Page 7 of Conflicted
“You make the best pie, Mom.” Will leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly. “I love your rhubarb. The magic you work is something special. I’ve had other people’s rhubarb pie and nothing compares.”
“It’s just because you grew up with mine,” Anna Tolbert replied. “Now that you’ve eaten half of it, do you suppose you can go up to the attic and get the cradle? I promised Sarah and Gary that you’d be over with it tonight.”
“I wish you’d waited till we saw what kind of shape it’s in before you made promises like that. I’m sure it needs cleaning, and it might need repairs, too.”
“And I’m sure it will be fine with some dusting and a little furniture polish.”
“I’ve heard that song before.” Will sighed and pushed back from the table. “Okay, let me see if I can find it.”
Will headed for the hall where the attic access was. It wasn’t a full attic, more like a crawl space above the insulation where his mother stored things she no longer needed but couldn’t bring herself to get rid of. Will was in constant danger of hitting his head when he was up there.
He pulled the cord to lower the steps and then climbed up carefully. He didn’t know how he was going to get the cradle down, but he’d figure out something. His father had gotten it up there, so there must be a way.
It was quiet. He could no longer hear his mother’s television playing Wheel of Fortune. He’d forgotten about the silence up here. He looked around and sure enough, there was the cradle – at the farthest point away from the entrance with innumerable boxes and assorted junk between him and it. He got on his hands and knees. That would be the safest way to get to it.
He started moving as quickly as he could and bumped into a box with his name on it. It rattled and he wondered what could be in it. He thought he’d removed his belongings a few years back. Well, why not take a few minutes and check it out? As long as he was out by the time Wheel was over, his mother wouldn’t notice how long he took.
The box wasn’t completely closed, let alone taped up to protect the contents from the dust. It must not be anything that important. He pulled the top open and had a look.
No wonder he hadn’t taken it and no wonder his mother had kept it. The box contained all his high school sports trophies. He took one out. This must be his MVP award for baseball. He squinted at the engraving at the bottom. Yep, right on the first guess. Here was the trophy for basketball his senior year. Hadn’t gotten Most Improved or something like that? He thought it was mostly because he’d stopped tripping over his own feet and hit an occasional 3-pointer. He’d still been playing JV junior year. He had the height, but not the coordination.
Football, now football was another story. He’d been in the starting lineup from his sophomore year and been the leading receiver both junior and senior years. If only it hadn’t been for that last game against the Falcons, they would have won the city championship. It had been all his fault they lost, too. If only he had caught that last pass. He forced the memory and the bitter taste of defeat away. High school was a long time ago and he had bigger fish to fry now. He put the trophies back in and closed the box as best he could.
The cradle was where he’d seen it from the entry hole. On the surface, it looked all right, but the layers of dust were thick. He’d have to get it downstairs to get a decent look at it and that was going to be a challenge. He cleared a path and moved it toward the opening slowly and carefully. He stifled sneezes several times. The dust up here was something else.
When he got to the ladder he saw his mother’s head coming up and he grumbled goodheartedly, “I told you I’d get it.”
“You were taking a long time, so I came to see if you needed help.”
“Do you have a dust cloth with you? I’d like to get the worst of this off before I bring it downstairs.”
“Of course, dear. Here you are.” She handed him a handful of rags and he took one and coughed when his first swipe sent dust flying.
As soon as he had the worst of the dust off, he turned his mind to the difficulty of getting it down. Maybe his mother could help.
His mom was fit, but the stairs were narrow and the cradle heavy. Will considered. “How safe are you on those stairs?”
“I’m fine, dear.”
“I think the best way to get this down without an accident is for you to come up here and guide it, while I take the weight of it from below. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Of course, I can. I’m not some ninety-eight-pound weakling.”
His mother came up the rest of the way, and between the two of them they got the cradle downstairs. Will’s concern about damage to the crib was overblown; it was still in excellent condition.
He and his mother set about dusting it more thoroughly and then polishing it just short of a shine. As he was putting it in the back of his pickup, his mother said, “Well, I’m pleased to have gotten that done. Tell Sarah, I’ll be over tomorrow if she wants me. And you may have the rest of the pie; you’ve done such a good job.”
“Thanks.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her wrinkly cheek. “I’ll deliver the message and I’ll wait to finish the pie until I’ve had a shower.”
“You’re such a good boy.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
