It hurt. Being surrounded by these things. Memories came hard and fast as she glanced around at the recliner her dad had fallen asleep in so many nights, now covered in a sheet, to the box labeled Dishes that she knew contained the blue-and-white-flowered set her mother had picked out and she had eaten on all her childhood.
There were photos here, too, her parents’ wedding album, school pictures of her through the years. It was odd, because things didn’t hold people inside them, but in a way they also did, because Noelle didn’t think she’d have had a flash of her mother’s tender smile or the sleeveless yellow top she’d worn as she’d placed a bandage on her knee if she hadn’t glimpsed the old pink scooter her dad had kept in the garage even after Noelle was far too big for it. Objects conjured memories, and that was a gift, she supposed. But also sadness, not only because of the stirred emotion, but because she wondered how many items she’d tossed that carried the ability to evoke a memory that now she could never get back. Letting go was painful, deeply so.
How many times had Paula offered to clear this space out for her? To toss the contents, or donate it, or whatever Noelle wanted? But Noelle had consistently said no. It was in another state and inaccessible to her unless she boarded a plane to get to it, but still . . . she never could bring herself to imagine it . . . gone.
She suddenly understood why people were hoarders. Those who had lost so much already were scared to death of losing more. And so they held on, no matter the terrible clutter and filth it created.
But she wasn’t here to diagnose the reason for other people’s mental health disorders, and she needed to stop her mind from wandering so far and wide. She was on a mission.
Evan was crouched behind a pile of boxes, craning his neck as he looked for the place where she’d jotted a note about the contents with a Sharpie. “It looks like this is all kitchen stuff,” he said. “Even though the bed is over here.” He nodded to the wooden headboard leaning against the wall.
She looked at the boxes he was shifting around. The tape had peeled off the tops and was hanging loosely so that a few of them were gaping open. She frowned, glad they were kitchen items and not things that couldn’t be cleaned or that bugs or moisture might ruin.
Like journal paper.
She looked around, trying to remember unloading these items from Paula’s dad’s truck. She pressed her lips together, casting her mind back before walking to two boxes piled one on top of the other. She leaned around them. “Here,” she said, picking up the box on top and setting it on the floor and then leaning down and picking up the one beneath it. A cloud of dust wafted into the air, and she coughed as she averted her head.
She turned toward Evan, and he took it from her. It was heavy, and she knew that was because there were books inside. But his papers should be in there, too, including his collection of organizers. He’d kept them all, years’ worth.
“Check inside,” she said. “Make sure that’s the right one.”
Evan took his keys from his pocket, using one to slice down the middle of the tape, and then Noelle stepped forward, opening the flaps to peer inside. Yes. Just as she’d thought, there was his collection of organizers, her mother’s books piled just beneath them. “That’s it,” she breathed, and she could hear the emotion in her voice. She hadn’t tried to hide it.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Let’s get that back to the hotel, and we can go through it there.”
Evan hefted the box up and then gave her a tilt of his chin. “Let’s go.”
The hotel where she was staying in downtown Reno was just a few miles from where Evan lived in the Virginia Lake area. He’d offered to let her stay with him, but she didn’t think that was a great idea on several levels. Mostly, though, because she needed clarity of mind while she was traveling back in time to that last week before she’d been abducted and her father had died of a heart attack she’d always imagined had been brought on by the intense stress and heartache of finding out she was missing.
She couldn’t help feeling partially responsible, though rationally she knew that was untrue and unfair to herself.
She’d loved her father fully. She’d grieved him deeply. She missed him still.
He would have loved Callie with all his heart.
Evan set the box of items on the desk by the window as she came up beside him. “How about I pour us a drink while you start going through that? What would you like?” he asked, walking to the mini fridge in the open cabinet that housed the television as well.