badge. It slid against my feet on my second day of work and slipped so easily into my pocket. The next day, he had a new one.
When I finally finish, there’s almost an entire box overflowing with treasures and junk. At the time, each object held a promise—something I liked about it and wanted to have for myself. The perfumes looked beautiful, delicate. Jane’s brooch seemed glamorous, and she looked so confident when she wore it.
Pierce’s flask was sturdy and secretive. Irv’s badge seemed beloved, just like him.
Every object had called to me, once. Now, trying to heft the box into Silas’s car, I wonder what I’d really heard.
“You’re doing the right thing, Erin.” Silas brushes off his hands on his pants and smiles. “Really. I’m proud of you. I don’t know that I’d have the guts to do this.”
“This isn’t guts,” I sigh. “I don’t have any other option. It’s too risky to keep this stuff.”
“Here,” he says, fishing the brooch and flask—the only two things I can safely return to their real owners—out of his pocket. “What’s your plan?”
I look at the brooch. Turn it in the sunlight, slowly.
“I’ll send these back to Jane and Pierce, tell them they left them at Mom’s house during a visit, or something.” I take a deep breath. “Or maybe I’ll tell them the truth. I don’t know yet.”
“And the box?”
“Goodwill, I guess.” Weakly, I laugh at the spatters of ink on his clothes. “Thanks for getting those security tags and boxes off.”
He brushes at the ink to no avail; it’s long dried. “All in a day’s work,” he says, laughing with me. “At least we managed to salvage a few of those things, so they're worth donating.” He gets serious again. “Really, though—you should feel happy about this, Erin. You can start to move on now. You don’t need this stuff.”
“I know.” I feel stupid, holding back tears. “I guess I’m just scared. And, to be honest, it’s really hard facing this head-on. It’s not something I like to think about.”
“You had your reasons,” he says softly. His shoes kick at loose rocks in the pavement. “You can’t undo it. All you can change is what’s ahead of you.”
What’s ahead of me. I face the sunset and sigh; Silas is trying his best, but it’s not enough to comfort me completely. His promises that everything will work itself out are sweet, but he can’t possibly know that. No one can. Least of all me.
And that, really, is what’s so scary. I have no idea what’s ahead of me now.
* * *
The next morning, I walk to the lobby with two small envelopes. In one, there’s Pierce’s flask and a simple note: “Pierce—found this in our kitchen before I sold the house, figured you left it there.” Then a simple heart, and my name.
Aunt Jane’s has her brooch, nestled in bubble wrap. “Aunt Jane,” my note to her reads, “I took this from you a few years ago. I’m really sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. There’s been some things I’ve had to work through lately, and I know there’s no excuse for what I did. But if it helps, I took good care of it. All my love, Erin.”
The packages hit the bottom of the outgoing mailbox with a resolute thunk, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding since the elevator.
“Erin St. James?”
I turn to see a courier in the front hall.
When I finally finish, there’s almost an entire box overflowing with treasures and junk. At the time, each object held a promise—something I liked about it and wanted to have for myself. The perfumes looked beautiful, delicate. Jane’s brooch seemed glamorous, and she looked so confident when she wore it.
Pierce’s flask was sturdy and secretive. Irv’s badge seemed beloved, just like him.
Every object had called to me, once. Now, trying to heft the box into Silas’s car, I wonder what I’d really heard.
“You’re doing the right thing, Erin.” Silas brushes off his hands on his pants and smiles. “Really. I’m proud of you. I don’t know that I’d have the guts to do this.”
“This isn’t guts,” I sigh. “I don’t have any other option. It’s too risky to keep this stuff.”
“Here,” he says, fishing the brooch and flask—the only two things I can safely return to their real owners—out of his pocket. “What’s your plan?”
I look at the brooch. Turn it in the sunlight, slowly.
“I’ll send these back to Jane and Pierce, tell them they left them at Mom’s house during a visit, or something.” I take a deep breath. “Or maybe I’ll tell them the truth. I don’t know yet.”
“And the box?”
“Goodwill, I guess.” Weakly, I laugh at the spatters of ink on his clothes. “Thanks for getting those security tags and boxes off.”
He brushes at the ink to no avail; it’s long dried. “All in a day’s work,” he says, laughing with me. “At least we managed to salvage a few of those things, so they're worth donating.” He gets serious again. “Really, though—you should feel happy about this, Erin. You can start to move on now. You don’t need this stuff.”
“I know.” I feel stupid, holding back tears. “I guess I’m just scared. And, to be honest, it’s really hard facing this head-on. It’s not something I like to think about.”
“You had your reasons,” he says softly. His shoes kick at loose rocks in the pavement. “You can’t undo it. All you can change is what’s ahead of you.”
What’s ahead of me. I face the sunset and sigh; Silas is trying his best, but it’s not enough to comfort me completely. His promises that everything will work itself out are sweet, but he can’t possibly know that. No one can. Least of all me.
And that, really, is what’s so scary. I have no idea what’s ahead of me now.
* * *
The next morning, I walk to the lobby with two small envelopes. In one, there’s Pierce’s flask and a simple note: “Pierce—found this in our kitchen before I sold the house, figured you left it there.” Then a simple heart, and my name.
Aunt Jane’s has her brooch, nestled in bubble wrap. “Aunt Jane,” my note to her reads, “I took this from you a few years ago. I’m really sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. There’s been some things I’ve had to work through lately, and I know there’s no excuse for what I did. But if it helps, I took good care of it. All my love, Erin.”
The packages hit the bottom of the outgoing mailbox with a resolute thunk, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding since the elevator.
“Erin St. James?”
I turn to see a courier in the front hall.
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