He started to cough hard until liquid rattled in his throat. I poured water from a pink plastic pitcher, but he refused it.
“I have never been so sure of anything. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all these years.”
“Wait. You’re not even telling me what’s in the suitcase?”
“I’m not going to get into it here. This place could be bugged, for all I know.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll know when you see it.”
“Don’t you think Sissy would be a better fit? I’m just a farm stand worker.”
“Sissy’s the best. She’s been my family for fifteen years. I’ve willed her the whole estate. Shh. Don’t tell her. I don’t want her gushing all over me. But you’re the one for this job. You’ll do it right.”
I rolled the key between my fingers. “So, you want me to get an old suitcase from the shed behind your house and open it with this key?”
“Yes. It’s covered with Nova Scotia stickers. God only knows what the lizard was doing up in Nova Scotia, but yes.”
“And you want me to find a way to make up for your father’s bad deeds by doing something with the contents of the suitcase?”
“Yes. Do something noble.”
“That’s a lot of pressure, Mr. Upton.”
“No pressure, kid. Do what feels right, that’s all. You got this.”
“I’m going to need more direction here.”
Sissy came in, balancing two coffees and a carryout container.
Mr. Upton’s eyes got wide again. Don’t tell Sissy, he mouthed, before shooing me away. I squeezed Mr. Upton’s arm and took a few steps back.
“You’re going to want to rip Andy’s legs off!” he called out.
“What, Stewy?” Sissy glanced at me.
“I’m talking to Sadie. You need to rip off Andy’s legs. Don’t forget.”
“Wow. It looks like the medicine’s kicking in,” Sissy said.
“You probably need to rest, Mr. Upton. I’ll stop back in a couple days. How about I save you the best peaches from Tuesday’s harvest?”
He smiled. “That would be terrific.”
Sissy followed me out to the hallway. “What was that all about?”
I almost kept it from Sissy, but I went with my gut.
“He gave me a key to an old suitcase in his shed. He wants me to have it.”
“Lord, he’s giving everything away. I had a dozen Rotary Club men at the house last week, picking through Civil War memorabilia. He gave my son his tractor mower.” She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s part of dying, you know. Purging earthly possessions.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Go ahead and take it. You can go over whenever you like. The gate’s open.”
I left Sissy standing in the hospital hallway and walked out to the car thinking about the key and the suitcase and how sad it must be to spend a lifetime wanting to make up for a father’s evil deeds.
On the way home, I passed three carloads of white-clad people en route to Shawn Flynn’s.
Dad handed me a mini flag when I got back to our neighborhood, which was buzzing with families grilling and blasting music and setting up illegal fireworks.
“How was Stewy?” he said.
“Not good. He’s got heart failure.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I bet he really appreciated you visiting him. You’re a good kid.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Do you want to help me get the limbo going?” He hoisted the limbo stick over his shoulder.
Dad saw life as one big carnival. His favorite words of wisdom were “Yeah, sure, you might find some creeps at the carnival, and a couple broken rides, and a scam game or two, but for the most part life’s all sugar on a stick and music and good times.”
“I think I need to pass this year.” My mind was still spinning.
I sat on the porch with Grandma Sullivan, eating beans and hot peppers on rolls off paper plates. She told me she was proud of me. The rowdy patriotism and highballs must have gone to her head. Grandma Sullivan was not one for compliments.
Shay texted a picture of herself looking disheveled and tired as her tennis campers warmed up for their first tournament. I texted Shay a picture of Mr. Ng on the Slip ’N Slide. I went to my room to hide the suitcase key in my jewelry box and looked at myself in the mirror. My scar was there, pink and plump and ugly, like a monster’s tail.
For a quick second, I considered showering and throwing together a white outfit. But all I wanted to do was lie down. The street fireworks were just getting going when the text came from Alice, now saved in my phone as Pooch.
Esteemed honorees: Let’s meet tomorrow night at the duck pond at eight. I’m bored.
SIX
BETWEEN THE FIREWORKS sounds, the constant group texts documenting the most epic party Flynn has ever had, the enthusiastic responses to Alice’s text from the other luncheon honorees, and the burning curiosity to know what was inside that suitcase, I barely slept at all.
In the morning, as soon as I finished helping clean up from the block party, I tore through the East End streets toward the Stewy Upton estate.
I turned onto the gravel driveway that snaked upward through a grove of birch trees and led to Mr. Upton’s house, or, should I say, his manor. It wasn’t as obnoxious as Shawn’s, but it was grand, and old, and slightly run-down, just like Mr. Upton. I parked in front of a redbrick carriage cottage and quickly walked up a path toward the back of the house.
The view came out of nowhere, a vast and brilliant and unobstructed expanse of open sea. Wow, I thought. Just wow.
Someone had left the shed door slightly ajar. It took a while to wade through the clutter. I squeezed past rusted tools, rows of brightly painted ceramic vases, a giant toboggan standing on its hind legs, a horse’s head with dead black eyes that looked like it had been sawed off a carousel, a rusted dressmaker’s form.
It took a half hour in the antique land mine to finally reach the suitcase. It was more like a trunk, large and bulky and covered—as promised—with vintage NOVA SCOTIA stickers.
I pulled. I wiggled. I yanked. My spleen ached. I finally conceded that I didn’t have the strength to move that suitcase. I had to leave it until I could bring reinforcements.
That night I arrived early at the duck pond. Val was already there, sitting on a bench, writing in a notebook.
“Hi, Sadie. I’m so glad Alice summoned us.”
“Me too. What are you writing?”
She closed the notebook and turned toward me as I sat next to her.
“Oh, it’s inventory for the school-supply collection. I got a big pledge yesterday after the luncheon.”
“That’s awesome.”
She looked down at a text. “And… my boyfriend is pissed at me. Great.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to stay home and hang out with him and his friend. He’s kind of needy,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Because of the lupus or in general?”
“In general.”
“Was he sick when you started seeing him?”
“Yes. But we didn’t know it was lupus. He just had all these weird symptoms.”
“It must be hard.” I didn’t want to harass her with more questions, but I didn’t exactly know what the symptoms of lupus were.
“We’ve been together a long time. He has his fun moments.”
Alice texted, on way.