Flying Solo(6)

“Wow, ninety-three, what a run.” He looked like maybe he used to be an athlete. Soccer or rugby, but now his knee was blown out and his doctor didn’t want him to play, but he still showed up for beer league because all his friends were there, and he wasn’t the player he had been, but he was always the one who paid for the first round after—

“Laurie.” June was looking at her with her eyebrows raised. “Are you with us?”

“Yes, sorry. It’s just a lot.” Laurie resettled herself. “Anyway. This whole house was hers.”

“Was she widowed? Any kids?”

“No, she was a one-woman show. She worked for the school system, in the business office, until she retired. Then she was…well, I guess you can see how she was. The place is packed to the gills with her things. We’ve been going through as much as we can, saving some personal stuff, but I don’t have any other family up here anymore, and most of this, we just…we don’t have a place for it. I mean, she has college textbooks and a vinyl record collection and enough books to open a library. If I use my rental car to move everything out, I’ll still be working on it a year from now.”

“So you’re not from around here?”

“I grew up here, we both did. Junie lives here, but I live in Seattle. I haven’t been back in ages, that’s why I didn’t know how full the house was.”

“And this wound up being your job, ironing it all out.” He had a good voice, kind of velvety. Reassuring. Understanding. Parts of me are extremely neglected, she thought before sitting up straighter and nodding.

“Like I said, Dot didn’t have kids. My parents live in Florida, my mom just had her hip replaced, and my dad just had back surgery.”

“You don’t have siblings?”

“My brothers?” She and June looked at each other and eye-rolled almost simultaneously. “I have four, but if they came up here, they’d just rent a backhoe and push it all into a hole in the backyard. Officially, they’re all busy.”

“The good daughter.” He smiled. “You won’t be surprised that I see this a lot. Probably three daughters for every son. And the further out you get in the family, the truer it is.”

“The patriarchy will get you every time,” Laurie said. “But it’s fine. I’m not a hero, I’m just the person who opens every single box hoping not to find any spiders or sex toys. For different reasons, obviously, but with about the same amount of anxiety.”

She was talking too much. As always. But he laughed. Next, he flicked through screens on his tablet, explaining the contract she’d be signing. “Like we talked about on the phone, feel free to pack up everything that you want to keep. Take as much or as little as you want, and take all the time you need. Today, I can give you my best guess about what might sell—can’t make guarantees, just a good-faith guess that will be based on my experience and the experience of my business, which I’ve been running for about fifteen years. I carry this guy”—he held up the iPad—“so I can do research on the fly, consult with colleagues, things like that. I’ll bring you an estimate of what I expect the saleable items will bring. You can take those things with you, you can get an independent appraisal, or you can give them to me. If I take them, I’ll ask you to make one more choice. You can consign those, so you’ll get paid a full share if they sell, or I’ll pay you a flat amount that’s usually around fifty percent of the consignment amount and you’ll be done with those items right away whether they ever sell or not. We would make that a credit against your bill. Making sense so far?”

It was hard not to think about her own belongings. Her concert shirts, her fountain pens, her own not-instant camera, her pressure cooker. Whose job would those things be if she walked out the door and was eaten by a bear? Should she be making lists? Someone should have her mother’s bracelet, and it should not be any of the boys. “Sure, yes.”

He went on. “Then we arrange to pick up any donations. That’s often your furniture in good condition, kitchen items, some linens, books we can give to the library, things like that. The vinyl will be TBD, we’ll see what she’s got. So we take all that and donate it, you don’t need to do a thing. Then we come back one last time and we take the things you don’t want that are probably at the end of their useful lives. That’s the clothes that are worn or they’re not likely to get more use, plus all your trash, plus the things we refer to as the grind. The grind is your bent paper clips, your half-empty shampoo bottles, used cosmetics, some kinds of costume jewelry and knickknacks—just things we’re not likely to find good homes for. And those things will get a dignified send-off.”

“I’m glad to know Dot’s eye shadows will get a proper burial.”

“Right.” He smiled. “So it should be pretty painless.”

June, who had already helped go through three boxes of hand lotions, let her eyes go wide at the word “painless,” and Laurie swallowed a laugh before she answered him. “I’m not sure she owns very much that’s worth money. She owns a lot of things with sentimental value, I guess you’d say. I know they were special to her, but I don’t know if, you know, a lot of people are going to buy the egg cup she got in Rio. I don’t think she bought this stuff as collectibles, per se, do you know what I mean? She just collected it.” Laurie leaned back in the chair and put her hands over her face. “This is just a gruesome job. I feel so bad, like a grave robber.”