Behind Closed Doors

Part Two

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Two hours later, I'm on my hands and knees digging through boxes, and, considering all the dirt and dust on me, I'm thankful I wore my old jeans and a dark T-shirt. Unfortunately, I've found nothing worth $700. Frustrated, I surmise that I'm in good garage sale territory only, and by good garage sale, I'm thinking $300. Frustrated, I stand up and brush dust off my jeans. This unit is only a few months old. I can't imagine the filth that would be built up in a unit that's years old.

"You have got to hear this," Ella says, walking into the unit and holding up a red leather book. "It's a journal. And let me tell you, what a journal it is!" She sits down on an ice chest.

"That's someone's private thoughts," I tell her.

She glances down at an open box. "And you have someone's underwear."

I sigh and claim a crate as my seat. "That's about all I have in this unit."

"You have tons of boxes you haven't opened," she says. "Once you get them to your house you'll feel better. I can help you tomorrow if you like."

This means renting a U-Haul I no longer have the money for. "Actually, thank you," I say, "but I did that one-dollar one-month rental deal, so I have time. I want to go through everything I can here."

"Are you sure?" she presses. "I mean, it's easier to sell from your place. You can list things on eBay and Craigslist, or even have a garage sale."

"I don't have a garage."

"Well, a front yard sale."

"I live in a town house and this is San Francisco. I have grass patches."

"No one here expects the word yard to mean grass. It's concrete. Good is enough." Her eyes twinkle and she holds up the leather-bound book again. "Back to the journal." She opens the book and starts to read:

"I will remember tonight forever. Only my hands were bound and I stood in the middle of the room. He was naked and commanding, and it was in those moments that I would have done anything to please that man."

"Stop! Stop reading. You can't read that. It's her private life."

"I can't help it. There's something about this woman. If I read a little more, you'll understand. She's a woman reaching for her dreams—"

"It sounded like sex," I say, but that part about "doing anything to please a man" hits a wound I don't want opened.

"It's more than sex," she argues. "It's her pushing her limits and being unafraid when she had been afraid, Skye."

Afraid. It's a word I've allowed myself to know far too intimately, and I wonder what makes Ella, who seems so lighthearted and fun, connect to that word. "I'll tell you more about it later." She glances at her cell phone. "It's late and I have a date tonight. I'd better go change. You leaving?"

I shake my head. "I'm staying."

"It's getting dark."

"It's a lighted indoor facility, and I'm sure it has cameras. I'm fine."

Her brows pucker. "I don't like leaving you."

"I'm fine. Go enjoy your date. I'm going to enjoy"—I smile and motion to the box beside her—"underwear."

She laughs. "I'm sure there's more than underwear in here to find. Don't forget to look inside all the books. You know people hide things in books." She holds up the journal. "That's how I found this little jewel."