by Kat, Bob
The first box she opened had a few t-shirts and shorts on top. But it was the fluffy comforter on the bottom that she most excited about. She lovingly took it out and after removing the blanket currently on the bed, she spread the comforter over the sheets. Standing back, she felt a lump rise in her throat. She remembered the day she had picked it out. It had been her thirteenth birthday when her parents decided she needed to transition from her childish My Little Pony-themed room to one that was more mature. Her dad had painted the pink walls a sunny lemon yellow. She and her mom had gone to the mall to find a comforter and matching drapes.
Kelly had never been a “girly-girl”, but she didn’t want her room to look like the tack room in the barn either. They had looked at dozens of designs, dismissing them because they were too feminine or too abstract. When they saw the comforter set that had large, bright, primary-colored flowers on a snow-white background, they had both known they had found the perfect balance of attitude and color.
She had left the drapes behind, but having the comforter with its large red poppies, yellow daisies and blue hydrangeas made the room look more like home. The comforter was almost three years old and a little worn, but it held too many memories to be discarded. Hopefully, Aunt Jane wouldn’t insist on something newer and more chic. It looked perfect to Kelly.
The two tall wardrobe boxes emptied quickly as she lifted out her clothes, still hanging on their hangers and placed them on the racks in her walk-in closet. She had just a chest back home, so the added drawer space of both a dresser and a chest with six drawers each made putting things away pretty quick and easy. It took a little longer to unload her computer and set it up on the desk and to arrange her books on the shelves in the bookcase next to the desk. It was well after noon when all the boxes were empty. Kelly cut the tape on the boxes and collapsed them, then carefully maneuvered them down the stairs and carried them into the garage through the kitchen door.
The garage was even worse than she expected. She doubted that Aunt Jane’s car had ever been housed inside it. Kelly stood in the middle, surrounded by boxes and furniture. With a little organization and a lot of discretion, there was hope. The three car garage had one part consumed with an odd mixture of furniture probably from her grandma. The other two-thirds were only about half-filled and not stacked very high. Plenty of room to create the three piles Jane wanted. Kelly’s stomach growled, the two waffles long ago forgotten. She decided to take a lunch break before tackling the piles.
She knew from her earlier search that there wasn’t much to choose from. No peanut butter. No bread. No jelly. No ramen noodles. No SpaghettiO’s. There was a head of lettuce and some oil and vinegar dressing in the refrigerator, but not much else. She knew the lettuce would be the smart choice, but she opened a can of chicken noodle soup instead. There was a box of Wheat Thins for crunchiness. Within minutes, however, the meal was over.
Texas had been hot, but Florida was even hotter and much more humid. Kelly delayed going back outside by taking a tour of the house. She had been here several times in the past, visiting her grandmother when Kelly was much younger, and again when her grandmother died. But she had never really explored the place.
The house was over a hundred years old. It had survived hurricanes and greedy developers. It was, in fact, the only original structure in the area. Apparently, it had once stood on a large tract of land, but it was now surrounded by dozens of tract homes that had been built in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The house was in the old Florida style with tall windows, a shiny metal roof and deep, covered porches on both levels. The pool had been added when Kelly’s mom and Jane were kids.
Kelly started at the top where there were three more huge bedrooms other than her own, each with their own baths. Apparently, her great-great grandfather had been quite successful, although Kelly had no idea what he had done to be able to afford such a mansion. Clearly, it had been updated and remodeled extensively through the years. The other bedrooms looked similar to her own, generic and totally lacking in personality.
Downstairs was Aunt Jane’s bedroom that opened out to the pool. Kelly took a quick peek from the doorway, but didn’t go inside. Next to that was a large office that was beautifully decorated in Laura Ashley prints and a whole wall of bookcases. Two large windows let in lots of light, and glass French doors opened into the living room. The large walnut desk was partially hidden by a stack of about a dozen brown file boxes. Curiously, Kelly lifted the lid of one and pulled out a Fort Myers police file. She opened it, but the pictures of the victim turned her stomach and she quickly put it back and hurried out of the office. How could anyone do that to another human?
In the living room, there were large comfortable couches facing a flat-screen TV that had to be about 65 inches in size and was surrounded by speakers along the bottom, sides and ceiling. Kelly could only assume that Aunt Jane must like to watch Judge Judy in life-size.
All of the downstairs area appeared to have already been remodeled. Aunt Jane had chosen to replace the tile with oak flooring, accented by large rugs. Her color scheme brought the outdoors inside with its shades ranging from aquamarine to a dark cobalt blue. Although they were blocks from the Gulf of Mexico, Kelly felt like she was right on the beach. It was a warm, friendly house . . . which seemed contradictory to Aunt Jane’s cool, collected attitude. The tranquil blues carried over into the kitchen and breakfast area, but the formal dining room was all in whites with a few cobalt blue accent pieces.
Kelly knew she had delayed as long as she could. She punched the button and the garage doors rolled up, allowing the sunlight and the oppressive humidity to come flooding in. But it did make the garage appear a little less congested. She looked around again and decided it would be easier if she dragged some of the stuff outside and cleared a wall so she could start the piles. She carried eight dining room chairs outside, then pulled out the matching dining room table. Sweat beaded up on her forehead, sticking her bangs to her skin. Her shirt was saturated, and she could feel the sweat running down her arms and legs as she alternately pushed and pulled a large couch.
“Jeez, how do these people survive here?” she muttered as she stopped to catch her breath.
“We grow gills,” a masculine voice spoke behind her.
CHAPTER TWO
Kelly whirled around, startled. Her heart leaped into her throat as a tall young man was silhouetted against the bright sunshine. The sexual predator discussion with her aunt flashed through her mind, and she mentally measured the distance between her and the kitchen door.
“Hey, need some help?” The person stepped forward, and once inside the shadows of the garage, she could see he was just a teenage boy. He was several inches taller than she was and had medium-length dark-blond hair. Although he wore a tank top and baggy cargo shorts, his legs and arms were pretty white and boney, especially for someone who lived so close to the beach. His shoes were untied, the style of today, and he had a nice smile. Most importantly, he looked totally non-threatening.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then regretted it because she knew she had probably left a dirty smear across her forehead. “Hey,” she greeted him neutrally.
“I live next door, and I noticed you were working pretty hard,” the boy said as he pointed to his house. “I’m Scott.”
Kelly’s lips relaxed into a smile. She was thrilled for any excuse to take a break. “Hey Scott, I’m Kelly.”
“Are you moving in or just visiting?”
“No, not visiting. I’m moving in. Actually I’ve already moved in. Today. It’s my aunt’s house. I got all my stuff unpacked this morning. I told her I would help straighten out her garage. She wants to have a garage sale.” Kelly felt self-conscious and knew she had a tendency to talk too much when she was nervous, so she forced her mouth shut and started pushing the big couch again.
Scott immediately grabbed an arm and pulled. With his help, the couch moved easily, and they were able to position it against a bare wall. “Wh
at’s her name again?” he asked. “Your aunt?”
“Jane.”
“I’ve never met her. I’ve seen her around, but she always seems to be in a big hurry. She’s not home much anyway.”
“Good to know that she’s not just avoiding me. I haven’t seen her much yet either. In fact, I’ve met her maybe six times in my whole life . . . usually on holidays and at funerals.”
“What’s next?”
“I thought we’d stack all the furniture up against that wall. I think it’ll all go in the sale pile. Then we can stack boxes up against them.” She pointed toward an empty corner. “The maybe keep pile goes over there, and stuff that is obviously garbage goes up front by the doors.”
“Got it. Let’s move the dining table back in against the couch.”
It was much easier with him lifting one end. Scott spread a layer of flattened cardboard boxes on top of the table, and they stacked several end tables upside down on the cardboard.
“You’ve done this before?” Kelly asked.
“Nope . . . just naturally careful.” He smiled. “My mom calls it mild OCD.”
“My aunt will definitely approve. I think she’s borderline OCD herself.”
They used more boxes to cushion the edge of the table, then stacked a bedframe and a mattress set vertically and shoved a dresser against them to keep them upright. “There, now we’ve got some room.”
“Thanks. That went a lot quicker with help.” They turned their attention to the boxes, opening them and sorting them into the appropriate area of the garage.
“Are your parents living here, too?”
Kelly hesitated. She had just met this guy. This was all still new to her. How much or how little should she tell him? She could feel the tears building, but she knew she would always have to deal with this question, so why not now? “My parents died in a car accident and my aunt Jane is my guardian.” She felt strangely relieved just blurting it out.
“Oh wow, I’m sorry,” Scott rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to get into your business and all.”
“No . . . it’s okay. You’re just curious. I’d probably ask you the same thing if our situations were reversed.”
“I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I’ve lived in the same house with the same parents and the same stupid little sister my whole life.”
“I always wanted a sister,” she said wistfully.
“You can have mine.”
“I doubt your mother would agree.” Kelly’s smile didn’t really disguise the sadness she was feeling, but maybe under all the dirt, he wouldn’t notice.
Scott was obviously uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot and looked away as he thought about what to say next. Kelly hoped this conversation wasn’t going to be repeated with every person she met.
Kelly tried to shrug it off, both to make him feel better and to change the subject. “Hey, we’re going to be neighbors, so of course you should know something about me. But I should know stuff about you, too.”
“I’m really boring. Ask anyone.”
“I doubt that.” There was something in his tone that touched Kelly and instinctively made her rush to defend him. “I’m not bored.”
“Yeah, but you’ve only known me about an hour.”
“Who’s to say that wasn’t the most exciting hour I’ve ever spent?” Kelly teased.
Scott looked at her and grinned. “Wow, that’s really sad.”
“And you thought you were boring!”
Scott laughed out loud. They turned back to the task at hand and continued to open boxes. “This is all dishes, really old looking dishes . . . it says Mary on the side,” Scott said as he lifted out a fragile china plate.
“They were my grandmother’s. I put a marker on the table by the door. Put that over there as the start of the keep pile for now,” Kelly ordered, pointing toward the front corner.
Scott complied and returned to open another box. “More dishes, but these have Betty on them.”
“My great-grandma,” Kelly told him. “Keep pile.”
Scott marked the box and carried it over next the first one. Within a few minutes more of her grandmother and great-grandmother’s dishes were in the keep pile, and a couple boxes of kitchen utensils were in the sale pile.
“Okay, you’re right,” Scott said.
“About what?”
“Here’s something about me. I’m kind of a geek which translates into not cool. I don’t have many friends in the neighborhood or school, but I’m okay with that. There are hundreds of things I’d rather do than just hang out with people who have nothing intelligent to say.”
“What are some of the hundreds of things?”
“I read a lot and research . . . mostly on-line.”
“Anything special?”
“Yeah . . . history and technical stuff. I invent things . . . mostly cell phone apps and electronic stuff. How about you”
“That’s a tough question. I used to go to the beach a lot, and I had a horse. That took up a lot of my time.”
“Horse wouldn’t work here, would it?”
“Nope. I gave her to my best friend, Gina. She and I used to ride together, so I know Scarlett will be well taken care of.”
“That must be hard on you.”
“Yeah, it sucks. But I don’t have a lot of options, you know?” She busied herself looking through a box of clothes, then marked Mary’s Clothes on them and pushed them to the sale pile.
“What grade are you going to be in?”
“My mom home schooled me, but I decided I wanted to go to public school in the fall. Every year I had to take an achievement test, and I tested out to senior level.”
Scott frowned. “I’m going to be a junior.”
“That’s great. I already told Aunt Jane I wanted to go in as a junior so I could have a couple of years to get ready for college. I’m sure there will be a lot of adjustments going to a public high school.”
“High school can be brutal. Not the classes, but the kids.”
Kelly had to admit she was a little intimidated by what sort of people she would be around every day. She’d seen the movies and TV shows about mean girls. That was something out of her range of experience. But she knew that it was part of the socialization process she needed to prepare her for college. Now, hopefully, she would be starting with a friend. The fact that Scott was a little geeky and not part of the popular crowd didn’t bother her at all. He was funny and sweet and cute in a taller Josh Hutcherson sort of way. And she felt comfortable around him.
“Let’s look inside these big boxes next,” Kelly suggested.
Scott opened the top of the biggest one. “Looks like blankets, pillows and towels . . . all flowered.”
“Label it old linens, and I’ll help you slide it over to the sale pile. I doubt if anyone will buy them. If not, they can go to the Salvation Army.”
Together they started another row and within twenty minutes they had stacked up six boxes neatly along the wall.
Finally, Kelly and Scott stood, surveying the now orderly area with a real sense of accomplishment. “We made a lot of progress, thanks to you,” Kelly smiled and stood with her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, all we’ve got left is all the stuff on that old workbench and the boxes underneath it.”
Kelly hesitated, not sure if she wanted to attack that project. There were lots of tools, most really old and probably valuable to someone who knew something about tools. Kelly didn’t. Scott was poking around, looking at a few items with interest, but Kelly was too tired to dig into the mess. There were dozens of little jars filled with screws and nails. Nothing on top of the workbench was boxed which meant a lot of item-by-item sorting. But underneath were two rows of boxes that they could probably easily be allocated to the appropriate pile.
“Why don’t we just do the boxes today?” Kelly suggested. “The stuff on top will take longer. That is, if you’re up for it.”
Scott shrugged. “I’ve got no
thing better to do. Besides some of those boxes look really old. I’m curious what’s inside.”
The first row of boxes was just more really old household goods, some probably collectible, that were quickly moved to the sale pile. Kelly pulled out a small cardboard box labeled Mary’s Records.
“Hey, look at this.” She opened the box and took out a handful of small vinyl records with large holes in the centers. They were still lovingly stored in their original colorful paper sleeves. She flipped through them one-by-one and read the labels aloud. “I Saw Her Standing There by The Beatles, And I Love Her and We Can Work it Out, also by The Beatles, California Dreaming by the Mamas and the Papas, Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, Last Train to Clarksville by The Monkees, Good Vibrations and Barbara Ann by The Beach Boys and Daydream by the Lovin’ Spoonful. Wow, these are so cool.”
“Save ‘em. My parents have an old record player. They keep saying there’s no sound like old vinyl, so we can check it out and see if they’re right.”
“I’ll take these to my room later. Aunt Jane might want them, but if not, I’ll keep them. They look like they were played a lot; some of the grooves are pretty worn. My grandma Mary must have really loved these for her to have kept them from when she was a teenager.”
“My parents listen to music from the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties,” Scott agreed. “I like some of it a lot.”
Kelly closed the box and placed it on the floor by the kitchen door. It would be fun to listen to the old songs and try to imagine how Grandma Mary had felt when she was Kelly’s age, hanging out in her room, playing her stereo. She returned to the workbench just as Scott was dragging out an old wooden crate that had been tucked in the far corner in the back. It wasn’t big, but it was pretty heavy, and it took both of them to pull it to the middle of the floor where they could open it. On the side in neatly printed but badly faded letters was the word “Darby”.