Noah pocketed his phone as he passed by the lobby desk. Hopefully there would be a project to join when he was ready. In the oil and gas industry, one never really knew.
But one problem at a time.
“Hey, boss.” Peter met him at the front door, clutching a travel mug of coffee and wearing a nervous expression. “Whatcha got for me today?”
Oh, no. Speaking of work. Noah stopped short. “Hey. Um…” He looked around, started to rake his fingers through his hair and then remembered his cap. His hand fell to his side. “I thought I texted the crew to hold off until after the mitigation team comes?”
“You did.” Peter nodded eagerly, shifting his weight in his worn sneakers. “I thought I’d show some initiative.” He toasted him with his travel mug and let out an anxious laugh. “Impress the boss.”
Noah sighed as the truth registered. Peter was in college. Which meant Peter was broke. He couldn’t send the young guy away, not when Noah’s motley crew had already missed so much work they’d been counting on having these last weeks. He thought fast. “How do you feel about cleaning out gutters?”
“On it.” Peter offered a quick salute. “Ladder out front?”
At least that would be one thing off his list, though it could have easily waited until summer. At least Noah wouldn’t have to get on the ladder himself. “Should be. Check the garage if not.”
“Aye, aye.” Peter shook back his unruly hair and hesitated. “And thanks.”
Noah offered him a wave. “No problem.” Peter was his cheapest labor, but the kid worked hard. Noah would try to find a way to help him out, even if he had to supplement the guy’s paycheck with ramen noodle packages. “I’ll be in the downstairs master if you need anything.”
The college student hurried outside. In the new suite, Noah pulled open the door to the master closet, the one Grandpa had used for personal storage through all those years of operating the Blue Pirogue, and let the aroma of the past wash over him. Peppermint and cigar smoke.
No turning back now. He grabbed the first box he could see before he could chicken out. “It’s only stuff.” Talking to himself kept the nostalgia at bay. “One pile to keep, and one pile to donate.” Maybe a third pile to throw away. Hopefully the “keep” pile would be small. The sooner the Blue Pirogue—and Noah—had a fresh start, the better.
Assuming Isaac Bergeron and this mold would ever give him one.
The box was heavier than Noah anticipated. He set it on the ground and pulled another one free from the top shelf, full of various paperback puzzle books. Sudoku, crossword, word search. Noah tugged one of the volumes free and flipped through the completed pages. Every single square was filled in—using ink. He shook his head with a smirk. Of course. He set the single volume aside as a keepsake and moved the rest of the box to start a trash pile.
Noah worked for several minutes, finding a stack of old college yearbooks, a collection of pocketknives he’d never seen, an entire box of mismatched socks, a clay crawfish ornament Noah had given his grandfather for Christmas in third grade, and an antique American straight razor kit.
After making a dent in the closet’s contents, he returned to the first heavy box, squatting in front of it as he wiped a bead of sweat from his face. The box was sealed up tight with duct tape—a little surprising, since the others only had their flaps tucked. He grabbed one of the collectible pocketknives and sliced through the box seam, then lifted the flaps. Books—not as surprising.
But why store them here and not the library? He frowned and removed the top layer of dusty hardbacks. Some of the titles seemed to be duplicate copies of books he’d seen on the library shelves during his perusal the other day. He didn’t think Grandpa had ever gotten rid of a book, even when Sadie started offering him trade deals.
A worn black cover caught his attention—a thick leather Bible. Definitely one of a kind. He lifted the heavy tome and the faint scent of peppermint drifted up to greet him. A memory flashed, one of sitting in church next to Grandpa, tugging at the collar of his shirt and fidgeting on the pew in his uncomfortable shoes. Grandpa had pulled an orange hard candy from his suit pocket and offered it to Noah with a wink.
He swallowed hard, tempted to close the flaps and move on. But the book drew him, beckoning him to crack the spine and touch the same pages his grandfather had read once upon a time. Grandpa didn’t go to church with Noah as much after he and Grandma Edith divorced, which didn’t make sense at the time but did once Noah became an adult. Churches had rules, and men who left their wives weren’t welcome.
He fanned through the thin pages, noting a few handwritten notes and starred verses. A scribbled comment in the margin beside Psalm 39:1 gave him pause.
I said, “I willguard my ways,that Imay not sin with my tongue; I willguard my mouth with a muzzle, so long as the wicked are in my presence.”
The comment next to it read,
H vs. B
Hebert vs. Bergeron.
Noah raised his eyebrows. Grandpa sure hadn’t filtered his words about the Bergeron family over Noah’s growing-up years. Had that begun to shift at some point in his life? Was that why he’d wanted Noah and Elisa to work together now? In that case, the Bible would be newer—one Grandpa owned more recently before his death.
Noah thumbed more pages, his gaze landing on more thin black cursive next to 1 Corinthians 13.
Love is patient, love is kind.
The handwritten text read,
I love Edith. I wish I was enough.
Man. He could relate to that feeling. Maybe there was more to the Hebert curse than he’d thought.
