Read Online Third Time's a Charm by Virginia Smith - Free Book Online

garments in the Donations box and folded the flaps to seal it. She slid it toward the opening in the floor, then stuck her head down and shouted, “Eric, here’s another one.” Then she sat back and looked around the attic. The few pieces of furniture stored up here—a lopsided floor lamp, a single bed frame, a couple of mismatched end tables—had already been hauled downstairs by Eric and Ken and loaded into the back of Eric’s pickup to be taken to the Salvation Army. Their old toy box was in the truck too and would be taken back to Allie’s house along with an old trunk of Gram’s, filled with sewing supplies and fabric scraps. All that was left were a half-dozen boxes, filled mostly with clothes and a few odds and ends. Hopefully Mom and Gram were making similar progress with the stuff stored in the basement.
    “Here’s a whole box of blankets and stuff.” Joan shoved a box out from beneath the slanted rafters toward the center of the open space. “I think they might have been from before the divorce.”
    Tori pulled it into the ring of light from the naked bulb that swung above their heads. “Ug. That’s pretty heavy. There’s something other than blankets in here.” She folded back the top flaps and pulled out a fuzzy blue blanket, and beneath that, a thick comforter. The musty smell grew stronger. She looked inside. “Well, that explains the weight. There are a bunch of books in here.”
    She lifted out a thick hard-back tome and squinted at the cover. “It’s a textbook. General and Social Psychology .” She extended the book toward Allie. “Is this yours?”
    Allie shook her head. “My old college textbooks are in my garage.”
    Joan crawled over and pulled out another one. “Look, here’s Psychology: The Key Concepts .” She fanned the pages. “I wonder if these are Mom’s.”
    Tori rose up on her knees and dug through a layer of books. Beneath them lay a couple of file folders with what looked like old tax forms inside, and then—“What’s this?” She pulled out a shoebox, its sides creased and the top crushed.
    Allie gasped. Her eyes had gone round. “I know what that is.”
    Tori lifted the lid and looked inside. “It’s full of pictures.” She pulled one out and flipped it over. Her heart gave a lurch. Staring back at her was a face she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. The familiar smile, aimed straight at the camera—straight at her—made her breath whoosh out of her lungs.
    “It’s Daddy,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the snapshot. He wore cutoffs and a pair of flip-flops, his bare chest tanned and gleaming in the sunlight. He held a big sponge in one hand, a garden hose in the other, and soapsuds covered the hood of a red car behind him.
    Joan reached into the box and pulled out a stack of photos. She flipped through them one at a time. “They’re all of Daddy.”
    Allie nodded. “I’ll bet Mom forgot this box was up here.”
    Tori looked up at her. “What do you mean?”
    “She put it here shortly after their divorce.” Allie waved at the textbooks. “Packed up all his stuff and shoved it up here. All the stuff he left behind, that is. He took most of it with him when he split.”
    Tori picked up another snapshot. “Hey, I remember this. It was taken at the fair. Look, Joan. There’s you and Daddy on the Ferris wheel.” Excitement gleamed in young Joan’s eyes as she snuggled beneath the arm of her father in the metal seat.
    Joan took the picture from her fingers and looked at it a long time. Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I look around twelve there. That couldn’t have been too long before he took off.”
    Allie flipped through a stack of photos. “Just a few months. Don’t you remember? Mom and Daddy were separated, and Daddy picked us up and took us to the county fair. Tori cried because she wanted Mom to come too.”
    Yes, Tori remembered. Mom stood on the front stoop and waved goodbye as they backed out of the driveway.