The Keeper of Lost Things

by Jamie Campbell

  I never really remembered his face. The image that always came to mind was his back as he walked away from me and slapped the front door to our home.

  My fingers traced his outline in the frame, creating a clean line through the dust. He was younger in this photo than when I had last seen him. Of course, he didn’t leave until I was six. I had a small amount of time with him, just long enough to love him and sear his being into my memory.

  Not long enough for a lifetime.

  He looked happy in the photograph. He was smiling while he held the baby version of me. Was he truly happy then? Or was he just smiling for the camera? It was so difficult to tell with photos. The person behind the camera always said ‘smile’ and we all obeyed like good children.

  If he was happy then, what had changed in those years that followed? What would make him so sad that he had to lose me? That he had to leave me behind and never look back?

  I had lost track of how many times I had asked that question years ago. It was questions like that which made me insane. They burrowed into my brain and repeated themselves on an endless loop.

  Why did he leave?

  Why didn’t he take me with him?

  What did I do wrong?

  It was the last one that was the real kicker. If I knew what I did wrong, then I would know what I had to change to be better. And maybe, just maybe, he would come back then.

  The whole subject was pointless.

  Because he was never coming back.

  I knew for certain because I had lost hope of that happening a decade ago. It was only that small, tiny voice at the back of my head that refused to give up.

  I hated that voice.

  It was called hope and it had no place here.

  I gently placed the photograph back into the box, memorizing it first. I wished I could replace the image of my dad in my head with the one in the photograph. Even if it only covered it with tape, loosely hanging there for as long as possible.

  With my foot, I pushed the boxes into the corner. They were probably lost too, so they could join my collection but only if they sat silently in the corner.

  The rest of the place would be filled with shelves. This time when I concentrated, I could see them already. Sun would shine once again through the grimy window, illuminating the lost things and making them feel special again.

  It would definitely do nicely.

  I climbed down the ladder and popped it back up into the ceiling. Scouting the new space had put me behind schedule and Uncle Marvin would be looking for dinner sooner rather than later. I ran downstairs and put some spaghetti into a pot on the stove.

  Right on cue at six o’clock, my uncle heaved his considerable weight onto a chair around the dining table. “I’m hungry.”

  “Dinner is almost ready,” I lied.

  “It’s late.”

  “Sorry, it’s taking longer to cook than I thought it would.” Another lie. I was full of them tonight. I stirred and willed the spaghetti to cook faster. “Maybe you could read the newspaper while you wait?”

  “I read the paper after dinner.”

  “You could switch it up tonight.”

  “Just hurry up,” he grumbled.

  I fed Matilda while I waited, at least I could use my time wisely. Uncle Marvin sat staring right up until the moment I placed his plate in front of him.

  “About time.”

  We ate in silence until I found the courage to bring up the topic I needed to talk to him about. It was about the same time his inner monster was quelled with food.

  “I went up into the attic today,” I said tentatively.

  “Why’d you do that for?”

  “I’m running out of shelf space in my room. I was wondering if I could use the attic to store my things?” Uncle Marvin didn’t know about my cause. All he knew was that I had a crapload of stuff on my shelves.

  “I don’t care.”

  “So it’s okay?”

  “I said I don’t care. Are you deaf now too?” He pinned me with his scary face, the one that made me feel like I was two years old again and little more than the size of a pea.

  “Thank you,” I squeaked back.

  Inside I was bouncing with happiness. Expanding my collection into the attic would mean I could rescue as many lost things as possible. Everything would have a home permanently.

  Saturday didn’t come fast enough as the days dragged by. At eight o’clock exactly I was standing outside the fence of the aptly named Tip Shop as it opened. Located at the entrance to the county trash dump, the Tip Shop rescued anything people threw away if it was sellable.

  They were professional Keepers of Discarded Things.

  I loved going to the Tip Shop and seeing everything they had rescued. There was everything from chinaware to clothes to building supplies like basins and shower recesses. They cleaned it up and put it on display for purchase. If you ignored the stench of the nearby dump, you could believe you were in an ordinary shop from the high street.

  Or, at least, I could.

  Someone had thrown away everything there like it was worthless. The Tip Shop had given it all a second chance. It was one of my favorite places to shop. Everyone and everything deserved a second chance.

  I was there to find some shelving for my new attic extension. I had walked there with nothing but hope, a few dollars in my purse, and a wheelbarrow to fill.

  Hopefully Uncle Marvin wasn’t up to any gardening today.

  It had been me who found the wheelbarrow anyway. It had fallen from a construction truck along the highway and nobody had bothered to find it. The lost wheelbarrow was covered in a layer of cement but it still worked fine.

  I started in the metal section, piled high with all kinds of indistinguishable pieces of twisted steel. For this section, I slipped on a pair of old gardening gloves I kept just for my visits to the shop.

  The metal section was dangerous.

  I found that out the hard way.

  Still, I rifled around until I found some metal brackets that would be perfect for holding up my shelves. I even found a bowl of rusty nails that would go with it. All of them were given the opportunity for a new life with me.

  All kinds of wood were stacked up to one side of the tip shop. It was all in various lengths, conditions, and types. I needed something shelf-sized and flat.

  My fingers ran over the pieces, listening to their stories as they hummed out the tragedy of being discarded. They were all grateful for the opportunity to live once more and not burn with the rest of the trash at the dump.

  I found a few lengths that were perfect for shelves, choosing four and wrangling them into the wheelbarrow. I wheeled the whole thing over to the office to pay.

  “Twenty bucks,” the man said. He only had one eye, but it was a keen one.

  “Eight,” I replied. Everything in the Tip Shop was up for bargaining. Nothing actually had a price on it.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Ten.”

  “Deal.” He grinned, showing me he was missing quite a number of teeth too. The man held his hand out for the cash as I handed it over. “You have a good day, Em.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Adison.”

  He tipped his old, holey hat to me before I left. I’d probably spent more time with Mr. Adison than I had with Uncle Marvin. On days when it wasn’t busy, he would take me around the shop and point out anything new he had found. He always told me the full story, like ‘I found that one under a dead rat. It smelled like a sewer but I cleaned it up real nice. I think it came from one of those posh houses in the hills. I’m gonna sell it for a buck’.

  It was busy today, he didn’t have time to share stories. But that was okay, because I was busy too. I had shelves to put up before Uncle Marvin returned from the racetrack. He wouldn’t like me making so much noise while he was in the house.

  The wheelbarrow was heavy to begin with, covered in cement as it was. So when the metal and wood were added to it, my journey home was going to be slow, hot, and pos
sibly painful.

  I took it slowly, ignoring all the people that stared at me. They could look all they wanted from their perfect houses with their perfect families that never lost anything. Good for them.

  About halfway, someone tried to push me aside to take over the handles of the wheelbarrow. I gripped onto them firmly, not wanting my items stolen. I pushed the person away with my hip.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

  I stopped, almost dropping the wheelbarrow onto Frankie’s foot. “Are you still following me? I told you to leave me alone, what part of the English language don’t you understand?”

  “I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

  “Yeah, sure. You just happen to be hanging around the road to the dump on a Saturday morning.” I crossed my arms over my chest as I faced him. “Do I look stupid? Because only an idiot would believe that.”

  “My family’s store is right over there.” Frankie pointed across the street where a small hardware store was open. “I work there sometimes and I saw you coming down the street. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  I swallowed down my guilt at the accusations. Perhaps I had flown off the handle just a little too quickly. Still, I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I don’t need your help.”

  “I know you don’t, but it would be un-gentlemanly of me to let you continue on without offering my assistance.”

  “You’re not a gentleman.”

  He bowed like a gracious lord. “That is because the lady has not allowed me to be one. Please, M’Lady, may I escort you home and help with your heavy load of…” he looked into the wheelbarrow, “…wood products?”

  He was being too nice, he had to want something.

  But my arms were hurting and it was still a long way home. Perhaps this one time I could accept his help. Only this time, though. Never again.

  “Fine,” I sighed.

  Frankie’s warm smile appeared as he took over the handles of the wheelbarrow. He lifted them and started walking. I kept up beside him.

  It was too silent, I had to say something as we walked. “How long has your family been in the hardware business?”

  “Not long. Before we moved here they had a small diner.”

  “Why’d they buy a hardware store then?”

  “Everyone needs a change now and then, right?” Frankie looked at me like he expected an answer, someone to agree with him so it would all make sense.

  “I guess,” I replied, not wanting to disappoint him.

  “What’s all this wood for?”

  He answered my question so I guessed I needed to reciprocate. “I’m building shelves in my attic.”

  “How come?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Frankie laughed. “I guess not. Where did you get it? You didn’t steal it, did you? I’m not an unwitting accomplice to your crime? Not that I would mind, I would just like to be an informed accomplice.”

  “I didn’t steal it. I bought it from the Tip Shop.”

  “Oh, you saw Mr. Adison? How was he?”

  “You know him?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.

  “Yeah, he’s great. Did he tell you the story about how he lost his eye?” Frankie’s eyes were glittering under the sunlight, sparkling with excitement.

  “In a sailing accident, walked straight into the boom.”

  “Exactly! Who would have thought he was a sailor?” Frankie laughed and I couldn’t help doing the same thing. His emotions were infectious, taking me over without my permission.

  We started walking again, the silence not so unbearable this time. Frankie let go of the wheelbarrow’s handles outside my house, reminding me he knew exactly where I lived because he had stalked me.

  I needed to be more careful.

  Frankie already knew too much now.

  “Thanks, I’ll take over from here,” I said, trying to push him out of the way and reach for the handles.

  His hands remained steadfast. “I could help you put up the shelves. I know how, I helped get the store ready for customers. You can only imagine how many shelves that involved.”

  “No, I can do it. You can’t come in.”

  “I just want to help, Em. I swear, that’s all I’m trying to do. Is it so hard having someone be nice to you?” His head tilted to the side like a puppy might do when he was trying to figure something out.

  I didn’t want Frankie figuring me out.

  But for some reason I also didn’t want him to go.

  He had successfully managed to turn my world upside down.

  I sighed. “Fine, you can help. But then you have to leave.”

  He picked up the handles again. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, Em.”

  Chapter 6

  Getting the wood up through the attic manhole would have been extremely difficult alone, I realized later. With Frankie’s help, it was actually bearable. He handed it up to me while I accepted it crouched next to the hole in the ceiling.

  We got it all up before I had to help Frankie climb up too. He stood in the middle of the attic, making it seem much smaller than it did before.

  “It’s nice, if not dusty,” he declared after he looked around.

  “I’m going to clean it up.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He sniffed. “How come it smells like smoke?”

  “There was a house fire once. I’ll get rid of the smell too.”

  “I’ve got no doubts you will.”

  Frankie smiled too much, nobody could be that happy. His motives would become apparent soon, I was certain of it. In the meantime, I needed to get the shelves up so I could start my lost things expansion.

  “Where do you want the shelves?” he asked as we got down to the serious business of home improvement. I showed him the walls I had planned on covering with shelves and we got to work.

  I held things in place while Frankie drilled and levelled. We worked mainly in silence, the occasional sneeze breaking the stillness of the air.

  The box containing my father’s things sat in the corner staring at me. It teased me with its contents, begging me to open the lid and delve inside.

  I wasn’t going to do it.

  I would ignore that box forever.

  “What are you planning on putting up here?” Frankie asked. It had been at least ten minutes since he asked me a question, that had to be a record.

  “Stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” He was persistent.

  “Just stuff, okay?” I said, harsher than I had intended. I didn’t like people asking questions. That led them to knowing things and I didn’t want anyone knowing my business.

  “Stuff, got it.”

  He went back to hammering and I continued to hold things in place for him. We worked around the room until all the pieces of wood I had purchased found a home against the wall.

  The sun was starting to go down outside, shadows dancing around the room as we moved. I didn’t realize it was so late. Uncle Marvin would be home any minute now and I couldn’t let him meet Frankie.

  “You need to leave now,” I said.

  “Okay, I’m almost done.”

  I stood impatiently awaiting him to finish with the last few nails. As he finished, I was ready to push him out the door. My insides were screaming at me to get rid of him. I couldn’t let Uncle Marvin see him, it would be disastrous.

  “Let’s go.” I led him down the rickety ladder and through the house. The whole time I expected to hear the rattle of Uncle Marvin’s old car pulling into the driveway. The only option then would be to make Frankie leave over the back fence.

  I doubted he would agree to that.

  We reached the front door with no signs of the rattle. “Thank you for your help today. Please don’t tell anyone where I live.”

  “I won’t. And you’re welcome. It was kind of fun actually. I haven’t—”

  “Please go.”

  Frankie paused with his words still on his lips. He thought twice about letting them free
and closed his mouth instead. “I’ll see you at school.”

  “I suppose you will,” I replied, closing the door behind him.

  I leaned against the old wood and closed my eyes for a moment. Frankie had been very nice to me and given up his Saturday to build my shelves. I should have been nicer to him.

  But the consequences of him lingering long enough to meet Uncle Marvin would have been much, much worse. My uncle hated anyone coming into the house–unless they were his friends. He would have been so angry.

  When Uncle Marvin was angry, you ran.

  Frankie didn’t need to see that.

  I stepped into the living room and switched on the television, knowing that would be my uncle’s first destination when he returned home.

  The news was on and I left it on his favorite channel. Just as I was about to leave, I heard the news reporter speak a familiar name.

  Marshall Gabrielle.

  My father.

  I raced back to the television and kneeled on the floor to watch the report. The woman was so professional as she announced my worst nightmare. “Marshall Gabrielle, the father of two, was reported missing by his wife Samantha Gabrielle earlier today. His credit cards and bank account have been left untouched since he disappeared three days ago. Grave fears are held for his wellbeing. If you have any information about his whereabouts, please contact the Lakeside Police Department immediately.”

  My father was missing?

  He was still living in Lakeside?

  I hadn’t seen him for so long and I always imagined he was living somewhere far, far away. Beyond the enchanted forest, through the looking glass, and beyond.

  But he was still in the same city I was.

  The pain of knowing he was so close and hadn’t done anything to contact me was just as bad as knowing he was missing. The news reporter said so many things I didn’t know.

  I didn’t know he was married.

  I didn’t know his wife was named Samantha.

  I didn’t know he had two children.

  I didn’t know where he was.

  I didn’t know why he had vanished.

  I didn’t know anything about my father.