AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Please come home daddy.”
“Spencer, you better get your shit together. School will be starting soon and you’ll need to focus. Enough with the damn boy. I don’t have time for your petulant damn behavior.”
I’m floored at the coldness of his response. My dad has never been warm and loving, but he’s never been so downright cruel. Mom dying changed everything and I have no idea why. No clue why he’s treating me like I’m not his own flesh and blood.
“But dad…”
“No, Spencer. No ‘but dad’. Get it together. I’ll be home in a couple of months. In the meantime, I don’t want to hear any more of your nonsense. I won’t tolerate it. I left Evan in charge, you’ll do well to obey him.”
Choking back a sob, I bring my hand to cover my mouth. Stunned, unable to speak, I just mutter an “Uh huh,” and dad ends the call with a flat, “Good night”.
What the fuck was that?
Slamming my phone on the bed in frustration, I stomp over to my closet to get out a change of clothes. Changing into some sweatpants and an old concert t-shirt, I grab my iPod and earbuds and head for the basement.
I’m not ready to do this - go through mom’s belongings - but I can’t live in a mausoleum either. Dad certainly isn’t here to go through shit.
As I pass their tightly closed bedroom door, I trace my fingertips across the white wooden surface, thinking to myself that it’s far too soon to be going through their bedroom. That room will need to come last. When I have the strength.
Making my way down the steps, I quietly open the basement door and pull it closed behind me. Flicking the light on, I make my way down into the dark room. My basement is separated into two parts. When I come to the bottom of the steps, I’m in the finished section complete with plush beige carpeting, sage green walls, a large beige sectional, a flat screen tv and video games. Basically my little hang out spot, when I’m not holed up in my room.
I cross the space to the door on the other side of the room, the one that leads to the unfinished area. Opening the door, I flick the light switch on and I am met with the cold, dark room I rarely venture into. Concrete floors and stacks of boxes covering every nook and cranny. Most of mom’s belongings are on the left side of the room in the corner, so I head over and start with the first box, at the top of the first stack.
Pulling the box down, I sit on the floor next to it, crossing my legs beneath me. Ripping the tape from the top, I crumple the sticky plastic and toss it on the floor. Paramore pumps through my earbuds, and blocks out my intrusive thoughts, and I sing along as I open the flaps of the box, and begin rummaging through the contents.
Photo albums.
I pull one into my lap and settle back, running my fingers across the dusty leather cover. Cracking it open, I see her beautiful smile on the very first page. It’s an album from her childhood. I’ve never seen this, but I’d recognize that smile and those eyes anywhere. They’re just like mine.
My heart stills in my chest as I flip through the pages slowly. Mom and what looks like a group of friends. Some summertime beach photos. Birthday photos. Grams & poppy. I never got to meet them because they passed away before I was born, but she’s always had photos of them hung around the house. They looked so in love, and she always had the most amazing things to say about them. So many beautiful stories that it felt like I did know them.
I get to the back and set it aside, pulling another album from the box.
Album after album I flip through the photos. When I get to the last one, something dawns on me.
Uncle Evan isn’t in any of them. Not one single photo. It’s odd. I know she didn’t like him, so maybe she just got rid of his photos? But even the family photos, the holidays, it’s just her, grams, and poppy.
I shrug it off and place the albums back into the box, moving it aside and dragging another box into its place.
I go through the motions all over again. Tear the tape off. Crumple. Drop. Open.
This one is filled to the brim with journals. Different sizes, different shapes, different colors.
I pull one off the top and open it up. It feels like an invasion, reading her personal thoughts. But she’s gone, and I’m desperate to feel close to her again. The entries in this one read like they were from when I was in the 2nd or 3rd grade, maybe.
Most of the entries are about me, and my eyes well with tears. I loved her so damn much. Dad may be distant, absent, rarely putting us first, but mom? She was my everything. She always made sure I came first. And when Mrs. Price passed away? She was everything for Travis too. Her love made up for anything less than perfect in both of our lives.
About halfway through, I hit an entry that gives me pause. It stops me in my tracks, knocking the wind out of me.
What?
No.
I read the lines, but that can’t be right. So I read them again. Again. One more damn time.
It doesn’t make sense. I can’t process what I’m reading. Blinking back tears, I return to the page and keep reading. It’s the next part though that floors me. The next part that sucks the air from my chest.
No. No. No. That can’t be right.
