We Could Be Beautiful by Swan Huntley

Author:Swan Huntley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2016-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

19

We showed our IDs to the drowsy security guard and took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. Susan had worn jeans and a tactile vest for the occasion. I had worn $300 athletic pants.

As we made our way down the windowless hall, I said, “Caroline thinks Bob’s cheating on her.”

“Gross,” Susan said. “Does she know who it is?”

“No.”

“It’s probably one of his nurses.”

“What?”

“Or the secretary.”

“They’re called administrative assistants now. I told her not to say anything yet.”

“She should find someone for herself.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“Probably.”

We kept walking. “It’s spooky in here,” Susan said. “And it smells rank.”

“I think it’s this one.” I put the key in the lock. The door opened to a large, dark room. I flicked the light.

“Thank God it’s organized.”

It was very organized. The movers had done a good job. Caroline must have tipped them well. She had dealt with the move because I’d been too busy planning my future with Fernando.

“Wow, she got rid of a lot. Did she auction it? There’s barely anything here.”

“Yeah, and gave the proceeds to fucking charity.”

“Fucking charity,” Susan said, stepping past me into the room.

I didn’t recognize much because it was all wrapped in light-blue mover’s blankets, except for the baby grand piano—the shape of that made it obvious. Other than mummified furniture, there was mummified art: tableau after tableau, stacked vertically like records in a record store. In the back were a bunch of clear Rubbermaid bins stacked tall in two columns. Each was diligently labeled. “Elizabeth’s Bells”—that contained Mom’s eccentric aunt’s collection of, obviously, bells, all of which were wrapped in beige packing paper that made them look like just trash. “Elizabeth’s Flowers”—that box contained stacks of pictures Mom had taken of flowers. Someone had inserted wax paper between each one to keep them from sticking together.

“ ‘Bruce Legal’—that looks good,” Susan said. It was at the very bottom of the stack. “Let’s take everything into the hall.”

“Great idea.”

We stood there, hands on our hips, looking at the towers of boxes and not moving.

“Yeah,” Susan said, “you have to get the ones on top. You’re the tall one. God, it smells like a thrift store in here.”

We moved all the Rubbermaids into the hallway. It turned out there were more behind the ones we had initially seen. We moved those, too. We were sweaty by the end. Susan got us waters from the vending machine, and we started opening the boxes.

“Bruce Legal” contained nothing of interest. It was filled with old contracts from his job. “Someone should scan this stuff,” I said.

“If it’s worth scanning. Look at this.” She didn’t hold it up, and I was too far away to see it anyway. “It’s your birth certificate. You weighed nine pounds and two ounces.”

“Is Caroline’s there?”

“No.”

“She must have taken it.”

I moved on to one of the “Miscellaneous” boxes. Seven of the fifteen boxes were labeled “Miscellaneous.”

I found Caroline’s first tooth in a vial, old report cards, notes from Grandma Jane, tons of Christmas cards. At first I lingered.

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