Page 9 of The Affair
“Um, Morgan,” I answered, suddenly feeling like I was under a microscope.
Until recently, she’d been the sole buyer for the store. It’d been that way for as long as I could remember, but when Dad had gotten sick, her focus had shifted, and I had taken over.
This was the first time she’d actually seen some of the work I’d done up close.
She nodded once, her hands folded neatly in front of her before she replied, “I met them once—the Morgans. It was for some fancy fundraising thing. Ages ago. It was way out of my league, but I had this crazy notion that I could recruit high-end buyers by being where they were. Your daddy thought it was insane, but I was sure I could play the part if I could just get in front of them.”
She didn’t pause or wait for me to interact. Instead, she just kept watching each piece of furniture come off the truck as she spoke, “I bought a dress from a consignment store, and Sally mailed me a pair of ridiculous heels to wear. I thought no one would notice as long as I looked the part. But they did. They noticed everything—from the off-brand shoes to the costume jewelry I tried to pawn off as real. I’d never felt so cheap in my life, and I came home and cried in your Daddy’s lap.”
“Their kids had to sell everything,” I told her as she stared straight ahead. “To settle their debt. It was massive apparently.”
“Wasn’t exactly how I pictured them becoming my client.” Her eyes lingered on a burgundy velvet chaise. “I think I’m going to head home. I’m tired.”
She took one last look at the truck and the contents and then sort of drifted off, like a ghost.
* * *
I hadn’t been exactlysure what life would be like for my mom and me after my father passed, but walking into my house that night and seeing boxes and clothes carelessly strewed about, I knew I definitely hadn’t expected this.
“Mom?” I called out, trying to make my way through the clutter that covered the house.
The old wood floorboard creaked as I walked down the hallway, no matter how lightly I stepped. My father always joked that it was next to impossible to sneak out of this house as teenagers—the floors were a built-in alarm system.
“I’m in here,” she answered, her familiar voice coming from the back of the house.
I followed it, and sure enough, I found her in the small guest room, sitting on the floral bedding, with stacks of old photos scattered around her.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking at the large mess on the floor. I couldn’t tell where it started or stopped, but the boxes, clothes, and random other things made one giant trail of breadcrumbs. “I thought you were tired.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained with a halfhearted shrug.
“So, you decided to tear apart the house?”
I wanted to take it back instantly, especially when her eyes met mine and I could see the pain so deeply etched inside.
Had I caused that? Or had it already been there?
These days, I couldn’t tell.
“I thought maybe Goodwill could use some of your father’s clothes, and then I realized I still had most of Nana’s things in here, but I …” Her voice trailed off.
But once she started, she couldn’t go through with any of it.
That was what she wanted to say.
It was why most of my grandmother’s things had stayed locked up in this room, untouched, for over a decade.
It hurt too much. My mom was a decisive planner, but it didn’t mean she had less of a heart. If anything, hers was a bit bigger than most … which only made the grief that much harder to bear.
“Your nana was quite the beautiful young lady,” she said, holding up an old photograph for me to look at.
I took it from her hands and immediately smiled.
“She really was,” I replied, my finger running along the tattered edge of the old wedding photo. “You want me to organize these for you?” I asked, remembering she had once said something about doing it.
She waved her hand in a dismissive sort of way. “Maybe later. Why don’t we go make some dinner and then maybe we can catch up on the ledgers?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”
