Between Octobers

October 6th

October 6th

It was well past nine when I woke. I’d slept in—four hours. Oddly, I felt okay despite the fact that it was a day closer to the one-year mark.

Noah, the too cool teen, was in the kitchen making his famous waffles. While he was busy, I pulled out the jars of vitamins crammed near the rows of glassware in the kitchen cabinet and started sorting. One of each type into three different piles. That was routine, though I usually had them out before the boys got out of bed.

The morning conversation was easy. Noah wanted to hang out and maybe catch a matinee with some of his friends. Caleb wanted to go with him, but changed his mind once he realized he’d have to sit in the dark for two hours. Instead, he asked to go to his friend Nathan’s house, next door, for a play date.

While we were gathered around the table, I made my move. “I’m putting Dad’s things away today.”

After my last failed attempts, making the announcement was sort of an insurance policy. If I told them I was doing it, I’d stick to it. No more pivoting—from that day, I’d be ambulatory. Since making the decision last night, I felt lighter, more like me—the me I used to be. I wondered what the Good Doctor would have to say about that.

I took my morning run on the treadmill, setting the machine at the steepest incline, and ran until my legs went numb. When I walked into my giant closet after a shower, Sol’s clothes glared at me from under a thin coating of dust.

New leaf, I reminded myself, and pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind. It was easier to dwell with a shovel. If my shoulders weren’t so sore, I would’ve been outside working on the hole for the pool. The area was originally chosen for a gazebo, but leveling the ground was more difficult than I thought. By the time I stepped back to survey the damage, I was a solid three feet into the dirt. So, I kept going. The boys liked the idea of a pool.

Stretching the slump from my spine, I continued towards the kitchen for coffee. More liquid motivation.

My sister-in-law and best friend, Lily, arrived and entered without knocking. I made a call for reinforcements the night before—technically, it was a text message—and a solid back-up plan. 

“Grace! Help!” She squealed, as the unbalanced stack of boxes flew to the floor.

Surprisingly, I almost giggled. “Are you sure you got enough?” I teased, stooping into the formal living room to help her restack. There must have been a dozen.

“I’m going to keep everything you don’t want.” Her shining brown eyes matched her older brothers exactly.

Lily was my closest—more accurate, only—friend. Best friend since the day we met. First day of eighth grade, fourth period Home Economics. She wanted to be my kitchen partner because she overheard me telling the teacher I already had a year of Home Ec at my old middle school in Bothell, a rinky-dink town outside Seattle where I grew up. I knew how to cook; all two of the women in my family did. Mom started teaching me as soon as I was old enough to reach the stove, and Aunt Rose picked up where she left off. I was trying to get out of the class and Lily wanted an easy A. After class, she ate lunch with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I wouldn’t have gotten through that first day of school, let alone the past year, without her.

Getting started is the hardest part, I told myself, tugging at several shirt sleeves before mustering the strength to remove one. It reminded me too much of my parents. The way I had to take down and fold their clothes. So neatly and carefully. My big brother, Ronnie, was with me that day; Aunt Rose, too. Now, Sol’s sister was helping. With Lily there, it was easier to remember the moments triggered by his belongings. Memorabilia.