Charitable Receipts

She had to dig to the bottom of her purse to find the key, her fingers sliding past her hospital badge and gum wrappers until she felt the thick Blockbuster keychain from her first job.

A cat was curled up on the welcome mat in front of the door, asleep.

“Oh! Hi, kitty,” she said.

The cat weaved through her legs, nuzzling her shins, meowing softly.

“Excuse me,” she said, gently, as if the cat might understand. “I just need to squeeze past you.”

The cat slipped to the side just enough for her to unlock the door. The key scraped once before it slide in. She opened the door quickly, slipped inside, and closed it behind her before the cat could follow.

The smell of his cologne washed over her. It was still sharp, still familiar. She breathed through her mouth instinctively.

The house looked the same. The walls were still lined with photographs. Some of the older ones hadn’t moved since she was a child. Newer ones hung in nearly identical frames. Their family photo from last Christmas was the only recent one that had her in it. She had been so excited to finally host, but she hadn’t realized how rigid she looked standing next to him, until now.

She moved through the house, touching only what she knew was out of place. She washed a dirty coffee mug in the sink and set it on the drying rack. She gathered the papers left scattered across the kitchen table, stacking them neatly, and held them tightly as she crossed to the desk. It was the only logical place to put them.

The file drawer was heavier than she expected, catching just long enough that she almost let go. Inside, hanging folders were crowded but clearly organized, each tab labeled in his crisp, all-capital handwriting. She set the loose papers down and slid her finger along the tabs, not reading them at first, just feeling for an empty one. Her finger stopped anyway. The tab read ‘Charitable Receipts’.

The folder held paper receipts in reverse chronological order. The monthly donations to The Humane Society and Feeding America were all paper-clipped together. The annual ones stood apart. The first had the American Red Cross logo across the top, dated May 5th, her sister’s birthday. $10,000.

It took a few moments for the shock to pass, and she could flip to the next page. This page was a plain black and white receipt with Johnson City Literacy Program typed across the top, dated March 5th for $10,000. Her birthday. Her own birthday. The lump in her throat threatened to burst. She pressed her thumb against the paper until her cut finger throbbed.

She put the folder down and grabbed the folder labeled Charitable Receipts from the previous year, moving through it faster this time. The same organizations, on the same days, the same amount. The only thing that changed was the year. She didn’t need to go through the rest of the folders to know what she’d find there.

She sat on the floor for a few minutes in silence, before carefully putting each folder back in its year exactly where she’d found them.

She stood and went into the kitchen without turning on the overhead light. The afternoon was still bright enough to see by. She opened a cabinet and took a large, crystal wine glass out. The wine rack was filled with bottles that she didn’t recognize. She searched through them to find a bottle of white wine, but she could only find red. She picked a bottle at random without bothering to read the label.

She pushed the corkscrew through the foil, and the cork came free in pieces. She didn’t realize she’d cut herself until she started to pour—the sting first, then the warmth. She held her finger up and watched the blood gather, surprised at how quickly it came.

“Shit,” she said before putting her finger into her mouth to contain the bleeding. With her free hand, she opened another drawer, then another. Silverware. Takeout menus. Rubber bands and pens. It was as if he never needed Band-Aids after they had moved out.

Her cellphone started ringing with her sister’s ringtone. She checked her finger, still bleeding, but it had slowed. With her free hand, she dug through her purse and managed to slide the answer button one-handed.

“Hey!” She said, too brightly, before popping her finger back into her mouth.

Her sister’s response was so delayed that she checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed the call.

“I take it you’re feeling better.” Her sister’s tone caused her stomach to drop.

“Uh, yeah—I think I just needed to sleep it off. I’m better now.” She said, pulling some of the gum wrappers and trash out of her purse absentmindedly. She pulled out her boarding pass and quickly crumpled it into a ball. “What’s up?”

“I got a notification from Dad’s Ring doorbell.” She wadded up the trash, throwing it into the garbage while she waited for her sister to continue. “I saw you were there, so I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine.” She slid her hand through her hair, the cut skin catching. “I figured—since I was feeling better, I could start on things at the house. You know, since you have been handling things there.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can handle the house stuff. Shouldn’t you be resting? Aren’t you the one always saying we need to lie low for a few days with the flu?”

The implication sat between them like a third person on the line.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Pulling open one of the lower cabinets, she found two even stacks of canned cat food and stared at them. “So, um, how did everything go?”

Her sister exhaled, long and slow. “It went well, I guess. Aunt Mary’s eulogy completely destroyed me.”

“Oh.” The silence was painful, but she couldn’t come up with anything to say to fill it.

“She printed off extra copies of the eulogy for us. I can drop a copy off on my way home from the airport if you want.”

“That was thoughtful of her.” She stood and inspected her finger again, the bleeding had fully stopped. “Who all showed up?”

“Everyone.” She said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just been a long couple of weeks.” Her sister’s voice sounded aged with exhaustion. “Wanna hear something embarrassing?”

“I mean, always.” She crossed back to the wine bottle, the phone pressed between her shoulder and ear.

“I ugly cried so hard, a stranger offered me his handkerchief. When I tried to give it back after the service, I didn’t realize how much I’d used it, until he tried to wipe his hand on his pants without me noticing.” She listened closely to her sister’s shaky laugh, trying to determine if she was going to start crying again.

“Oh god. Did you get his name at least?” She said, pouring the wine into the glass as quietly as she could.

“I was too mortified to catch his name. One of Dad’s army buddies.”

“Oh.” She realized she didn’t know he had army buddies he still spoke to. She picked up the wine glass and brought it out to the front porch swing.

They fell into a rhythm then, her sister filling in details—the flowers, the music, who spoke, who cried. It felt like the thousands of conversations they’d had over the years on this same swing. But this time, she was on the outside, hearing about it all secondhand when she should have been there.

She took a sip of the wine. It caught in the back of her throat before burning the rest of the way down. She struggled to suppress a cough, her eyes watered. When she had finally composed herself, her sister had gone quiet on the other end.

“Hey, did you know he donated to the American Red Cross every year? For your birthday?”

“Really? No.” Her surprise sounded genuine. “I’ve already stopped most of the recurring payments, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried, just found the receipts. I thought it was sweet, you know.”

“Yeah, it was. Where’d you find those?

“Just some random papers on the table.” The lie slipped out easily. “There were some monthly ones, too. Humane Society, things like that.”

“Yeah, those came up when I went through his accounts.” She paused. “But not the birthday ones.” Another pause, longer this time. “Are you planning on staying at the house tonight?”

“No, I wasn’t planning on it. Unless you need me to.”

“No, no need. But you should probably head back soon. You don’t want to drive on those roads after dark.”

“Hey now, I taught you to drive on those roads, remember.” She teased.

“I mean, sure. But you haven’t been back to Dad’s house in, what, at least a decade?”

This time, there was no bite, no accusation. It was just a fact.

The words wouldn’t come. The only sound coming from her end of the call was the small squeaking from the swing’s rusty chains.

“Okay, well, we just got back to the hotel, and we’re exhausted. Text me once you get home so I know you got back okay?”

“I will.” She gripped the wine glass tighter. “Hey, wait—before you go, do you know why there are cans of cat food here?”

“Cat food?” her sister laughed, sudden and genuine. “Oh my god, I knew it!”

She heard a door open, her sister’s voice moving away from the phone. “Babe! Guess what Katrina found at Dad’s house? Cat food! I told you he was feeding Jeffery!”

“Who’s Jeffery?”

“The neighborhood stray. Dad swore up and down he wasn’t feeding it.” Her voice shifted, becoming their father’s, “Why would I encourage the pest to come here? He riles up all of my allergies!” She was still laughing, and Katrina could hear the lightness in it. Her sister’s warmth reached her even when thousands of miles separated them. “But he just didn’t want us to have pets growing up. He lied about the allergy thing the whole time. That asshole.”

It was an inside joke, she realized. A cold knot formed in her throat.

“Oh.” She couldn’t manage more than that.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get on the road. Text me when you’re home.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay, love you.” Her sister said, already ending the call.

Katrina stared at her phone for a few moments.

How long had her sister stopped waiting for her to say it back?

She opened the contacts on her phone and scrolled to the one marked Dad. She scrolled through the missed calls and unread voicemails until she found the one from December 8th.

Her cut finger hovered over the play button, unable to press it as if she knew pressing play would tear it open again.

She backed out of the screen, careful to leave it unchanged. She set her cellphone down on the seat beside her and swung gently, watching the sun slowly set behind the hills. The wine was becoming more tolerable now, the burn barely noticeable. It would have taken her years to enjoy it the way he did.

She finished the wine as the sun dropped behind the hills. She went back into the house, the scent of his cologne washed over her again—still sharp, still him—she continued into the kitchen, flicking the overhead light on.

She washed the wine glass and picked up a dry dish towel, wiping away any evidence that she had used it, before hiding it in the cabinet again. Then she picked up the wine bottle, but before she poured the remainder down the drain, she set the bottle back on the counter. She reached back into the drawer, where she had found the wine opener, and found a gold-colored stopper. The stopper resisted a bit before sliding into place. Gently, she pushed the wine bottle back against the wall.

She filled the coffee mug with water, grabbed her purse and the house key, and turned off the overhead light. Outside, she set the mug of water near the welcome mat where Jeffery had been. Not a drop spilled.

The lock turned over easily before she placed the keychain into one of the inner side pockets of her purse.

The dashboard came alive, glowing bright in the darkness. She hit the GPS button and then hit Home.

“Calculating route.” The warm, robotic voice rang out as she started to back out of the long driveway. “You should reach Home: Johnson City in 57 minutes.”

She turned left out of the driveway and kept driving. She didn’t need directions to take the back route out of the neighborhood.

“Recalculating.”