Page 83 of The Wayward Son

Sawyer wasn’t sure how she was going to react to seeing her room again, pretty much the way she left it. He opened the window, then went back into the living room. It was time to go into the kitchen, which is where the smell was coming from. He went in and opened the small window above the sink, then opened the back door.

He looked at the refrigerator. It was definitely the source of the odor. The best thing would be to haul the whole thing outside, rather than try to clean it out. He didn’t even want to open it. It wasn’t a very big refrigerator, so he grabbed hold of it and tried to move it. After resisting for a moment, it slid out of the indentations in the linoleum, caused by twenty years of sitting in the same spot, and moved toward him. He pulled it to the back door, turned it sideways, then pushed it over. It landed halfway through the doorway. He shoved it out the door and then ten feet across the dirt yard.

He'd need help loading it into a truck and hauling it away. But in the meantime, it was out of the kitchen. He went around the house and surprised Jade.

“Oh. How is it in there?”

“Looks pretty much the same. I hauled the fridge out back.”

“What? By yourself?”

He nodded toward the door. “Do you want to go in?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m ready. But don’t move anymore major appliances without help.”

She went through the door and stopped a few feet inside. Sawyer came up behind her.

“Are you okay?”

She looked around the messy living room. “He used to blame me for the house always being a mess. I was gone six years before he died. I guess we know who the slob was now.”

“It looks like he never threw anything away.” There were stacks of magazines and newspapers, beer cans, empty alcohol bottles, and food wrappers covering most every surface. The book shelf sagged beneath the weight of too many books stacked on top of each other. And there were several stacks of books on the floor next to the shelf.

“I never thought of your father as a reader.”

Jade shrugged. “I never saw him read. Maybe they were my mothers.”

The furniture was old and worn and consisted of a recliner which appeared to be stuck in the open position. The tattered couch was missing a cushion, and the table with a television sitting on top of it was propped up on one side with a two-by-four that was a few inches longer than the other three legs. The small table next to the recliner had two empty beer bottles, an ash tray full of cigarette butts, and a half-eaten burrito that had turned into a solid lump of mold.

Sawyer shook his head. “I don’t think there is anything in here worth saving or donating, except maybe some of the books.”

“I don’t want any of it. If anything is worth donating, then I’ll do that.”

“Okay. We can haul the rest of it to the dump.”

“It’ll be a big project.”

“Yeah, it will. But I think it’ll be very cathartic for you.”

“Maybe. But I’m not sure I really want to tackle that. Do you think we could hire someone to clear the place out? And then get it ready to sell? Would that cost a fortune?”

“No. We can do that. If that will be easier for you, then that’s not a problem.”

“Thank you. Once I get a job, I’ll pay you back.”

“You know that’s not necessary, Jade.”

“Still.”

“Are you ready to go into your room?”

She nodded, then moved toward the door. She hesitated a moment before going through it. Once again, she stopped a few feet in.

Sawyer put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t think he ever came in here after you left.”

She shook her head. “Everything is where I left it.” She went to the small desk and opened the top drawer. Under a pile of papers was an envelope. She took it out and opened it, then pulled out forty dollars in small bills. “My runaway stash. I was waiting until I got to a hundred. But I could never quite make it. There was always some essential thing I needed to buy. Things my father wouldn’t buy for me.”

“Like what?”

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