I had nothing, so I waited for Lana to respond. But she just held on tighter as we came over the last hill.
The box truck was in front. As Anne pulled up, two guys in shorts were taking a red overstuffed couch up a ramp into the open back of it.
“The love seat!” she exclaimed, jerking to a stop. She opened her door. “WAIT!”
Liz came hurrying down the stairs, holding up her hands. “It’s okay! There’s a mouse nest in it!”
“Can you stop?” Anne asked the movers anyway as she got out. “Please?”
The guy on the end of the love seat already in the truck, whose T-shirt was ringed with sweat, sighed. “If y’all are going to be like this with everything, we’ll be here till September.”
But they did pause long enough for Liz to show Anne the nest herself. As Lana and I got out, Kasey pulled up in the truck beside us, Ben and Clark hopping out from the bed.
“Is that the piano bench?” Anne asked, coming back down the ramp. I turned: It was. “You guys! No!”
“Did someone call Jonathan?” Kasey asked quietly.
“On it,” Lana replied, putting her phone to her ear.
“Come inside and have some lemonade,” Liz urged her daughter. “I’ll show you everything we’re keeping.”
“The dollhouse better be there,” Anne grumbled.
“It is.”
As they climbed the stairs, disappearing inside, Clark snorted. “I love pissed-off Anne.”
Just then, two more guys came out carrying the living roomcouch, a box markedGLASSWAREon top of it. I looked at Lana, remembering the nights I’d found her there. I wondered if the beds in my room were next. Probably should check.
On my way in, I passed a guy in a backward baseball cap and earbuds, carrying the table that had held the old phone. Angela and Janine were in the kitchen, packing up utensils and pots.
“Wait!” Kasey hurried over, taking a frying pan out of a box. “This is mom’s cast iron. Talk about history. We’re talkingthousandsof pancakes.”
“Did you make a decision about all these gardening books?” Liz hollered from the living room.
As Kasey tucked the skillet under one arm and headed that way, I went to my room. Both beds were still there, although the bureau was gone. My suitcase, which Liz had brought back from the Egg earlier, now sat on the end of the bed. No blue sticker, but I considered slapping one on anyway. I was, after all, staying.
A few hours later, the pace had noticeably slowed. All the big stuff—furniture, most of the boxed items, the appliances—had been loaded up and carted away. In the end, the truck did make it down the driveway, though not without incident: At one moment, it tilted so wildly after hitting a root that Kasey, who’d walked down to oversee things, swore it was going over.
By five, those of us who remained—me, Lana, Clark, Ben and Anne—were on the porch, surrounded by the items that had made the cut: dollhouse, the table and chairs where we sat, and photo albums.
“Good Lord,” Lana turned the one in her lap to show us a picture. “Look at Kasey.”
“Nice hair. I can top it, though.” Ben held up his own book. “Check out Clark in acid-washed jeans.”
“I was six,” Clark pointed out.
“Still wore them.” Lana pulled out her phone, snapping a picture of it. “And now it’s forever.”
I bent closer, taking in both the jeans and the woman standing beside him, who had long red hair and glasses. “That’s your mom?” I asked Clark.
“Yep,” he replied. “Also in acid wash, for what it’s worth.”
“Finley, is this your dad with Cat, rocking a mohawk?” Ben asked.
“What?”
He moved his chair closer so we were elbow to elbow, then pulled the album so it was between us. This made it a little hard to focus, honestly, even though the hair in the shot was impressive. Definitely not my dad. “Nope.”
