Emma pulled out a watch and clutched it to her chest. “Oh, it’s his watch. Would you mind if I kept this, Gram? It’s just a quartz, but I remember him wearing it.”
“Of course not, honey. You girls take anything you like.”
Emma pulled out a wallet, and Maddy watched as she opened it. The faded black leather creaked with age. It was empty. The sight filled Maddy with a vague sense of disappointment.
Emma set it in the growing pile on the bed.
“His fishing hat,” Maddy said, pulling the beige floppy-brimmed hat from the box. It was crushed and creased, the chin cord frayed. “I can still see him in that old fishing boat of his, wearing this old thing.”
“He was so happy when he was fishing,” Emma said.
Nora gave a wry laugh. “Remember the fuss Mama used to put up about the fishy smell when he returned?”
“He had to undress on the deck and go straight to the shower,” Emma said. “Heaven forbid he bring that smell inside.”
“Girls,” Gram chided.
“It’s true, though,” Maddy said.
“Your mother had—and has—many fine qualities. As I recall, your fatherdidreek when he returned from fishing. He wasn’t perfect, you know.”
Properly chastised, the girls went back to the box, pulling out a few photos from happier summers and crayon-covered construction paper—pictures the girls had drawn, mostly Maddy. She’d loved drawing him pictures. He’d praised her creativity, then hung the artwork on the refrigerator for all to see.
There were a lot of meaningless things in the box too: financial papers, paycheck stubs, a few pieces of clothing. Nothing Maddy remembered him wearing. Her mother must’ve taken the rest of his things to Goodwill. The thought left her hollow.
A few minutes later Gram pulled out the last item in the box. It was only an old pair of readers.
Disappointment flooded through Maddy. What had she expected to find anyway? Answers? Comfort? Peace? It was just a bunch of useless mementos, most of which she didn’t even recognize.
Maybe she’d only wanted to recall him afresh. Her favorite memories had faded like an old Polaroid. She could hardly even remember what he looked like sometimes. And the images she called to mind always resembled the photos she had of him.
But she remembered how loved and special he made her feel. That was what she needed to hang on to.
“It’s hard to believe this is all that’s left of him,” Emma said, and Maddy realized the others must share her feelings.
“There had to be more than this.” Nora sounded exasperated. “Just one box of things? Where are all the photos?”
“Mama probably pitched it all out,” Maddy said with a heavy sigh.
Gram’s lips pressed together as she began placing the items back inside the box. A strange tension hung in the air.
Maddy traded looks with Nora and Emma. They clearly felt it too. Maybe they shouldn’t have stirred up all these memories for Gram. Daddy had been her only child, after all. Death had cruelly stolen both her husband and only child within five years.
Maddy caught sight of a photo in the folds of the bedding. She picked it up and turned it over. She hadn’t seen this one. It must’ve fluttered out in the shuffle as they’d gone through the box.
It was Daddy with a woman. He had his arm around her in a very familiar—and affectionate—way. Her dad looked to be in his forties, and Maddy didn’t recognize the pretty woman. A terrible foreboding settled inside.
“Gram?” She held out the photo. “Who’s this with Daddy?”
Gram’s eyes settled on the photo. Her face fell, her jaw going slack. The picture trembled in her age-spotted hands.
A long moment passed, the bad feeling inside Maddy swelling. “Gram?”
Gram closed her eyes, her lips moving a bit as if she were praying.
The girls exchanged worried glances.
“Gram, are you all right?” Nora asked finally.
