Harsh words were spoken, words that escalated and sowed the seeds of acrimony. When Kathleen, unmarried, discovered that she was pregnant with Angie, the anger came to a boiling point. Kathleen and Gabriel decided to cut off all communication with her family and go at it on their own. At some point, Angie’s grandparents had died. She had never once met them.
The reception continued, the hours passing, brief conversations expressing the same sentiments. We’re so sorry for your loss. Such a tragedy. So young. Too soon. Your mother loved you very much. She was so proud of you.
Every one of them rang true to Angie, and the words of sympathy provided a degree of comfort. The hard part, she suspected, would come later, after everyone went home, after the sympathy cards and Facebook posts stopped coming, when she and her dad had quiet time to contemplate the enormity of their loss.
Madeline stayed to the end. Along with Louise and Walter, she helped with the cleanup. Angie checked in with her father. She didn’t like seeing him in this new way: frail, old, and sad. Her heart ached for him, for them both.
Tears came to her father’s eyes, but he managed a strained smile. “Well, that was hard.”
“We’ll get through this together, Dad.” Angie gave her father a big embrace.
Nearby, Louise and Walter joined the huddle for a group hug, with Walter calling the play.
“As long as we stick together, we’ll be all right. Anything you need, Angie, Gabe, anything at all, you don’t hesitate to ask.”
Walter and Louise lived down the street from the DeRoses. They had been in that house since Angie was a baby. She had fond memories of rolling down the hill in their front yard—Odette Hill, she called it—and exploring the variety of flowers that Louise grew in a small greenhouse out back. Walter was retired law enforcement and Louise was a homemaker who had raised two children, both of whom were off on their own.
Louise was a master cook as well as a gardener. “Angie, don’t worry about your dad. I’m going to make sure his fridge is fully stocked.”
But Angie did worry. She worried about him being alone and lonely. Kathleen was her father’s life. They had many friends, but most of those friends were tethered to Angie’s mom. Her dad had his work, his daughter, and his wife. Now it would be easier for him to devote even more time to crunching numbers. Perhaps Angie could get her father to try fly fishing, a hobby Walter enjoyed, or some other pursuit to keep him from vanishing into the protective shell of his work.
That would come later.
They needed to grieve and keep busy, so Angie helped with cleanup. She had washed all the extra tablecloths and put them back in the plastic bins where they were stored. She turned to her father, who was washing some platters. “Dad, I’ll take this up to the attic.”
“I’ll come with you.” Madeline had stayed longer than Walt and Louise and the catering staff. She followed Angie to the second floor, and then up the staircase in the master bedroom to the attic.
It was organized up there. Kathleen had been fastidious about boxes and labels and things of that nature. It was also easy to maneuver about. The walls were sloped, but the space was wide and the flooring completely hid the insulation. Angie’s father had talked about converting that attic into an office, but it would mean moving all the boxes of things Kathleen had accrued over the years.
Angie put the carton in its appropriate place while Madeline went exploring.
She opened a cardboard box labeled ANGIE ART and pulled out a headband adorned with beads and colored feathers. “Museum quality,” she said, holding up the object for Angie to see.
Angie returned a laugh. “Second grade, I think. Mrs. Ferguson. I remember I used to sit next to a kid who ate crayons.”
Madeline made a face. “Sounds like pica.”
“Whatever it was, he was a cute kid with a blue smile.”
Angie opened a nearby box and found a photo album she had not looked at in ages. There were pictures of family vacations, time spent at the lake house with Walter and Louise, other photos of other trips with friends who had kids Angie’s age. A pang hit her as she thought about how complete and happy her small family looked.
Angie and Madeline took their time rummaging through boxes, looking through clothes, books, crafts, letters, various bric-a-brac. Kathleen DeRose, fastidiously organized, did not easily part with anything so there was much to explore. One box held an odd assortment of old magazines, another a carousel filled with slides. Without a good light source, it was hard for Angie to see what was on those slides.
“Maybe there’s a projector in one of these,” Madeline said as she went looking.