Janice Kay - Back Against The Wall

The garage was only the beginning, although it was the most jam-packed space in the house. What Dad used to call his den was piled with things he didn’t know what to do with as well. The other rooms were just...cluttered.

“It’s not like it’s going to rain. I’ll order a Dumpster if we need one. What I was thinking was that we could hold a garage sale, too,” Beth said, trying for an upbeat note.

“We?” Matt leveled a look at her.

Of course, she would be the one borrowing tables, pricing and arranging. She could probably persuade Emily and some friends to help on the actual sale days.

“Let’s just get on with it,” she suggested.

They all went back to staring at the piles that nearly blocked the doorway.

“I guess we have to carry the boxes outside,” Emily said.

Like there was a choice. But Beth steered clear of sarcasm.

“Sure. I already labeled the empty ones I brought.” A blind person could see them—Keep, Thrift, Garage Sale?? Toss—but she hadn’t given up on the aren’t-we-going-to-have-fun vibe. Although, truthfully, even she felt daunted by the sheer quantity of stuff in the garage.

This being her idea, she stepped forward and grabbed a rubber tote, carrying it the few feet into the backyard, where they could make piles that wouldn’t get in the way. Her brother and sister followed suit. Beth had already peeled the lid off her tote. “Huh,” she said.

In the act of opening a cardboard box, Matt glanced over. “What?”

Beth wrinkled her nose. “I think these are student papers Dad graded. But wouldn’t he have handed them back?”

Silly question. Maybe, admiring the literary excellence, he’d asked the students to return them to him. So he could store them in his garage.

She almost wondered aloud whether they should consult Dad about something like this, until she saw the date on one of the papers on top. 1987. She dug through, finding graded tests, multiple copies of articles he must have photocopied for student use and either never handed out or requested back so he could use them again. It didn’t surprise her at all that he hadn’t remembered he had them. He could easily have photocopied the same article a year later with no memory of having done so before.

Yes, that was her father. Super smart, and completely vague. He’d been teaching philosophy at the community college for thirty-something years. He either had no ambition to teach at a four-year university, or he couldn’t take the possibility he would be rejected if he applied or... Yet another unanswerable question where Dad was concerned. He had this weird disconnect.

Beth sighed, hefted the box again and carried it around the corner of the garage to the recycling container parked in the narrow space between the wall and the six-foot fence. There was a thump as the heaps of paper hit the bottom.

One box down.

* * *

THEY HADN’T BEEN at it an hour when the first quarrel erupted. Beth didn’t count the usual low-level bickering.

“Ooh!” Emily breathed. “Christmas ornaments. Remember? We never found the ones—”

“Give me those.” Matt grabbed the box from her, stared into it with his face flushed dark, then carried it to where the garbage and garbage containers were parked. Both of his sisters raced after him.

“Don’t do that!” Emily cried.

“Matt, stop,” Beth snapped. “Just because you—”

He nudged the lid of the garbage can off with his elbow and turned the white cardboard box upside down before she could finish her sentence. Glass shattered.

Mouth open in outrage, Emily rushed forward to stare into the can. “I wanted those!” Swinging around, she punched Matt. Ineffectually, but still.

He only stared at his sister. “Why would you want anything that was hers?”

Then he stormed toward the backyard.

Emily’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “That was mean!”

Yes, it was. Frustrated with Matt, Beth nevertheless understood how he felt. Their mother had walked out on them, not even bothering to stay in touch. Beth had been fifteen years old, Matt seventeen, Emily only twelve. Beth understood why Mom had left Dad. It was a miracle she hadn’t years sooner. She must have thought she was marrying a gentle, sensitive man, who instead was both helpless where daily life was concerned and weirdly oblivious to the real people who also lived in the house. Even Beth sometimes felt like his mother. Witness today. What was she doing but rescuing Dad again? Imagine being married to a man you started seeing that way?

But Emily had been especially close to their mother, and was still childish in many ways. Would it have been so bad to let her have the Christmas ornaments Mom had hung on the tree every year? The ones they’d later replaced with standard-issue red and gold balls?

Emily raced after Matt to yell at him. Beth peered into the garbage can, thinking she might be able to rescue a few ornaments, but eew. Dad had dumped some disgusting leftovers straight into the can without bagging them first.

She backed away, then made herself pick up the lid and put it on.

She marched up to Matt, poked him in the chest with her index finger and said, “That was not your decision. Nobody asked you to take those ornaments home and treasure them forever. If they meant something to Emily, she had the right to keep them. Smashing them in front of her was cruel.”

“I told you!” Emily cried.

His mouth tightened, and he glowered at Beth but after a minute nodded stiffly.

Are we having fun yet?

Behind her brother, the French door to the dining room opened, and Dad stepped out onto the patio, looking surprised to see them.

“Did I know you were going to be here today?”

Matt snarled and retreated out of sight.

“Yes, Dad.” Beth made herself smile, go to her father and kiss his cheek. “I told you we were going to unbury the garage. Just think, you might be able to park inside it.”

His forehead pleated, giving his narrow face a concerned look. “You won’t throw away anything important, will you?”

“Of course not.” She hugged him. “Anyway, how important can it be if you haven’t seen it in ten years or more?”

“Well...” A bright and charming smile grew on his face. “You have a point.” He greeted Emily absently, gazed at the open door and the shadow of his son inside with apparent perplexity, then said, “I’m working on something. If you need me...” He was already fading away. Beth had no doubt that five minutes from now, he’d have forgotten his children were here. If their voices caught his attention again, he’d probably remember, puzzle over why they’d want to waste time on such a tedious task and go back to his reading.

“Is he gone?” Matt hissed.

“It’s safe.”

Emily smirked. “Olly olly oxen free.”

Cautiously reappearing, Matt said, “Brat.”

“Jerk.”

Peace restored. Temporarily.

* * *

SUNDAY MORNING, Beth ripped tape off the top of a big cardboard box she’d dragged from beneath the long-forgotten workbench and folded back the flaps to see clothes inside. This wasn’t the first—they’d found countless boxes of children’s clothes, neatly folded and presumably saved by Mom for the next baby. Beth was beginning to think Mom had saved every scrap Matt had ever worn, certain she’d have another boy. There were girl clothes, too, but they’d been handed down once, and Emily had worn some of them out. Why hadn’t Mom realized at some point that, nope, she wasn’t having another kid, period, and maybe she ought to get rid of all the tough-boy toddler-size overalls and sweaters with tractors and rocket ships decorating the front?

Huh. Maybe this disaster wasn’t totally Dad’s fault. Maybe Mom had had her own pack rat tendencies. Beth remembered stories about how poor her mother’s family had been when she was growing up. Maybe that kind of upbringing ingrained in a person the belief that it was best to hold on to anything that might conceivably be useful later.