like my car, because it is pretty and shiny and I picked it out myself, but I have rather less interest in anyone else’s car, and if he had started talking about gear ratios or transmissions just then, I would have howled.
“But the real problem with the Jaguar is that you can’t load very much in it. Hence the U-Haul. Shall we?” He beckoned towards the door with the wreath on it.
Adam had done a good job of cleaning out Sheldon’s things, to the point that you couldn’t tell that anyone had ever lived in his apartment. The only items of any personal value left were three or four large Air Force recruiting posters up on the wall, complete with heroic airmen looking up as though they were tracking the progress of enemy planes in flight.
“I haven’t figured out how best to pack those,” Adam said. “I suppose I ought to have them boxed up or something, but I didn’t bring any boxes that size, and I don’t want to drive all the way back up the Parkway to find ones that fit.”
“Do you have any blankets?” I asked. “Wrap them up in those for the time being and they should protect the glass well enough.”
“Gotcha,” he said, and went back to rummage around in the truck. He emerged with wool Hudson Bay blankets, just like the ones I’d seen in Great-Grandfather Borden’s mansion in Philadelphia. I guessed Sheldon had acquired them in Alaska. I helped Adam wrap up the frames and he carried them out and stowed them in the truck. Adam followed instructions beautifully. I like that in a man.
“Is there anything else you need help with?” I asked.
“I have some glassware to pack in the kitchen, but that’ll just take a minute,” Adam replied. “While I’m doing that, the stuff for your mother is in the bedroom—just poke around, you’ll find it.”
All that was left in the bedroom was a bed, a nightstand, and an IKEA bookcase on the far wall. (If you are an IKEA fan, it was, one of the larger EXPEDIT units, with square bays.) The bed had plain dark-blue sheets and another one of those Hudson’s Bay blankets. The sheets looked clean and the bed was made, as though Sheldon had just left overnight and expected that he would be coming back.
There weren’t any books in the bookcase, which was a disappointment. I am not a huge snoop but when you go to someone’s house, the fastest way to tell what kind of person they are is to look at the titles of the books they have bought. Instead, the bookcases were full of model airplanes. A couple of them were sleek fighter jets, but most of them were huge ungainly things with multiple engines. The old guys at the luncheon had been right; Sheldon had been obsessive about model planes. Except for a matte-black stealth bomber on the top shelf, they were all painted with incredibly small and detailed designs. A white FedEx box sat on top of the bookshelf, which I guessed held more planes that Adam was shipping somewhere else.
Some of the planes had pictures of women prominently displayed. I checked them carefully to see if one of them sported my mother’s name, but none of them did. Could Sheldon have left one of the planes for Mother as a memento? It would not have been anything I would have chosen to give her, but then I had spent my childhood listening to lectures from her about the military-industrial complex. I was looking at a particularly detailed bomber plane when Adam came into the bedroom.
“They’re nice, aren’t they?” he said. “You can tell he spent a lot of time on them. His favorite was the B-52 you’re looking at.”
“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” I said. Mine is thinking up ideas for disgusting cocktails and then drinking them, but I didn’t feel the need to tell Adam that at the moment.
“Did you find the letters? They’re in the drawer on the nightstand. I cleared out everything else, but I left them there just in case you or your mom wanted them.”
“No, I hadn’t.” I am not that much of a snoop.
He
“But the real problem with the Jaguar is that you can’t load very much in it. Hence the U-Haul. Shall we?” He beckoned towards the door with the wreath on it.
Adam had done a good job of cleaning out Sheldon’s things, to the point that you couldn’t tell that anyone had ever lived in his apartment. The only items of any personal value left were three or four large Air Force recruiting posters up on the wall, complete with heroic airmen looking up as though they were tracking the progress of enemy planes in flight.
“I haven’t figured out how best to pack those,” Adam said. “I suppose I ought to have them boxed up or something, but I didn’t bring any boxes that size, and I don’t want to drive all the way back up the Parkway to find ones that fit.”
“Do you have any blankets?” I asked. “Wrap them up in those for the time being and they should protect the glass well enough.”
“Gotcha,” he said, and went back to rummage around in the truck. He emerged with wool Hudson Bay blankets, just like the ones I’d seen in Great-Grandfather Borden’s mansion in Philadelphia. I guessed Sheldon had acquired them in Alaska. I helped Adam wrap up the frames and he carried them out and stowed them in the truck. Adam followed instructions beautifully. I like that in a man.
“Is there anything else you need help with?” I asked.
“I have some glassware to pack in the kitchen, but that’ll just take a minute,” Adam replied. “While I’m doing that, the stuff for your mother is in the bedroom—just poke around, you’ll find it.”
All that was left in the bedroom was a bed, a nightstand, and an IKEA bookcase on the far wall. (If you are an IKEA fan, it was, one of the larger EXPEDIT units, with square bays.) The bed had plain dark-blue sheets and another one of those Hudson’s Bay blankets. The sheets looked clean and the bed was made, as though Sheldon had just left overnight and expected that he would be coming back.
There weren’t any books in the bookcase, which was a disappointment. I am not a huge snoop but when you go to someone’s house, the fastest way to tell what kind of person they are is to look at the titles of the books they have bought. Instead, the bookcases were full of model airplanes. A couple of them were sleek fighter jets, but most of them were huge ungainly things with multiple engines. The old guys at the luncheon had been right; Sheldon had been obsessive about model planes. Except for a matte-black stealth bomber on the top shelf, they were all painted with incredibly small and detailed designs. A white FedEx box sat on top of the bookshelf, which I guessed held more planes that Adam was shipping somewhere else.
Some of the planes had pictures of women prominently displayed. I checked them carefully to see if one of them sported my mother’s name, but none of them did. Could Sheldon have left one of the planes for Mother as a memento? It would not have been anything I would have chosen to give her, but then I had spent my childhood listening to lectures from her about the military-industrial complex. I was looking at a particularly detailed bomber plane when Adam came into the bedroom.
“They’re nice, aren’t they?” he said. “You can tell he spent a lot of time on them. His favorite was the B-52 you’re looking at.”
“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” I said. Mine is thinking up ideas for disgusting cocktails and then drinking them, but I didn’t feel the need to tell Adam that at the moment.
“Did you find the letters? They’re in the drawer on the nightstand. I cleared out everything else, but I left them there just in case you or your mom wanted them.”
“No, I hadn’t.” I am not that much of a snoop.
He
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