Retro Road Trip

by Caroline Kendall

  My door was open a few inches. The cat Paloma walked in and jumped up on the bed. I was still under the covers, and she came and sat by my shoulder, looking at me. I scratched her under the ears and she started purring, running her little motor. She leaned forward and turned her head so I could reach her other ear better.

  I heard a door slam and the cat jumped off the bed and ran out to the landing. I heard her tags jingling down the stairs. It sounded like my mom and Rosemary were back from looking at Rosemary’s friend’s antiques. I figured it was probably time to get up. I heard the stairs creaking. My mom came into the room.

  "Hey, honey, Rosemary's making us a nice breakfast. It will be ready in about a half hour."

  I yawned and nodded. "Okay, I'll be down. I guess I'll take a shower first."

  When we were eating breakfast, Rosemary and my mom started talking about which colleges are nearby. I hoped she wouldn't want to drag me to another campus tour while we're here.

  After breakfast I got my sketchbook and pencils and went outside. I stood on the porch and looked around to find a good spot to sit and draw. There was a little iron bench on the other side of the driveway. I walked down the front porch steps and headed to the bench. It was the kind with lots of curlicues. It was painted white but the paint was peeling, and some rust was showing underneath. Craquelure.

  The bench was already hot from the sun. I'd probably have the imprint of the curly leaf patterns embossed on my legs when I got up. I looked back at the house. An old bike leaned against the porch with some flowers growing through the spokes of the wheel, as if someone just left it there years ago and never came back for it. A lamppost had some purple irises growing at the base.

  Maybe there was something up in the attic that I could draw. I'm always looking for the perfect thing to draw but I never seem to find it. Or I start a drawing but never finish it.

  When I was in fifth grade, I started to do a painting of Grandy’s next-door neighbor Norma’s purple irises that bloomed in her garden. I didn’t finish it, and the next time I went there, I found out she had died. Now whenever I see irises blooming, I think about how I failed. I could have made her happy but I just blew it off. I still have the half-finished picture. I should pin it up on my bedroom wall as a reminder to finish what I start, especially if it would be meaningful to someone. Like getting a gift for Grandy. That quilt would have been good for him and I just forgot about it and spent my money on the art case. I’m so selfish sometimes.

  I squinted in the sunlight and looked toward the attic. Maybe I could find the last scavenger hunt thing here to text to Dylan and Amie.

  “Robin!” My mom called me from the porch. “We’re going up to the attic now. Come back inside, we need your help.”

  I got up and walked to back to the house, wondering how bad it was going to be.

  Rosemary picked up a couple of empty cardboard boxes. She led us up to the second floor and opened a door to the stairs that lead to the middle of the attic. My mom went in first and got to the top of the stairs and just stood there. Her jaw literally dropped in slow motion. She turned around in a complete circle and said, "Oh. Wow."

  The whole attic was filled with stacked boxes and piles of junk and old furniture. This was awful.

  "This is awesome," my mom said.

  Rosemary came up the steps behind us. "I know, I know, it's a mess and it's overwhelming. Believe me, we don't have to do it all, just whatever we can get through would be a huge help. Just help me decide what's valuable and what's not."

  “Oh, I’m sure there are a lot of treasures here,” my mom said.

  I took a deep breath and looked around. I've seen a lot of crap in one place before, but never like this.

  "I’m going to remodel this attic so I can rent it out as another guest room," Rosemary said. "That's why I want to get rid of most of the stuff up here, but you can have dibs on whatever you want to buy."

  Rosemary absentmindedly picked up a basket with fake flowers in it. She looked around for somewhere to put it, then just tossed it right back where it was before.

  "I'd like to have a yard sale, but I can't manage moving all of this myself and dealing with a sale on a weekend while I have B&B guests staying here at the same time," she said.

  "What if we helped you get ready for the yard sale?" my mom said.

  I didn't say anything. I've learned not to look too enthusiastic when she wants to volunteer me for work.

  "What if we stuck around for a few days and helped clean out and get the yard sale ready?" my mom said.

  "Are you serious?" said Rosemary.

  "It would be fun! I can help you figure out a fair price on anything I’m not interested in. Then Robin and I can help with sorting and carrying stuff down for the sale, right, Robin?" my mom said.

  Ugh. She didn’t even look at me to see me doing the half-smile thing, trying hard to not look too interested. No commitments.

  “Are you serious? That would be so helpful!” Rosemary said. “I’d like to start bringing down the big things that will sell at a yard sale. Then I’ll sort through the boxes and decide what to keep. But it will all have to be moved out.”

  So we started opening boxes and sorting things into piles. Empty picture frames. Ugly purses. A pair of crutches. Science books. A box of blank envelopes that have turned yellow. Bowling trophies.

  A packet of letters. Three jars of buttons. A white lace dress. Two plastic pumpkin buckets for Halloween. Badminton and tennis rackets.

  We tried to clear paths so there would be room to move the furniture to the stairway. I could picture this attic empty, and decorated as another bedroom. There were windows on three sides, and a nice view of trees and the house across the road.

  I stood there looking around. I could almost feel the weight of this stuff on my shoulders and a pressure in my chest. Maybe the dust was bothering me. It would be a public service to get this stuff sold or donated.

  We got to a big dresser with a mirror attached. I opened the drawers to see how much more junk we had to unload but they were all empty. One of the drawers had a blotch of spilled ink, but the wood had absorbed it a long time ago.

  "Okay, can we move this down to the back porch? Anything for the yard sale will go there for now," Rosemary said.

  We tipped the dresser on its side and my mom and I grabbed one end and Rosemary held the other.

  "One, two, three, lift!" Rosemary said.

  It was hard to keep a good grip on it. We started moving down the stairs, and my mom’s foot slipped. She skidded down a couple of steps and fell against the wall.

  "Oh, ouch!" she said. "My ankle!"

  "Oh, no! Are you okay?" Rosemary said.

  "I'm not sure," my mom said. “I twisted it.”

  She tried to stand on her foot. I was still holding the dresser up, trying to keep it steady by pressing it against the wall with my shoulder.

  "I can't put any weight on it," my mom said.

  "Robin, let's you and me put the dresser back against the wall over there," Rosemary said. "It can stay there for now. Then, Julia, I'll get you some ice."

  My mom nodded with her eyes squeezed shut. I wasn't sure if she was just feeling the pain or the disappointment of how a sprained ankle would ruin her week.

  Rosemary and I pulled the dresser back up a few steps and pushed it against the wall of the upper landing.

  My mom hopped downstairs on one foot, using the railing like a crutch. Rosemary helped her to a couch in the living room and put a pillow on the coffee table for my mom to put her foot on. She rushed to the kitchen to get some ice.

  "Well, this really stinks," my mom said.

  I said, "Yeah, well, maybe you'll feel a lot better by tomorrow."

  Rosemary came in with a big baggie of ice cubes. "Where does it hurt exactly?" she said.

  My mom pointed to a spot under her right ankle. "It's starting to swell," she said.

  "I saw some crutches in the attic if you need them," I said.


  "Lucky me," she said.

  I headed upstairs to get the crutches. As I climbed up to where we had put the dresser, I saw the sun shining in from the little window in the stairwell. Something was stuck in a gap in the back of the dresser. It looked like an envelope. I thought maybe it would have something exciting in it, like cash or a lottery ticket. I pulled it out slowly so I wouldn’t tear it.

  It was empty. I left it on top of the dresser and went up to get the crutches. When I got back downstairs I could hear my mom on the phone.

  “Oh my God, this is just what we don’t need right now,” she said.

  “Grandy?” I whispered.

  She nodded and held up a finger.

  “Okay, yeah, let me know,” she said.

  She hung up and let out a big sigh.

  “That was Aunt Linda. Grandy had a storm last night. I told him it was coming and to make sure he shut the windows because sometimes he forgets,” she said.

  “Anyway, what happened?” I said.

  “So anyway, it turned out to be a really big storm and a tree branch fell on his house and broke the window of the attic, so there was rain coming in. And Grandy didn’t realize there was any damage until this morning when he went outside and saw the tree,” she said. “So then instead of calling me or Aunt Linda about it, he went up to try to put plastic over the window and he slipped off his stepladder and guess what? He twisted his ankle.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. “Both of you hurt your ankles? Do weak ankles run in the family or something? Is that why I could never skate very well?”

  My mom shrugged. I flopped down into a chair across from her.

  “So now we have another attic that needs work,” she said. “Stuff is going to have to get cleared out near the broken window, so it can be repaired. And it needs to be soon so more rain doesn’t come in and do more damage. But since I can’t drive yet with this ankle, we’re stuck here even though he needs us there.”

  “I know. And I was already stuck with you anyway because of Lauren’s internship,” I said. “Wait. Are you talking about the tree branch that has the tire swing hanging from it?”

  She grimaced and nodded.

  Crap. That was the only branch strong enough to hold the swing that gives us enough room to not crash into the house when we’re swinging. Great. There goes my childhood, basically.

  Chapter 12

  I texted Savannah that the branch holding Grandy’s tire swing was broken. She loved spinning on that swing when she visited.

  She wrote back. “Aww, good memories. I almost threw up on that swing.”

  “I know! That was the best day,” I wrote. Sad face. Then I texted Lauren to see if Aunt Linda had already told her about the tree. No answer.

  My mom sat on the couch with her foot up. She didn’t want to go get it X-rayed yet. Rosemary asked me if I could help go through some more boxes in the attic. Trapped again.

  “I wish I could help you,” my mom said. “This is so aggravating.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” Rosemary said. “Some things get stronger where the broken part is patched. Like in Japan, they used to repair broken porcelain with melted gold, so the cracks made it more beautiful and more valuable. Or something like that. Maybe your foot’s not even broken. We’ll get you checked out. Anyway, I have a bunch of jigsaw puzzles on the bookshelf. Let me get you set up so you’ll have something to do while Robin and I are working in the attic. And Robin, if you can keep helping me, I’ll pay you. We still have a lot to do.”

  “Okay, sure,” I said.

  Why not, I was stuck here anyway, I thought. Rosemary brought my mom a stack of puzzles to pick from.

  “All right, why don’t we get back to it?” she said. She grabbed a roll of garbage bags and we started up the stairs again.

  We got to the attic and Rosemary stood there looking around with her hands on her hips.

  “What I’m hoping you can do for me is just sort through as much as you can. I know you can’t really assess the value but if something’s obviously garbage, put it in a garbage bag. If some things are possibly valuable, keep them in a pile and I’ll take a look. I want to at least get the furniture down for the yard sale but there are all these boxes blocking the way. Whatever you can do will be a help.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Maybe you can start in that corner and try to clear some space,” she said.

  She brushed some dust off of a rocking chair and sat down in it like she had all the time in the world.

  I opened up one box and picked up a pair of old sunglasses. They actually looked kind of cool. I looked around for a mirror, but I didn’t see one. I tried them on and looked at her.

  “Those look cute. You can have them if you want,” she said.

  “Are you sure? Thanks! It’s just what I need, I stepped on mine the other day,” I said.

  “Sometimes you find exactly what you need when you’re looking at antiques,” she said.

  “Yeah, but usually being around all the old stuff at antique fairs just makes me feel tired,” I said.

  “You could be feeling the energy of the people who used to own them,” Rosemary said. “I think the spirits of the people who have passed on linger all around us. There are a lot of people who just don't believe in anything they can't see. Since you can't really prove it, with actual evidence, they can't imagine that it's possible."

  She reached over and dragged a box of books between us.

  "My father told me once that he didn't believe in life after death, but he's the one I feel with me almost every day," she said.

  "What do you mean, you feel him? How?" I said.

  She looked in the box and pulled out a book with an angel painting on the cover.

  "Well, it's hard to explain,” she said. “I guess I notice little coincidences, and I take them as a sign. Last fall I was driving to a rummage sale in a little town that I had never been to before. I had just been reading about people who connect with spirit, and I thought to myself, I'm going to ask him for a sign."

  "So, I said out loud in the car, 'Dad, please give me a sign that you hear me.’ Then about ten seconds later, I'm at a stop sign by a church, and I turn my head and see the sign for St. Francis Church. My dad's name was Francis. He went by Frank," she said.

  I didn't want to insult her or anything.

  "Don’t you just kind of think, you know, maybe that was just a coincidence that they built that church there?" I said.

  Rosemary shrugged. "Well, maybe they didn't build that church because someday I'd be driving past it asking for a sign, but maybe I drove past it and looked up to see it just when I needed it," she said. "I believe spirits are fluttering around out there but they can't get their message through unless someone can receive it."

  "It's the same thing when you turn the dial on a car radio. You have to be tuned in to the right frequency in order to hear the music,” she said. “Or like stars in the sky. They’re there all day long. Remember the last solar eclipse? Stars are out in the middle of the day. You just can’t see them when the sun is shining. Same thing with people who have left us. They are always right there. You just can’t always tell until the time is right.”

  I shivered.

  “Do you have chills? That means the spirit is with you,” Rosemary said. “You might be tuned into the past whether you like it or not. When you hold something you can feel the energy of the person. That's not a bad thing to be sensitive like that. It’s a gift. If you pay attention, you can learn a lot from those feelings. You know there are brain cells in your stomach? That’s why they call them gut feelings.”

  I thought her story about getting a sign from her dad was kind of weak.

  She tilted her head at me. “I think you’re a sensitive soul. That’s my gut feeling.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  "Well, maybe that's enough spiritual stuff for now, you think?” she said. “For now, let’s try to deal with this section.” She waved her hand
s toward about half of the attic. I knew this was going to take forever.

  Rosemary looked out the window and saw a delivery truck drive up.

  “I’ll run down and answer the door so your mom doesn’t try to get up. I’ll see how she’s doing,” she said.

  I turned on some music on my phone and worked on separating the garbage from anything decent that might sell at the yard sale.

  I got to one box that looked like it was about to collapse. There was brown paper tape holding it together wasn’t sticking anymore. So there was nothing holding the box together but all the years that it had been in that position.

  I know this sounds completely psycho and I would not go around telling this to anyone. It's not like I felt psychic or anything like that, it was more of feeling, I don't know, like goosebumps but without the goosebumps. I know that makes no sense. And I don't know why, but I thought that something important would be inside this box. I guess it was another corazonada. I thought maybe Rosemary could be right about spirits hanging around us.

  "Beverly, please give me a sign," I whispered.

  Then I opened up the box. There was nothing in it but a bunch of yarn and an ugly embroidered “Home Sweet Home” sign. I’ve seen enough of those to last a lifetime.

  My mom texted asking me to come downstairs. When I got to the living room she was standing up with the crutches.

  “My ankle is swelling up a lot more and it really hurts,” she said. “Rosemary offered to drive me to get my ankle looked at. Do you want to come with us?”

  I just looked at her and waited for her to figure it out.

  “Do you mind if she stays here by herself?” she asked Rosemary.

  “No, that’s totally fine,” Rosemary said. “Don’t worry about answering the phone if it rings. They can leave a message.”

  As if I would answer their phone.

  My mom hobbled down the front porch steps and into Rosemary’s car. I put the crutches in the back seat for her. I watched as they pulled onto the road. I knew it would probably be a long time until they got back.

  I went back up to the attic and went through about ten more boxes. Then I decided to take a break. I went out on the front porch and got in the hammock. It rocked back and forth, and it felt like I was floating in Grandy’s boat on the lake. I wondered how Grandy was doing.