End of Story(7)

“Not if it was from a parallel dimension.”

“Okay. I’m buying it. Carry on.”

“You know, I tried to tell him it might be supernatural and he wouldn’t listen.” I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Plain white, thankfully. Unlike the walls and floors, it had escaped any ugly interior trends from bygone eras. The certificate lay on the mattress next to me. I had carried it around all day. As if the strange thing might disappear if I took my eyes off it. “Though the house isn’t haunted, that I’m aware of. I mean, it creaks now and then. But all old homes do that, right?”

“Mmm.”

“It’s not like I’ve sensed Aunt Susan’s presence or anything,” I said. “I think I’d like to see a ghost, but I’d also be terrified to see a ghost.”

“Agreed.”

“Maybe we should have a séance.”

“Knowing our luck, we’d accidentally open a portal to hell,” she said. “And my mama would be appalled we were messing with that sort of thing.”

“Right. No séance.”

“It’s certainly a very odd discovery.”

“Lars is convinced someone is screwing with us. Which is the most likely conclusion,” I said. “I just can’t imagine why.”

“You definitely don’t think he put it there when you weren’t looking?”

“No, I don’t.” I frowned. “At first, he was baffled like me, but then he was furious. Like I was playing a game or stirring up trouble. He was ready to walk out until I talked him down. Not that I actually want him here. I’ve only just gotten over his idiot friend dumping me in front of everyone that he knew. Having Lars around is not my idea of a good time. Too complicated. Too many memories. He basically called me fiscally irresponsible and immature today.”

“What a poopy head.”

I laughed.

“And if you wanted payback against your fool of an ex you’d do it in a mature and sensible manner.”

“Exactly.”

“Like egging his house or something.”

“Actually, that sounds fun. How are you doing in the condo on your own?”

“I’m turning your old room into my office,” she said.

“Good work.”

“Josh wants to move in with me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It would help with the rent,” she said. “And I don’t mind him.”

“Aw. True love.”

Cleo laughed. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s a big step and I’m enjoying having the place to myself. After the divorce I didn’t think I’d want a man in my space again. Of course, I didn’t think I’d ever want to date.”

“There’s no rush.”

“No.” She sighed. “Guess we’re both divorcées now.”

“Sure. Sort of. Though mine is still out there lurking in the future, apparently.”

“You better have asked me to be your bridesmaid.”

A plaintive meow had me turning my head. “There’s a cat sitting on my bedroom windowsill staring at me.”

“Little pervert,” she joked. “Are you dressed?”

“He’s gray with pretty green eyes. I wonder who he belongs to,” I said as the animal sat back and started cleaning its belly. “Oh, he’s a she. Thanks for the view, friend.”

“Probably belongs to a neighbor,” she said. “What did you find in today’s boxes?”

Cleo helped me unpack the first few weekends after I moved. We scrubbed and vacuumed and sorted. With Mom in Michigan with her new husband, Dad having moved to head office in Florida, and my brother in a state of woe over having been left out of Aunt Susan’s will, Cleo’s been a lifesaver. Now that I’m on my own, I’ve been going through a box of Susan’s junk a day. Separating the important from the trivial, from the puzzling. Making way for the future by clearing out the past. That’s how I tried to look at it. The idea of this task had quietly terrified me for years, but now that I’m neck deep in it, it’s been bigger than I ever imagined.

“The one I opened had holiday and birthday cards from the eighties. A stack of projector slides from the seventies documenting family holidays. A pair of cracked white leather knee-high disco boots, some cool and colorful plastic bead necklaces, and the ashes of a dog named Rex.”

“Rest in peace, Rex.”

“Amen. I wish she was here to tell me the stories behind some of this stuff.”

“Mmm.”

“At least now the main floor of the house is clear,” I said. “Anything that still needs to be sorted has been put down in the basement. Though there is the attic. I may just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not a bad idea. We still on for lunch on Thursday?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “How are the shots for the florist shop coming along?”

“Should be finished with the final edits tomorrow. The client was happy,” she said. “You know, maybe whoever left the fake certificate in the wall will come forward. Point and laugh at you. That sort of thing.”

“At least then I’d know what was going on.”