driveway at Gram’s house. Mom’s. Tori breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled in behind it. Eric and Allie had left, and Joan’s car was gone, too. Good.
She didn’t feel like facing her sisters and their nosy questions. She let herself into the house and called down the stairs that led to the finished basement where Mom’s and Joan’s bedrooms lay.
“Mom? Are you down there?”
Mom appeared at the bottom of the stairs, surprise etched on her face. “Tori, I thought you’d gone back to Lexington.” She started up the stairs, then made a face when she caught sight of Tori’s blouse. “What happened?”
“Don’t ask.” Tori scrunched her nose. “Where is everybody?”
“Allie and Eric took the baby home, and Joan drove Mother back to her apartment.” She peered into Tori’s face as she ascended to the landing. “They said you left without saying goodbye.”
“I didn’t want to answer any questions about going for a simple cup of coffee with the guy they were obviously pushing me toward.” Tori rolled her eyes expansively, which made Mom smile. “I’m going upstairs to get that box of my old clothes so I can change before I head back to my apartment.”
Mom followed her down the hallway and easily reached the rope pull for the attic stairs. None of the Sanderson girls had inherited their mother’s lanky height, but Joan came closest. Tori was the shortest of the three.
“Do you need help?” Mom asked.
“Um, maybe getting it down the stairs. Let me see.”
Mom waited in the hallway as Tori climbed up. She rose into heat and darkness, and groped for the string that turned on the overhead light. The ringing of the telephone reached her from below.
“I hope that’s not the hospital calling me in to work.” Mom’s voice sounded irritated. “I’d better grab it.”
“Okay.”
Tori looked around. Joan and Allie hadn’t accomplished much after she left. In fact, it looked like they’d only gone through one more box before they gave up. There, near the stairs, was Tori’s stuff. And over there—she gulped— was Daddy’s box. The way they were acting, she’d half expected to find it gone, taken over to Allie’s house for safekeeping.
Tori chewed at her lower lip. If anyone ever did want to find Daddy, they’d need something to work with, some sort of identification. She stared at the box, hesitant to touch it. So many memories in there, all of them bad.
Her feet moved almost of their own accord. She had to stoop as the rafters sloped toward the plywood floor. With a quick glance at the opening to make sure Mom wasn’t coming, she reached out with a tentative hand and unfolded the flaps on the top of the box. Maybe Allie had taken the shoebox with her. She wouldn’t have cared about those old textbooks, but she hadn’t wanted to get rid of the pictures. Tori pulled back the comforter and blanket, and lifted one of the heavy books to reveal the bent corner of the shoebox.
Her heart’s pounding sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet attic. Her hands shook as she freed the shoebox from its hiding place. When she did, she caught the corner of the folder beneath it, spilling a thick stack of papers into the box, old tax forms from way back in 1990. A quick glance at the names showed both her parents, Carla Hancock Sanderson and Thomas Alan Sanderson. Their names . . . and their social security numbers.
Identification.
With a guilty glance toward the opening, she snatched up the form and stuffed it beneath the crushed lid of the shoebox. Then she hastily replaced the comforter and blanket, and took the shoebox to the box containing her old clothes. Working quickly, she buried the pictures in the center of folded clothes, snatched up a shirt she hadn’t worn since high school, and refolded the flaps to seal the box. She finished just as Mom returned to the foot of the attic stairs.
“It was Vonda from the bowling league, wanting to tell me about her grandson’s soccer game.”
She didn’t feel like facing her sisters and their nosy questions. She let herself into the house and called down the stairs that led to the finished basement where Mom’s and Joan’s bedrooms lay.
“Mom? Are you down there?”
Mom appeared at the bottom of the stairs, surprise etched on her face. “Tori, I thought you’d gone back to Lexington.” She started up the stairs, then made a face when she caught sight of Tori’s blouse. “What happened?”
“Don’t ask.” Tori scrunched her nose. “Where is everybody?”
“Allie and Eric took the baby home, and Joan drove Mother back to her apartment.” She peered into Tori’s face as she ascended to the landing. “They said you left without saying goodbye.”
“I didn’t want to answer any questions about going for a simple cup of coffee with the guy they were obviously pushing me toward.” Tori rolled her eyes expansively, which made Mom smile. “I’m going upstairs to get that box of my old clothes so I can change before I head back to my apartment.”
Mom followed her down the hallway and easily reached the rope pull for the attic stairs. None of the Sanderson girls had inherited their mother’s lanky height, but Joan came closest. Tori was the shortest of the three.
“Do you need help?” Mom asked.
“Um, maybe getting it down the stairs. Let me see.”
Mom waited in the hallway as Tori climbed up. She rose into heat and darkness, and groped for the string that turned on the overhead light. The ringing of the telephone reached her from below.
“I hope that’s not the hospital calling me in to work.” Mom’s voice sounded irritated. “I’d better grab it.”
“Okay.”
Tori looked around. Joan and Allie hadn’t accomplished much after she left. In fact, it looked like they’d only gone through one more box before they gave up. There, near the stairs, was Tori’s stuff. And over there—she gulped— was Daddy’s box. The way they were acting, she’d half expected to find it gone, taken over to Allie’s house for safekeeping.
Tori chewed at her lower lip. If anyone ever did want to find Daddy, they’d need something to work with, some sort of identification. She stared at the box, hesitant to touch it. So many memories in there, all of them bad.
Her feet moved almost of their own accord. She had to stoop as the rafters sloped toward the plywood floor. With a quick glance at the opening to make sure Mom wasn’t coming, she reached out with a tentative hand and unfolded the flaps on the top of the box. Maybe Allie had taken the shoebox with her. She wouldn’t have cared about those old textbooks, but she hadn’t wanted to get rid of the pictures. Tori pulled back the comforter and blanket, and lifted one of the heavy books to reveal the bent corner of the shoebox.
Her heart’s pounding sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet attic. Her hands shook as she freed the shoebox from its hiding place. When she did, she caught the corner of the folder beneath it, spilling a thick stack of papers into the box, old tax forms from way back in 1990. A quick glance at the names showed both her parents, Carla Hancock Sanderson and Thomas Alan Sanderson. Their names . . . and their social security numbers.
Identification.
With a guilty glance toward the opening, she snatched up the form and stuffed it beneath the crushed lid of the shoebox. Then she hastily replaced the comforter and blanket, and took the shoebox to the box containing her old clothes. Working quickly, she buried the pictures in the center of folded clothes, snatched up a shirt she hadn’t worn since high school, and refolded the flaps to seal the box. She finished just as Mom returned to the foot of the attic stairs.
“It was Vonda from the bowling league, wanting to tell me about her grandson’s soccer game.”
Similar Books
