My genie had already taken away the clothes. He’d anticipated my overnight reaction and neutralized the consequences.
I plopped down on the concrete steps and shuddered with relief.Thank you, Grant.
Status Report #2
Sunday’s Wish: Disposal of clothing
Dear Boss,
It is my hope that this day was the toughest of the assignment. I shall admit that the task was stressful, even for me. Death is a hard fact of human life to accept.
Sean’s clothes retained the scent of his soap as well as traces of his personality. I can only imagine how difficult it was for Sara. I am proud of her. She held up well, didn’t visibly weep, and stifled her inclination to save everything.
To preclude a change of heart or unexpected sightings around town, I relayed his clothing to a thrift store in a different county. I shall dispose of the other items in a more humanly possible way.
Sara has given me permission to read her mind. I shall use the offer judiciously. I don’t wish to listen to her thoughts on a regular basis; it can’t be healthy for either of us.
Regards,
Grant
Sunday, 21 June
Dear Camarin,
Although it might be more appropriate to raise this concern with my supervisor, I hope to engage you instead. Your previous association with Sara gives you insights that other Beings cannot claim.
I confess that her behavior puzzles me.
On the surface, Sara gives the appearance of normalcy, more so than expected given the trauma she has experienced this year. She follows her daily routine. She stayed alone over this weekend without complaint. She sometimes laughs.
Upon entering Sean’s bedroom, though, she is overcome by distress that borders on torment. I have begun to suspect an issue with his room. It isn’t where he died. Could it be that the space forces her to remember him in ways that are too painful to bear?
You were present when he slipped away. Had they argued?
I shall be most grateful for any ideas you can share.
Best,
Grant
7
Imperfectly Human
When Dad retired from his job in March, I’d expected him to luxuriate in the typical retiree time-sucks—golf, poker, and drinking too much. He’d done none of those things, instead throwing himself enthusiastically into Mom’s business.
His interest meant fewer hours for me, which affected me in a couple of unfortunate ways. First, I enjoyed working in the showroom. Highlighting talented new vendors. Finding that elusive-yet-perfect item that made a customer’s face light up with pleasure. Dad had taken over a lot of those responsibilities.
Secondly, I liked the paycheck. Not that I needed it. My allowance gave me plenty, and my parents would hand over more if I asked. But I preferred to earn my money.
Today, though, my father was running errands. I would have the showroom to myself.
Dad stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into his travel mug, when I came downstairs.
“Hi, Dad.” I reached for my own mug.
“Mornin’, princess.” He frowned. “Er, are you planning to go to the shop?”
