JUST BEFORE NOON the next morning, Jerry pulled up in front of his Great Aunt Mavis’ home in King City, north of Toronto. Seeing the driveway occupied by a minivan with the engine running, he parked his Jeep Grand Cherokee next to the curb. The day was blanketed in a soft grey cloud cover but there wasn’t the amount of snow they had in St. Marys, two hours west. The air had a little less bite, but Jerry still grabbed the duct-tape-patched blue down-filled coat from the back seat.
He transferred his wallet, keys, and iPhone over to the coat’s zippered pocket then walked over and knocked on the window of the van, startling the driver out of a daze or a reverie. Knowing his slightly older cousin, Geoff, it was probably a daze. Geoff jumped in his seat and turned to look at Jerry. Recognizing him, he powered the window down. Geoff’s older brother, Ty, leaned over the centre console.
“Hey, Cuz.”
“Mr. Radio, Jer-Man.”
“Hey, guys. You know, you could have gone in—Aunt Mavis doesn’t bite.”
“No, but the place smells weird and she’s always yapping on with stories about ‘the old days’ like the Depression or the Sixties or other shit. Who cares? What’s past is past.”
“Yeah, if it doesn’t help me make the rent or cover child support, it doesn’t matter, Jerr.”
“It never hurts to know where you come from, guys.”
“I came from the grocery store. Before that I was at Walmart, buying spark plugs.” The brothers laughed at the joke.
“Exactly,” Ty added. “And before that, the Liquor Barn.”
“Whatever you say, guys. Let’s just get loaded up and get the stuff to storage. If she wants to talk about the past, nod, smile, and go on with whatever you’re doing. She’s been lonely since Uncle Tyrone died, so at least pretend to care. This is a tough move for her.”
“Why? She’s not doing any of the damned lifting.”
Jerry gave up, shaking his head in frustration. He climbed the three steps to the front door. “Are you guys sure we’re related?” The brothers closed up the van and followed him.
The door opened before he could ring the bell, and Great Aunt Mavis stood there, flashing a mischievous smile. “You and Ty are definitely cousins but we’re not sure about Geoff. I think he was a foundling, left by a family of living heart donors.”
Jerry and Ty laughed, but Geoff grunted. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. How are you today, Aunt Mavis?” The three men each give her a hug as they entered the old house.
“Fair to middling, boys. You don’t realize how much bric-a-brac a person can collect until it comes time to pack it up and move it. Both of your mothers got it all into boxes, so I really appreciate your help with the heavy part. There are sandwiches and coffee in the kitchen, and if you walk only on the runners, you can keep your boots on.” She pointed to where she’d carefully laid down old carpet remnants nap-down to protect the hardwood floors.
Jerry undid his jacket in the warmth of the house and kissed her lovingly on the top of her head. “Thanks, Auntie M.”
Geoff and Ty wordlessly followed the path of carpet pieces into the living room where they grabbed small boxes and started the process. Jerry bent his knees to grab a larger box but Mavis stopped him.
“Jerry, why don’t you join me in the sewing room for a minute.” She picked up a shoebox and shuffled down the short hall to her sewing room. The pink macramé slippers probably from a church craft sale slid almost soundlessly along the oak floor beside the carpet path. Jerry stayed to the improvised walkway and followed along.
The tiny sewing room was stripped bare except for an empty sewing table, a rocking chair, and a rickety old card-table chair folded and leaning against the wall. Jerry looked at it and sympathized, thinking that was pretty much how he’d been feeling the last little while—well used and ready for a garage sale. On the rocker, a second-hand romance paperback sat tent-style, saving Mavis’ place. Mavis carefully moved the book to the table and lowered herself into the rocker. She pointed at the folded chair.
“Grab yourself that chair, young man—your cousins may miss you, but with the snail’s pace they work at, it won’t take you long to catch up.”
Jerry opened the chair of questionable solidity and sat his slender frame down, slowly, cautiously. Mavis didn’t seem to notice his hesitation, and when he was seated she leaned over and gently placed the tied-up Hush Puppies shoebox in his hands.
“This is for you. It’s a few things my father, your great-grandfather, wanted you to have, plus a couple more from Tyrone and me. When Grandad found out how sick he was in his last year, he started gathering family relics for you. I’d forgotten all about it until I found it at the back of the linen closet. There’s an old book, his first camera, the pocket watch my mother gave him one birthday, and some photos, amongst other things.”
“But I was just a little kid when he died.”
“Even so, he believed—and I do, too—that you’re the only member of this clan of misfits that’s ever given a damn about our history. You did a school project that year about the family tree, and spent one entire Saturday asking him questions about the family that no one had ever thought to ask before. You were only six, but you impressed the hell out of him.”
“Auntie M, I don’t know what to say—thank you.” He started to remove the string to check out the box’s contents, but Mavis put her tiny hand on his to stop him.
“Wait until you get home, dear. You’ll have more time to relax and go through it. A few of the things may be quite valuable, so don’t leave the box lying around where it can grow legs.”
Jerry smiled and gave her a tender kiss on her pale, feather-soft cheek. “Thank you, Aunt Mavis. I’d better get back out there before Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber start playing football with your treasures.”
She winked at him. “Smart boy.”
THERE WAS WARMTH to the darkness that had been absent for so long. It was a welcoming, gentle warmth, radiating from a source nearby. There was a distant familiarity to it, but also strangeness she couldn't identify. She thought it might be someone she knew, but a cold corner of the emptiness slithered in and crushed that hope.
HALF AN HOUR later Jerry had the Jeep nearly full of Mavis’ boxes. He had the back open and was gently sliding in a large, blue plastic tub of bubble-wrapped dishes when he heard a car pull up behind him. He turned to see his mother’s dark blue Honda Accord across the end of the driveway. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting. A few seconds later, tiny Jane Powell locked her car, zipped up her long winter coat, and made her way to her only son. Jerry once described her to a new girlfriend as being all of ten feet of attitude in a five-foot-nothing, hundred-pound package. He’d spent twenty-four years trying to find her elusive approval and had the headaches to prove it.
“Hey, Mom. How was the drive up?” Jerry took a step toward her and gave her a hug.
She returned the embrace half-heartedly. “The city plow blocked the driveway with snow and that lazy kid I pay to shovel it couldn’t be there until two. I don’t know why I pay him.”
“Maybe because you can’t do it yourself.”
“What’s that got to do with anything, Jeremy? You know, if you still lived in Toronto I wouldn’t have to pay some scruffy, skateboarding hoodlum with a ring in his nose to do it.”
Jerry tried to let his mother’s cynicism and disdain slough off him like a shed snake skin. The routine was an old one for both of them, though only Jerry seemed to be tired of it.
“Yes, Mom. Whatever you say.” He returned to the back of the Jeep and tried snugging the bin into place, to make more room for the next one. When he turned around, his mother was standing right, tight there, in his space and his face, looking up at him.