“Quit your whining and do as I say.”
I was adding to my catalog of things NOT to say to my little ones. That one moved to the top of the list. The sad part was I knew at some point I would get frustrated and say those very words. I gave her a smile and saluted.
“Don’t start with me,” Mom warned.
“We should make Phil come help,” I suggested.
“Not happening. He would break something,” Mom said and left me with Duke.
He probably would.
“Come on, Buddy. We get to go help Dad in the basement.”
Duke was clueless. He wagged his tail like I’d told him he had to find the kitty.
◊◊◊
I was busy assembling boxes as my dad stood in the middle of the basement, looking stunned.
“Tell me again why I agreed to move,” he said.
“It had something to do with winters,” I reminded him.
“I think some of this stuff is from when we moved in. We didn’t know what to do with it then.”
“You do know that Habitat will come to haul it all away so they can sell it in their thrift store,” I proposed as an alternative to my ‘movers’ suggestion.
“I’m making a new rule. If we don’t use something for two years, it has to go.”
“Want me to call them?” I asked as I saw a glimmer of hope.
“Yeah. We can sort through this and figure out what goes with us. Your mom would kill me if I just donated everything,” Dad reasoned.
It was good that we did. Dad found some treasures from his childhood. He used to collect coins in those books where you put in one for each year. He had stacks of them. We also uncovered old vinyl records, photo albums, and a quilt his great-grandmother had made for him.
“Look what I found!” I announced excitedly.
I held up a Jart, a game Greg and I had found years ago in some corner of the basement. It may have been left behind by the previous owners. Our dad had finally banned us from playing with them.
Jarts were lawn darts with big metal pointy tips that you tried to throw into a circle on the grass in the backyard. We’d been caught playing chicken with them. It did get your blood pumping when your brother threw one of the Jarts straight up, and you had to stand still as it came crashing back to earth.
Dad had probably been right because it would have been only a matter of time before one of them got buried in the top of one of our heads.
“I thought I put those in the trash,” Dad said.
“I remember they were a lot of fun.”
“Do you trust Coby with them?” Dad asked.
He really was a fun-sucker. I put them in the trash.
◊◊◊
About two hours later, Mom found us relaxing while we drank iced tea in lawn chairs out back.
“You can’t seriously be done with the basement.”
“Dad instituted the two-year rule,” I offered.
Dad looked like he was about to have one of his headaches by the way he rubbed his forehead.
“Since he’s not talking,” Mom said, referring to my dad, “you tell me what the two-year rule is.”
“If you don’t use something for two years, you donate it. Habitat is on their way to clean out the basement.”
Mom mumbled that Dad had something that might not get used for the next two years and left us.
“That went well,” I said brightly.
Dad got up and trudged into the house. From the volume of conversation, he should have stayed outside with me. When Habitat arrived, I took the guys to the basement and showed them what was fair game.
One of them whined about not wanting to take it all. I told them that if they didn’t, they didn’t get any of it. There had to be other charity thrift stores that would pick up. He finally relented.
Mom got over her snit and let Habitat take all the other stuff we’d planned to give to charity. I’ll admit to being in shock when they had to get another truck. Like I said, we’d collected a lot of stuff over the years.
◊◊◊
I was able to slip the leash of my security because no one had told Manaia what Cassidy was up to on the weekends. Since Cassidy had volunteered at the large animal clinic, I called Pam to see if she wanted to go out tonight. She said that she and Tracy had already made plans to meet up. I told her to invite Tracy to come along.
After I picked up Pam, we drove to State to get Tracy at her dorm.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” I asked them once Tracy was in the car.
“Cassidy said she liked the Green Door Bistro,” Pam suggested.
“Where’s that?” Tracy asked.
“It’s a new place that just opened. It’s a mix of fancy with down-home,” Pam said.
I kept my comments to myself about how she’d answered Tracy’s question about ‘where’ the restaurant was located. It was such a girl answer, totally confusing to guys.
“Did you like it?” Tracy asked.
“I had a rib eye that was better than anything I’ve ever gotten around here. I wouldn’t mind going back,” I said.
“It’s settled, then,” Pam said.
“How was Prom?” Tracy asked.
“Pam and I were Queen and King,” I shared.
“As if that were ever in doubt,” Tracy said, dismissing me, and then asked Pam, “How was your date?”
“Honestly?” Pam asked as she glanced over at me.
“Don’t look at me,” I said.
“Don was sort of boring. His sister got out of hand, and he had to take her home, so he missed about half of the dance. When he got back, all he wanted to do was talk to his friends,” Pam said.
“So, a complete waste?” Tracy asked.
“Pretty much. Cassidy can have him back. I think I’m still within the thirty-day return window,” Pam shared.
“I thought he dumped her. Why would she want him back?” Tracy asked.
None of us had an answer to that.
◊◊◊
After we ordered and got our drinks, Tracy pulled a wrapped package out of her enormous purse and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Just open it,” Tracy said.
Tracy had to have had it wrapped at the store because it was done so nicely. I took my time to undo the tape so as not to damage the gold paper. I opened the package, saw what was inside, and smiled.
“She got it published,” I announced.
Jocelyn, Tracy’s roommate and Destiny’s cousin, had exhibited her photographs at an art show at the Krannert Art Museum. She’d showcased a technique called ‘mirrored images.’ She’d explained that the pictures represented the duality of life and showed that there were always two sides to every story. Well, that was the public story. In private, she admitted that she just liked the way they looked.
I’d encouraged her to make them into a coffee-table book, and her professor, Dr. Garrison, agreed. I’d sent her to Mr. Hill, for whom I’d done a lot of modeling work, because he owned his own advertising company. He was someone I figured would know how she should go about getting her book published.
“She wrote something inside the cover for you,” Tracy said.
I opened it and read her note.
David,
This is a proof copy of my book. Mr. Hill had them printed so we could show them to different publishers. I just got word that one of them wants to distribute it nationwide.
Thank you for seeing what I had and its potential.
Jocelyn
P.S. I’m still interested in the mystery of big hands.
“She said you should swing by,” Tracy said.
“Probably not. My dad got on me pretty good about stuff like that. Tell her thanks, but I’m trying to be a better man.”
Clearly, neither girl bought that one.
“Be sure to thank her for the book. I hope it sells well,” I added.
“I’ll tell her,” Tracy assured me.
“Come to think of it, give me her number, and I’ll thank her personally,” I decided.
“There’s my favorite slut,” Tracy said.
“Bite me, Princess. It would mean more if I did it personally.”