“I would hope so. Last I checked, I’m still me.”
Expecting him to chuckle at my witty banter, his silence tips me off that this call is serious. I clear my throat. “How have you been?”
“I’m well, but that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling about your father.”
Ice frosts my veins, stilling me. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” He rushes in a calming tone that soothes my nerves. “He’s fine. Not in any trouble at all. Except, he’s stuck in his garage.”
“Oh.” I nod even though no one is here to see me. This news isn’t anything shocking, as my dad’s hoarding situation hasslowly gotten out of hand. I joked it would only be a matter of time before his stuff would swallow him up. “How bad is it?”
“His garage is a sea of boxes. I can hear him bellowing back there, but can’t see him. I’m going to call some of my football players to help, or it will take me all night.”
“I’m a couple hours away at work.” I let out a sigh as I add the hours on the clock. "It’ll take me a while to get there, but let me make some calls. I’ll get a hold of someone who can help you. I’m so sorry he’s bothering you.”
“Oh, he’s no bother. No need to send more help. I have it under control. I just felt like his family should know.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Blinking my eyes, I push back the smallest tear as his thoughtfulness is so touching. North always was the most kind-hearted man. “I, ah, I’ll figure something out with work and get back to you.”
“No problem. I’ll be busy digging him out.”
His voice ticks up at the end as he is ready to sign off, but in a freak moment of bravery I cut him off. “It’s great to hear your voice again.” He immediately hushes, and the silence drags on for the longest beat before I tack on, “Anyway.”
“Same,” he softly quips.
A moment later and the line goes dead, and I’m running my hand through my needing-some-fresh-highlights hair.
Who am I going to call?
It’s Friday night. Not that it would matter if it was Monday morning, I still wouldn’t have more friends. I’m sure not calling Rocco. We’d had a falling out last year after his NFL career imploded amidst a cheating scandal, and he cut me out of his life.
North said not to bother sending help, but this is my dad. Someone needs to talk to him about the bigger issue. He got lucky this time, but what happens when he gets hurt? I can’t put this off any longer.
I turn back toward the hotel, knowing I don’t have anyone to call. This was a me problem. “Grace!” I call out, as I tiptoe back inside, ready to bargain with my future first born child. “Can you cover for me? I need to leave.”
“Dad!” I call into the open overhead garage door, peering through the narrow pass in between the stacked-to-the-ceiling boxes. An echo ricochets back, but no answer from him. He’s only lived here a couple of decades, but his garage is so jam-packed, it looks as if he’s lived here a hundred years. Being a collector of all things, he hates to toss anything out if they might be useful. His thriftiness has gotten out of hand. My brows pin together as I turn back toward the house and continue up the broken steppingstones leading to the side door.
I forgo a traditional knock and open the side door. It creaks with the exact same squeal it did when I lived here. It’s not that Dad is lazy, because he’s not. He still works nearly every day at the pizzeria, but it’s becoming clearer he’s in some sort of funk, letting things go. “Dad!” I call out, “you alive in here?”
“Umph.” His old man sigh wafts from the living room and I pad forward to find him sitting on his favorite recliner, watching ESPN, with an open jar of honey roasted peanuts on his lap. “You didn’t have to come over,” he grumbles.
“Yes, I did. I was worried. Are you okay?” Scanning his physique for any signs of physical damage, I find nothing out of place except for his unibrow pinned together in a lowered position, hinting at a bruised ego.
“It was nothing. I slipped on my vintage fly paper. I think it is defective because it really didn’t need to be so sticky. You should have seen it, stuck on me like cement and tangling me up until I knocked over boxes that trapped me.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at his lack of accountability, I instead scan the lone box in the corner of the room. “Did you get a recent delivery?”
Dad’s gaze follows mine to the box. “Oh, that.” He shakes his head, tacking on, “That’s some of your brother’s old high school football trophies. After he got kicked off the team, he wanted to throw them out. I’m saving them in case he ever wants to look at them some day.”
I roll my bottom lip in and survey the rest of the house. Except for the box of stuff, it’s actually pretty neat. There are no dishes in the sink, and his throw blankets are neatly folded.Maybe the hoarding is not really that bad if everything is in the garage.I mean, he can always close the door and not look at all his junk. “Well.” I tsk, and stride toward the box, scooping it up. “Do you think we should tuck it away in Rocco’s old room, so we don’t have to look at it?” I’m already walking down the hall to Rocco’s door. Dad’s reply muffles as I turn the knob and immediately startle, taking a giant step back.
A mountain of stuff is about to crash into me!
“Aaggh!” I scream, and slam the door shut, ducking against it as crashing noises sound like a fireworks finale.Who was I kidding?It isn’t just in the garage. I’m pretty sure every room, drawer, nook and cranny is stuffed, and dangerous! My eyes grow wide as I frantically search for my dad. “Dad, this is serious. You need help cleaning your house out.”
“Nah, it’s not an issue.” He waves his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Dad, you almost died today because you have an insurmountable amount of clutter. It’s a life-threatening issue.We’re cleaning this out, starting now, with this room.” I press my ear against the closed door, all the crashing noises have died off.
