chest and shoulder-high stacks of God knew what, and into a dark corner.
There, on a raised wooden flat, was a pile of battered, dusty cardboard boxes. They were set apart from the others, a few feet of security distance around them, as if they were somehow contagious.
She jerked her chin towards them. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks,” he murmured. His stomach fluttered nastily as he touched the packing tape on the topmost box. Grandma Pina just stood there, looking like a lemon was stuck in her esophagus.
“You could just leave me here to go through these, if you have things to do,” he offered. “You don’t have to stay.”
She sniffed. “Hardly.”
Oh, whatever. He tore off the tape. Kitchen stuff. An espresso pot, cups, pots and pans. Ceramic salt and pepper shakers that he had played with as a kid. A shepherd and a shepherdess. The shepherd’s crook and the flowers on the shepherdess’s bonnet had been broken off. His fault. A pasta strainer, pots and pans, plates. He rummaged to the bottom, making sure there was no place the box could be hiding.
Everything he touched made memories swirled up through his body. He tried to freeze them, hold them back, but the plastic plates, the juice glasses with Woody Woodpecker and Wile E. Coyote, the coffee cup Mamma had favored, all made his throat ache. The breakfasts with her. Cinnamon toast and cereal. Scrambled eggs. Teasing, laughter.
Next came her clothes. Just as bad. That sweater, that blouse, that nightgown. Light, pouring into a room in his mind that had lain undisturbed for twenty years. He remembered every piece. He didn’t know his own current wardrobe as well as he remembered hers.
He held her purple nightgown to his face, and breathed in for the scent of her perfume, but it was long gone. Just mildew now.
“It was those trashy men she took up with.” Grandma Pina blurted out the words as if they were under pressure, like she’d been waiting twenty years for someone to bitch to. “They were the ruin of her. Starting with your father, and downhill from there.”
That sparked his curiosity. “Did you know him? Who was he?”
She harrumped. “He was out of her life before you even started to show. So many things she gave up for you. All her prospects.”
Bruno grabbed another box. Photo albums. He opened one. His baby pictures. Mamma holding a miniature Bruno, looking gorgeous and happy. He fogged right up. Closed the album, fast. Not now.
He felt around with his leaky eyes closed, to make sure nothing of jewelry box dimensions could be hidden there. Nothing.
“I told her.” Grandma Pina’s voice quivered with anger. “I can’t remember how many times I told her that Rudy was dangerous trash, but she wouldn’t listen. Stupid girl. She deserved what she got.”
“We’re not going to debate that,” he said. “That subject is closed.”
Something in his voice made her step back. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Don’t bad-mouth my mamma. If you want to stay while I look through these boxes, fine. Just keep your mouth shut.”
He looked away. Let her glare and twitch if she wanted.
He powered through the boxes, hope fading with each one. By the time he got to the last one, hope was gone. It was a catch-all. Books, magazines, miscellany. Items he couldn’t imagine why his grandmother had packed. Even a few of his old action figures. Rudy’s little brass pipe, of all things, the one he’d used for smoking hash and crack. Envelopes; magazine subscriptions, utility bills, past due notices. Stuff from collection agencies, threatening messages stamped in red. He felt the cardboard bottom. No jewelry box.
