his pink nose hidden deeply under his big paws.
“Shhhhh,” I said. “He’s over here, and he’s all tuckered out.” I looked at him for a moment. “I’ve got a name for him: Louie.”
“What kind of a name is that for a cat?” Michael asked. “I think Blackie is better.”
“No, his soul is a Louie,” I said.
“Oh,” Michael said. “Can’t argue with that.” He turned back to his trunk.
I took off the jacket and put it on the back of the desk chair, opened the desk top, and started to sort papers into boxes that I labeled “Shred,” “Recycle,” and “Keep.” I found titles to cars that I wasn’t sure Peggy still owned; insurance papers, tax papers and employment records that were well over ten years old. I discovered a trove of letters that I slipped into kitty's basket, to be looked at later (I know, shame on me), and folders containing Michael’s school work, report cards, artwork, and SAT scores. I hooted when I saw those.
“I guess somebody went to college on an athletic scholarship,” I yelled. “I don’t think I know anyone who scored this low on the SAT.”
“Let me see that,” he said, coming over to the desk. “This is only the math score, you moron, the total is down here.”
“Made you nervous, though, didn’t I?” I said, laughing. “Did you really not remember, or were you not sure about your scores?”
“It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t a very good student back then,” he said.
“That’s an understatement,” Peggy piped up. “In fact, I think I had to bribe him with a pizza dinner for him and his buddies if he took the test. Food has always been a strong motivator for my boy.”
I decided to create a box that I labeled “Michael” and placed those school items inside, along with college acceptance letters, transcripts, dean’s list notices, and a large file containing bills and cancelled checks. Michael could get rid of those later if he wished, I figured.
Moving quickly through several other boxes, I sorted out old tax returns (shred), car maintenance records (recycle), and home repair records (recycle). Warranty folders for appliances large and small were saved for Peg to review and discard if the items were no longer in use. An entire set of boxes was devoted to Peggy’s sixth year and MA degree studies.
“What do you want to do with this stuff?” I asked.
“Chuck it,” she said. “I’m done with all that.”
“Okey-dokey,” I said. I saw Michael open and then quickly shut his mouth. We exchanged a look, but I put the boxes in the pile labeled “Recycle.”
Michael called out a moment later. “Would you look at this!” Both Peggy and I stood up and went over to the trunk where Michael was half submerged. He stood up, holding a wedding dress against his chest.
“Mom, is this yours?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Put it away.”
“It’s very nice,” I said. I shook my head at Michael as he turned, looking for a mirror.
“I wish I could wear it,” he said. “But it would never fit me. You were a tiny little thing, weren’t you?”
Peg turned away and went back to the other trunk. “I thought I asked you to go through your father’s clothes,” she said.
“I am, but this was on the bottom of the trunk,” he said. “You must have forgotten that it was in here. What should I do with it?”
“Maybe we can burn it later,” she said. “How does that sound?”
“A little harsh, actually,” he said. “How about I just put it in the consignment pile instead?”
“No, it’s trash. I don’t want anyone else wearing it, ever. You got that? Trash.” She took the gown from his hands, rolled it into a ball, and chucked it down the stairs. “I need a break. Can I get anybody a drink?”
“I could go for a refill of coffee,” I said.
“I was talking about a real drink, but sure, I can bring you coffee if you want,” she said. “Mike?”
“I’m good,” Michael said. “Sorry, Mom.”
“No problem, babe. This is why we’re up here. Time to clean house,” she said.
When she was gone, Michael and I stood on opposite sides of the attic looking at each other. “What was that all about?” he said.
“I think there’s something more going on here than just cleaning house,” I said. “She seems to be really tightly wound. Seriously. You should take it easy with her, see if you can get her to talk about it later. You know? But be gentle—no more wedding gown antics.”
“Sure. I don’t think she’s going to open up to me. But I’ll give it a shot,” he said. “Maybe she’ll talk to you more if I’m not around, you know? Girl talk?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try,” I said. “But stop digging through her stuff for now. You’re just making things worse.”
He turned around, a leather vest looped through his arms, its long fringes dancing wildly. “Okay, but wouldn’t you love to know the story behind this?” he asked, grinning wickedly.
“Michael…”
At that moment the kitten launched himself from the shadows onto the fringe and made a frantic climb onto Michael’s chest, claws digging into the suede vest. We were laughing hysterically when Peggy came silently up the stairs with drinks in a cardboard box.
“That’s just perfect,” she said. “Why don’t you take all of my things to the garage and let the cat destroy them, Mike? No need to sort anything out after all, is there?”
She turned and went as silently down the stairs as she’d come up. We stared at each other. I was mortified. “Oh, Michael, that was bad. You better go and apologize to her,” I said.
“Shit,” he said. He got up and untangled the kitten and the vest and handed both of them to me. Before going down the ladder, he took a long drink from one of the glasses. “This might take a while,” he said.
“Go,” I said. “Tread lightly. I’ll stay up here.”
I returned the vest to its trunk and the cat to his basket, took a glass from the box and went back to my own work on the masses of paper to be sorted. One of the drawers in the desk was locked and since no one was around, I took the opportunity to jimmy the lock with a couple of nails and a paperclip. When the drawer slid open, I uncovered the secret life of Mr. Calvin Simone.
Chapter 6
First, it appeared that was not his real name. I suppose that’s not a big deal. But he had been given a new identity by the government, which was something that aroused some suspicion, coming as it did during the Cold War and all. I wondered what his deal was, and if his family knew…I mean, his wife had to know, right?
So, was he a spy? A Russian? Was he working for the government after they “relocated” him, or was that a payment for services rendered while he was abroad? My mind started making huge leaps—maybe he didn’t commit suicide, maybe he was murdered. Oh my goodness. What should I do? I heard a noise and I almost jumped off the chair, but it was just Louie adjusting his position in the box.
I looked around. What could I do with these documents? I wanted to go through them privately, ask some more questions, and then decide if I should share them with Michael and Peggy. Maybe it was better if they never knew about this. But who was I to decide this?
Well, I reasoned, I was the person who’d been asked to take on this task. So I would. I looked around and found an empty plastic bag, which I filled with these papers as well as the cache of letters.