by Mere Joyce
Thomas pokes Hailey in the back, and she shudders. She calls to Star, and the collie obeys, her tail wagging as she comes to rest by her owner’s side.
“You’ve got your protection,” Forrester assures her. “You’ll be fine. If there is anything in there, Runner will chase it out.”
“That’s a great comfort,” Hailey mutters.
Forrester approaches the door and reaches up to grab the key from the inner lip of the overhanging roofline. Not the safest hiding place for the shed’s only key, but in one of the rare landscapes where people still leave their doors unlocked all summer, it seems more than adequate to place a padlock on the shed and hide the key out of sight.
Forrester twists the lock and pulls open one half of the shed’s double doors. Runner bolts into the dark, and even Forrester disappears into the shadows for a moment before a shot of light from a lantern hung just inside the doorway brightens the shed’s front end.
Star whines by Hailey’s side, and with a resigned sigh Hailey gives her a pat on the head.
“Go on,” she says.
The collie bounds into the shed to join Runner’s explorations.
“Let’s get started,” Forrester suggests.
He waves us all inside. Allison follows first, while Eli remains seated on the ground until a few others have passed, forcing a distance between him and his sister.
I wonder what their fight was about. Obviously, the anger exchanged between them results from a matter of the heart, something deeper than Eli’s annoyance of Allison’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. Their harsh words did not spark the first tense moment since our arrival here, either. Something major is simmering, and I wish I were a little bolder so I could barge into their personal space and demand to know what it is.
Of course, I’m not the kind of person who could help them, anyway. I’m okay at observation, but problem solving is not a skill set I possess.
I wait until Eli’s in the shed before I step in myself, Nolan trailing behind me. Inside is dark and dank, the air full of the musk of damp earth and the moist collection of old dust.
“Isn’t there a window in here somewhere?” Hailey asks.
The flicker of a smile crosses Forrester’s face as he walks past the light of the hanging lantern. The clattering roll of a shade being pulled up further disturbs the stale air, and soon streams of dusty light filter in across the middle of the large shed’s interior.
“Better?” Forrester asks.
Hailey nods, casting a disgruntled look about her and making no effort to move from her spot near the doorway.
“Yeah, but let’s get this over with quickly, okay?” she says.
“You don’t have to join us,” Nolan says with a sympathetic glance. “You can wait inside and do some more cleaning. I’m sure someone would go with you if you wanted. We don’t all need to be in here.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun,” Allison says, walking into the shed until she reaches a plastic bin with a warped cover. “This is where the good toys were always kept.”
“True,” Thomas says, approaching the tarp-covered canoe held off the ground by a couple of wooden sawhorses. He looks over his shoulder at Forrester. “Please tell me we can take this out tomorrow morning. A sunrise trip? That would be awesome.”
“Sure,” Forrester agrees. He lifts the tarp back, running his hand over part of the canoe’s side. “I’ve got to take it out and strap it to the car, anyway. I’m bringing it with me. We only got it last year. ?Dad always wanted a proper cedar canoe, and we finally splurged on one.”
Forrester doesn’t sound sad when he says this, and his eyes gleam with fondness as he stares at the canoe. At least, even with the cottage sold, he’ll be able to take some piece of this place with him. He could even drive up here, canoe the bay, paddle right past the docks and see the cottage again if he ever wanted to.
Okay, so maybe coming back here would be the worst thing he could do. But Ontario is home to many lakes and rivers begging to be explored in a crafted vessel like the one in this shed.
Thomas studies the canoe with as much awe as Forrester.
“Now this would be a great way to see the country,” he says after a pause, his voice full of consideration. “Strap this onto the car and use it whenever possible.”
“That would be perfect.” Forrester nods.
He looks at Thomas, and the two share a glance that holds a meaning I do not understand. As far as outward appearances go, these two share little in common aside from their related facial features. Forrester is more athletic, raised lakeside in the summer and snowy hillside in the winter. I don’t know how much time Thomas spends outdoors, but his personality is from the city, with his edgy attire, his loud attitude, his ability to jump into any situation whether he’s invited or not.
But they’re sharing something here. I glance over at Nolan, who’s looking around the shed, unbothered by his brother’s comments and unaffected by the conversation at hand. He doesn’t possess the same spark of yearning as the other two. I turn my gaze to Allison, who’s moved on to her own study of the shed. Thomas and Forrester’s shared desire has nothing to do with a love of travel, either — it’s something deeper, more fragile — and perhaps more painful, too.
“Hey, Kayla, remember this?”
I follow the sound of Eli’s voice, breaking from my thoughts and making my way over to where he squats wiping grime off an old pile of wood lengths. It looks like nothing but trash, pieces well rotted and unfit even for burning. But the sight of them brings me right back to the day they were stored in the shed, tucked into a corner and covered with a promise of future uses to come.
They were put here the last time I visited this place.
“Our fort.” I smile.
I remember the week when my dad and Uncle Joey occupied this place alone, while Forrester’s family was on a vacation extending further than the cottage. A neighbor had been demolishing part of their own property, preparing to add an additional room. Our dads helped clear away the junk, and they rescued a few bits of wood for us to play with.
“That was the worst fort ever,” Eli says with a rare grin. “But it was the best.”
Eli designed the fort, and together with our dads and my brother we both helped to build it. Allison had been intrigued in the beginning, but soon her attention was drawn away by the chance to chase rabbits through the woods and go fishing with her mom. The construction of our fort was crude at best, nails hammered into wood and shaped into a simple box structure leaning against the base of a tree not far from the cottage’s front door. But we loved it, and once it was complete, we played in it non-stop until the week ended, the fort was dismantled, and our fathers assured us of a future rebuild.
I wish we could rebuild it now. If we had fresh materials and some extra time, I’m certain this is one activity Eli would have no qualms about participating in. But we have neither of those things, so all we can do now is clear the wood out of the shed to make the space more presentable for sale.
The first storage bin Allison spotted has goggles, snorkeling gear, old foam pool noodles, and a variety of plastic balls used for throwing around in the bay. After we get the woodpile out, Thomas and Nolan pull out a second bin of swimming accessories, and Hailey takes great delight in staying out in the sun to sort both bins’ contents into what can be kept and what unquestionably has to be tossed away.
We leave the life jackets strung up from the shed’s rafters, and for the moment we leave the canoe on its base as well. A couple of ladders, old paint cans, and some tools line the back shelf, along with bundled camping gear, a rusted old patio set, and a few boxes of random household items stored away and forgotten over time.
We sort the remaining items, clearing out the garbage and leaving the tools likely to be useful to anyone purchasing the cottage. A small trailer is stored around the shed’s side, and Thomas and F
orrester attach it to the back of the old Jeep so we can load the junk up, ready to be hauled off to the dump.
When we’re finished clearing the big items, we stand near the back of the shed, organizing the rear shelf and surveying the rest of the shady space.
“I think that’s it,” Thomas says at last.
I nod, glancing at Forrester for approval to move on. He nods as well, but then something catches his eye, and he grabs at a sign hanging on a nail in the back corner next to the ladders.
He brings it over, and in the light of the window we see it’s a piece of wood with words painted in all capital letters.
SKIS IN ATTIC.
“I suppose we have our next task,” Nolan says through a tired breath.
The sun is still shining, but it’s almost five now, and the day’s work has been more than enough for all of us.
“Let’s get it done while there’s still light,” Allison says, sounding decisive. “Then we’ll have dinner.”
“Speaking of which,” Hailey yells from outside, “Thomas still needs to bake us a pie!”
Nolan laughs — full-out laughs — his expression gorgeously bright with amusement.
“Thomas is going to bake?” he asks, turning to his brother. “You have to promise I can film the entire thing.”
Thomas gives him a shove. “So you can capture my debut as a world-famous pie maker?”
“Something like that.” Nolan smirks.
“Okay, well, let’s do the attic quick, and then Thomas can delight us all in the kitchen,” Allison repeats.
“We can do the basement tomorrow,” Forrester agrees, looking at us with a sorry — but grateful — expression. “We can spend the rest of tonight relaxing.”
“Sounds perfect,” Hailey says from her post in the doorway.
Star and Runner sit on either side of her, their fur covered in dirt, their eyes shining with joy.
Hailey
FIRST THE SHED, NOW the attic. Fuck. We can’t even bring the dogs with us this time, so if a bat starts swooping around hell-bent on giving us rabies, we’re screwed. No one else seems to care about our well-being, and I’ve already acted enough like a chicken. I won’t complain again. But I’m not happy with the arrangement. Blood, guts, and all kinds of sick I can handle. Critters, on the other hand, need to stay well out of my way.
I’ve never been into the attic at the cottage. I didn’t even realize there was an attic to enter. I guess if I had ever stopped to think about it, the existence of an attic would seem plausible. But until today, it never occurred to me a ladder was folded up atop a hatch in one of the spare bedroom’s closets.
Stepping up the ladder rungs is a careful process, the wood rough and weak beneath my touch. Forrester, Thomas, and Eli have already gone up, each of us ascending one at a time in case the thin ladder can’t hold the weight of two bodies. As my sights pull away from the bedroom and move up into the attic, I expect darkness. Instead, I’m relieved to find a bright, open room.
The attic covers only half the width of the entire cottage, and there are large windows on either side of the slanted ceiling to let in the full strength of the remaining daylight. While the space is not massive, it is cleaner than I imagined. The windows are nice, too. They make me think of the telescope my mother has in the study at home. I’m surprised she never brought the instrument here. We’ve spent many nights watching the stars together — one of the very few interests we share — and this would have been an excellent place for gazing.
“Why do you have skis up here, anyway?” Thomas is asking when I climb up onto the attic floor. “Wouldn’t you keep those in town with you?”
“These ones are for cross-country skiing,” Forrester says. “We didn’t go all that often, but sometimes we’d spend an afternoon in the woods. Dad kept all the winter stuff up here.”
The skis rest against the back wall, along with pairs of snowshoes and several winter jackets hung up on hooks. I spot fishing gear, too, and one of those classic wooden sleds for tobogganing.
“Did you come up here in the winter often?” Kayla asks, crawling up behind me. “I don’t remember many winter visits.”
“Sometimes. Depended on the year, on what conditions were like. Last winter we didn’t come up here at all. Dad wasn’t too well. My mom … she liked this place in winter, actually. She thought it was romantic. After she left, we didn’t come up as much.”
“Have you talked to her in the last week?” I ask, my words measured. “Does she know what’s been happening?”
“We talked a couple of nights ago.” Forrester shrugs, turning away from us and heading over to the sporting equipment. “She offered for me to come down to Colorado, but I don’t think she really meant it. Kept stressing how crowded the house would be.”
“Have you even met the new guy? Your, well, I guess your stepdad? And you said he had kids, right?”
I’m too curious not to press. I want to know what’s become so damn important in Shirley’s life she can’t even be here for her only child. Only biological child, at least.
Forrester takes down the winter coats, throwing them toward the ladder just as Allison ascends.
“I met him, once,” he says while Allison ducks out of the way. “Three or four months after she moved out. She wanted me to drop off a few of her things. She was staying at his apartment, and when I got there, he was leaving for work. It was … awkward. He seemed about as interested in me as I was in him. I’ve never met the kids, though.”
“I still can’t believe it,” I snarl. Everyone’s up in the attic now, and the others all stare at Forrester’s back, unsure how to react to his story. I seem to be the only one capable of making any comment. “I don’t understand how she can be so horrible.”
“It’s not her fault,” Forrester says, picking up the sled. “We were never close. Even as a kid, I always spent more time with my dad. When I got to be a bit older, I realized I didn’t even like her much. She was so … fake. All she ever wanted was to look nice, to have nice things — to be important. She was the type of woman who woke up before my dad every morning just to do her hair and put on some makeup so he wouldn’t see how she really looked. Dad never even noticed. I doubt he would have cared one way or the other.”
I glance at Kayla. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it. She loved Aunt Shirley when we were kids. Me, Kayla, Allison, and Shirley would play dress-up together, and our aunt would let us wear real makeup when the other mothers weren’t around. Kayla looks stricken by what Forrester’s said, and I’m curious if any boyfriends of hers have ever seen her without a perfect face and clean, sleek hair.
“Still,” I say, forcing my eyes back to Forrester.
He glances over his shoulder, cutting me off with a fierce look.
“No, it’s not her fault,” he says again. His already dark eyes are further shadowed in the recesses of the attic. “She is who she is, and I can’t blame her for that. It’s not always like it’s supposed to be. Happy family and all. We were used to each other, and I did believe we’d always be together — but that didn’t mean we worked. Her leaving made sense. It was a shock, but even when it first happened, I knew it made sense.”
“So, you won’t go and stay with her,” Kayla says, her voice heavy with emotion.
Forrester may have been unaffected by the life he experienced with his mother, but that doesn’t mean we have to be. I can’t stand my mother most of the time, but it’d be awful to live so far away from her, a country apart and totally detached. Of course, my mother did leave her home, so maybe she’d understand how Forrester feels. As far as I know, she’s never spoken to anyone from her reservation since the day she fled. I wonder if she ever misses it, or if she’s cold to the idea of sentimental feelings left over from a life abandoned.
“I won’t,” Forrester agrees.
The others have nothing else
to say. I could still pick out a few unpleasant utterances, but I’ve annoyed him enough already, so I let the attic sink into silence. For a moment, I close my eyes against the sight of my cousins. When I open them again, it’s to see Thomas crossing in front of me, heading over to help Forrester with his work.
“Doesn’t look too bad in here!” He smiles, pretending the story hasn’t been told, the sad facts not revealed. “Shouldn’t take us long at all. Which is good. I’m getting hungry.”
“Let’s get to it, then,” Eli says.
Soon, we’re all moving again, the sounds of shuffling feet and shuffling objects bringing the attic to life.
The shed was far more crowded than the attic is, making this final task for tonight blissful in comparison. I’m hot and tired of cleaning. I know there’s still more to be done, but we’ve been at it all fucking day, and I’m ready to mash potatoes in the kitchen.
We start with the equipment hung up against the wall.
“No need to keep this stuff here,” Forrester says, looking more tired than the rest of us. “I’ll pack it up and bring it home. I can figure out what to do with it all later.”
Thomas descends to the cottage’s second storey, and we lower the fishing poles, skis, and sled down through the attic floor. Once they’ve been taken care of, he comes back up so we can chuck everything else through the opening.
“We’ll sort it after,” Forrester says, and without hesitation we all agree.
A few minutes of active work and the attic’s clear except for three boxes tucked into the far back corner that we almost miss. Nolan’s the one to see them, catching the half-hidden containers on a final walkabout.
“There are some boxes here,” he says, grabbing hold of a standard-variety brown cardboard box and dragging it out into the middle of the room. “They’re not heavy,” he adds, glancing back at us before fetching the next one.
“Must be some old clothes or something,” Forrester says, his voice revealing a note of confusion.
