Flying Solo(7)

Matt nodded. “You are far from a grave robber. Remember, she had these things for as long as she needed them, and they probably brought her a lot of happiness. But they most likely won’t bring you any, so there’s not a lot to gain from your coming down hard on yourself because you want to let stuff go. Keep a few things you really like, things that remind you of her, and let me take care of the rest, okay? I’m here to make everything easier.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be great, actually.” Laurie was pretty convinced she only ever smiled awkwardly, but she tried to smile not-awkwardly in this case, because she really was grateful. It didn’t escape her that because someone had recommended this service to her parents, who were paying for it, she wasn’t going to have to carry out twenty garbage bags of souvenirs herself. She didn’t want to ask June to come over too often, so there was nothing to do but just get through it. Matt stood up with his iPad.

“I’m going to start in the bedroom if that’s okay. You guys stay out here, keep setting aside anything that you want, and I’ll have a list for you of the saleables in a little while.” Laurie directed him down the hall to where the big bedroom was. Just as he went in there, he said, “By the way, I don’t wear a jacket and I sew my pockets shut”—he tugged on the pockets of his jeans to demonstrate—“so people know I’m not giving myself any five-finger discounts.”

“That’s a good idea. But I trust you,” Laurie said as he set off down the hall.

When he was gone, June looked up from the boxes of books she’d just been stacking. “That’s the Grim Reaper?” she said quietly.

“I’ll admit I envisioned him with a sharper scythe.” Laurie leaned back against the couch. “Honestly, if he had one, I’d probably have let him in anyway, because all I want is to get this done. My back is going to hurt, because I’m going to be forty in a month, so I think tomorrow, I’m just going to head over to the library and see if I can grab a couple of fresh paperbacks that I can read on the couch when I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sounds divine. Just so you’re warned, you know Nick runs it now?”

“I do.”

“His parents retired.”

“I heard.”

“Also, he’s divorced. For a couple years.”

“Yes, I know. June, I promise, I really just want my books.”

June held up both hands. “Just wanted you to know. You still read cozy mysteries?”

“Right now, it’s anything with a person in a dark doorway casting a very long shadow and holding a knife. They’re called…I don’t know. Brutal Silences, Captive Secrets, How to Strangle Your Gardener, whatever keeps my mind occupied.”

June put her icy glass against her cheek. “You should ask out the Grim Reaper. Maybe he wants to talk about heirloom jewelry and what happens to old encyclopedias.”

“He seems nice,” Laurie said. “Do you think he seems nice?”

“I do think he seems nice. It’s not a joke. I am actually, unironically suggesting you should ask him out. Take a break from trying to figure out your future. Have some dinner, maybe have some very low-stakes sex—besides, you’ll be way ahead of the game with a guy who’s seen your great-aunt’s underwear drawer before you even spend time together socially.”

Laurie surveyed the room, the boxes and bins, the things she was setting aside, and the big trash bags they were filling. “I honestly thought returning a room full of wedding gifts would be the most overwhelming thing I would take on before my fortieth birthday.” It had been almost a year since she and Chris had called it off—well, since she did—and a little less since she finished sending back the presents. “Junie, I think I’m falling way behind you, friend-wise.”

June rolled her eyes and started ticking items off on her fingers: “Apartment hunting in Philadelphia when I was working at the bookstore, editing my college applications, going with me when they froze off my back mole, wearing an uncomfortable dress at my wedding. You are fine. And believe me, selfishly, I would rather be making good this way than by holding your hand through a divorce. Yikes.” She punctuated this last word with a shudder.

“I don’t know if I would have even gotten a divorce,” Laurie said. “I might have just stayed married to him, making soup and slowly turning into dust.”

June frowned. “Soup?”

“I started making a lot of soup in those last couple months. Soup when I was depressed, soup when I was trying to think, soup when he was around, soup when he was away. It was like I was planning for a post-apocalyptic future. The wedding was the apocalypse.”

“Maybe the breakup was the apocalypse.”

“I didn’t know that was coming, though.”

June raised one eyebrow, a talent Laurie had always envied. “Maybe you did.”

“Ah, you’re very clever.”

They kept putting books into boxes, just books and books and books, and Laurie kept filling a small shoebox with little mementos. She kept a refrigerator magnet that said KISS MY GRITS, and a set of coasters with art deco patterns on them, and a ceramic owl the size of her thumb that sat on the kitchen windowsill.

After a while, Matt emerged from the bedroom. “Okay. So, are we ready for a first pass on the valuables from the bedroom?” They all sat down together. He explained that while Dot didn’t have a big collection of expensive jewelry, her opal ring might sell, plus a watch with a couple of small diamonds on it. He also thought he could get some money for her quilt, which was of good quality and in good condition. But that was about it. He gave them a quote, and Laurie told him to put it all on consignment, hoping that in the end, the money she made might cover her plane ticket. Then she held up her great treasure. “Did you see my duck?” she asked.