Pack Up All Your Cares

         Leila drove cautiously, looking out for the waves of pedestrian traffic carting luggage across from the pickup area of the airport.  She spotted her brother Evan exiting the baggage claim just as the car in front of her pulled out.  She could feel her heart swell.  Evan had a way of making things better when he was around, and Leila felt her load lighten just looking at him.

         Evan saw her and waved.  Before Leila could put the car in park, the rear passenger door opened and Evan tossed his backpack and duffle bag onto the back seat.  He quickly got in the front beside his sister and smiled broadly at her.

         “Wow, that was a seamless flight, kind of a miracle these days.”

         “Well, I could use a miracle.  That’s why you’re here.”

         “At your service, Leil.  I’m glad to see you, too.”

         A sharp and steady car horn blared from behind, signaling it was time to go.

         “Hold that thought, Ev.”

         Leila slowly edged the car away from the curb, and they were on their way.

   *     *     *

“Have you been in touch with our younger sister?”

Leila gave a shrug and a sigh.   “Let’s just say she hasn’t been in touch with me, not since I called her about Dad.”

“Well, does she plan to help at all with Dad’s place?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.  She was good enough to send me an itemized list of the things she wants.  I’ll show you when we get to Dad’s.”

“That was thoughtful of her.  If she knows I’m here, I doubt we’ll be seeing her.”

“She wouldn’t even let me mention your name. What have you done this time?”

“Dad made me his executrix, remember?   And he made it a point that Grace had to repay the money he loaned her.  Last time I spoke with her, she said it was meant as a gift and that Dad insisted she doesn’t have to pay it back.”

“What a setup.”

“Right.  I think it’s safe to say Grace continues to be Grace.”

“If only.”

“True.  So, moving on, how are you doing?”

“Me?  I’m all right.  In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve started three piles, lists really. Things to keep, things to discard and things to donate.”

“You remind me of Dad’s lists.  He documented everything.”

“All the books he read in a year, sports pics and stats, he kept track of every penny he had.  All those poor trees.”

“It’s no surprise we inherited his organizational skills.”

“Once again, they’re going to come in handy.”

“Right.”

They drove the rest of the way to their father’s condominium in silence, busy with their own thoughts.

*.    *.    *.

“Ev, why don’t you get settled in and tackle Dad’s closet first?  I thought it made sense for you to look it over and see if there’s anything you’d like.”

“I’ve been sitting most of the day.  I’m just going to wash up a little and get started.  How much time before we need to have this place ready for the next occupant?”

“Five days.  Should be enough.  Hope so.  It’ll have to be.”

“What are you going to do first?”

“I have a list of donations that I want to call the local church and see what they’ll accept.”

“Okay.  Yell if you need me.”

“Same.  Say, Evan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Of course.  And we forgot!  How is that even possible?”

Evan grinned and spread his arms open wide.  Leila entered them and they shared a hug.  They broke apart when both sensed strong emotions about to break free.  There would be time for tears later.

*.    *.    *. 

Leila finished jotting down notes.  She’d managed to find homes for most of the furniture her father owned, which was a relief.  She stretched, realizing she was hungry.  No wonder, it was getting late.  She thought it time to check on Evan’s progress.

“Evan, you getting hungry?”

No answer.

“Ev?”

She got up and went to the bedroom door.  There were shirts and jackets strewn on the bed, still on their hangers.  She could see the dresser drawers hadn’t been opened.

“Evan, what are you doing?”

“In here.”

Leila barely heard Evan’s voice coming from the closet.  She felt strange, not sure if she wanted to know what made Evan’s voice sound so small.

She made herself walk.  At the entrance to the closet, she saw that her brother was sitting on the floor surrounded by shoeboxes.  He held one in his lap, opened, the lid nearby, but no shoes.   

“What have you got, Evan?”

He brought out a stack of envelopes, cards and letters.

“What are those? Who are they from, or to?”

“Dad, but . . . I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”  Leila knelt on the floor and reached.

“I don’t recognize the name.”

Evan handed her the pile of letters and she saw her father’s name and address.   The return address was that of a woman, a Gladys Murphy.

“Who’s Gladys Murphy?”

“I said I don’t know.  I don’t know.  There’s a bunch from him to her, too.”

“What do they say?”

“I have no idea.”

Leila flipped through the stack.  There were at least a couple dozen.   Leila felt cold.

“Where did you find them?”

Evan pointed to the shelf above a rack of suits and button-down shirts.  Half the boxes had been taken down.

Leila stood.

“Are these all of them?”

Evan was staring into space.  “That I know of.”

*.    *.    *.  

They sat together at the kitchen table with the letters between them.  Evan had ordered pizza while Leila had put them in sequential order.   Leila brought large glasses of water to the table, napkins, plates and two bottles of beer.

“Should we wait for the pizza?” Leila asked.

“I don’t really care.”

Leila studied her brother.  She knew he cared a great deal more than he let on.

“Okay, let’s just do this.”  

She opened the first letter.  The envelope was addressed to Richard Hamlin, their father, no mistake about that.   The stationery had rosebuds in the corners and the handwriting was neat and elegant, larger than her mother’s had been.  She swallowed hard.

“The date on this is September 6, 1994.”

“Fuck.”

“No kidding.”

In the year 1994, Leila quickly calculated, she had begun college.  Evan had already been away at university for two years.   It was Grace’s sophomore year of high school.  Mom had been a stay-at-home, dedicated member of the local garden club and volunteer at several charity organizations.   Throughout their lives, Dad had always been her number one priority, 24/7.

Leila read.

“Dear Richie,

It was wonderful seeing you at the reunion.  You really haven’t changed one bit (in all the ways that matter).  What a surprise, a very pleasant one, that you came by yourself.  Catching up was just like old times, only better.”

Leila’s voice was shaking.  “I can’t do this.”

Evan took her hand.  

“You don’t have to, Leil.  We can do it, together.  Now that I'm over the initial shock of it, could you honestly go back now and forget about this?”

Leila gently removed her hand and picked up her beer.

A knock came at the door. Pizza delivery.

Leila drank half the bottle and looked at her brother.  

“Would you get that?  I’ll get something stronger.  I’m going to need it.”

“Make that a “we.”

*.    *.    *.

They had a system.  Leila read a letter or card, passed it to Evan.  Any time one of them had a comment or a question, they’d hash it out together before moving on.  By the time they were finished, it was too late to be evening and too early to be morning.  They felt in many ways suspended.

“I don't know why he didn’t just leave,” Leila mused, dipping pizza crust in scotch.

“Would that have made things easier, do you think?”

“How do I know? There’s no way to know.”

“I wonder why people get married only to cheat.”

“I’m not sure this was cheating.  There seems to be something more.”

“Come on, Leila, how can you say that?”

“How can you not?  This was a relationship.  I think.”

“But what about Mom; did she know?”

“Not on your life.  She wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Seriously?  Look at what she did put up with. She . . .”

“He didn’t deserve her.”

“He was a bastard!"

"Was he?”

“Wasn’t he?”

“Nobody really knows what goes on between two people.  It’s fucking elusive, the whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“People.  Marriage.  Love.  Love!   Just what is this shit?”

“I read once that that's what love is, shit with sugar on it.”

“You’re charming when you’re hammered.”

“Don’t try bringing me into this.”

“You’re in it, bro, and so am I.  Now, what do we do about Gracie-Pooh?”

“Gracie who?”

“Don't you remember when we were little, Dad used to call her . . . oh, never mind, fuck that.  Anyway, do you think she knows?”

“Gracie? The-world-is-entitled-to-my-opinion Gracie?  We’d know if she knew, and Dad would’ve been dead long before now.”

“She is a force of nature, I’ll give her that.”

 “Well, I can't be the one to tell her.  She hates me.”

 "No, she doesn’t.  I don’t think she likes herself; you’re just in the way.”

“There’s always someone or something in her way.  I sure wish she’d figure herself out.”

“Well, that’s a tall order.  Look at her parents.”

“Mom’s a saint.  Plus, she's had us this whole time."

"You mean as role model citizens?"

"Okay, scratch that.  I’m really not so sure about anything right now."

"I know, and now I'm wondering what else there is we don’t know."  

"Why don't you tell her?”

“I’m not sure if it’d be a help or a hindrance.  Besides, she’s always preferred being under the radar of our lives.”

“Well, that’s a stunnin’ ‘nalogy, Leil,” slurred Evan purposely, “but is that what this should be about?”

“Well, and just what do you think this is about?  Certainly it has nothing to do with any of us.”

“We, the children?  Shouldn’t it be?”

“Compared to Mom, we’re small potatoes.”

“You know, Mom was great, she was . . .”

“But was she great for him?  How can we really know . . .”

“Wait, are you really defending the bastard?  How can you . . .”

“I’m not.  I’m just surmising.”

“Well, it’s surprising how surmising you’re being.”

“Okay, Dr. Seuss, think it’s time to call it a night . . . or a day.  Whatever the fuck this has been.”

“It sure has been, all right. Not that it’s been all right.  Nothing seems right right now.”

“When you’re right, you’re not wrong.  Say good night.”

“Right.”

*.    *.    *.

Leila and Evan slept most of the following day.  They agreed to table their discovery and get down to the task at hand.  Evan arranged for the items their sister had requested to be shipped to her, the expense to be deducted from her share of their father’s estate.  

He decided to leave the letters and the whole painful episode be.  He’d deal with it over time in his own way.  Leila, as always, left the lines of communication open between them.   She took possession of the shoebox.  They agreed nothing could be gained by sharing the news with their sister if she chose to remain distant.  They could always revisit the situation if anything changed in the future.

*.    *.    *.

Leila sat cross-legged on the bed in her apartment, the shoebox in front of her.  She’d been wrestling with herself for days and she was ready.  She picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi.  Is this Gladys Murphy?”

“Yes, it is.  Who’s this?”

“I’m Leila Hamlin, Richard Hamlin’s daughter?”

“Yes, of course I know who you are! I, I am so, so sorry about your father.  He was a wonderful man.  I know you must know that.”

“Yes, well . . . I have your letters.  My father kept them.”

Silence on the other end.  Leila continued.

“I thought you might like to know that.  I can send them to you, if you’d like.”

More silence.  Leila waited.

“I can see you are your father’s daughter.   Your mother was wonderful, too.  I didn’t know her that well, but I knew your dad.  I returned his letters to me when he wouldn’t . . . things didn’t work out. The fact that he’d kept them all these years . . .”

Leila said nothing.

“You were fortunate to have the parents you did.  Oh, but I can see how well you’ve turned out. You know that what your father and I . . . it had nothing to do with your mother, don’t you?  You must see that.”

Leila hesitated.  She took a deep breath before she spoke again.

“Would you like me to send you the letters?”

“Oh, yes, I really would.  Thank you so much.  I’m so glad you called.  You’re an exceptional young woman. I can see why Richard was so proud of you.”

Leila squeezed the phone and closed her eyes.

“I’m glad I called, too.  You should expect a package.”

“Thank you, dear.  You have my number.  Please feel free to call me if . . .”

“Bye now.”

Leila ended the call and threw the phone on the bed.  She curled her hands into fists and pressed them against her face, rocking back and forth until she had nothing left to feel, at least for the moment.  Enough was enough.

*.    *.    *.

Leila had Gladys’ phone number.  She wasn’t sure she wanted it.  The mere fact of it felt like a betrayal to her mother, who had been more than a mother.   She had, in fact, been her best friend and, to her mind, the best mother she could have ever hoped for.  

Her head told her she had done a human kindness, a genuinely decent act.  After all, people don’t live a straight line and it is impossible to really know what goes on in another’s life.  Judgment is just that, it can be there but it ultimately amounts to very little in the scheme of things.

Her heart told a different story.  The ache would not go away.

A short time later, Leila experienced a technological glitch when it came time to replace her phone.  The upshot of it was she lost all of her stored information and had to reconstruct her contacts.  It was while she was in the midst of this that she realized there was no way she would be able to contact Gladys again unless she sought her out.  Her address had disappeared with the letters.  So, the ties were severed.  A deep relief washed over her.

Evan did not speak of the letters again and, as far as Leila knew, Grace never learned of Gladys and her role in their lives.  The sisters kept in touch, spoke on occasion, but remained on each other’s periphery.  The peace was intact, perhaps only on the surface, but it remained.  

It had been their father’s well-documented final wish to have his ashes scattered in the apple orchard behind the house where they’d grown up as children.  It was the first home their parents had owned together.  On the day of their father’s celebration of life, all three children were present and had a hand in spreading their father’s remains under and around the same apple tree where years earlier they had done the same for their mother.

At the time, Leila and Evan did not speak about what they’d learned while cleaning out their father’s apartment.  The two of them shared knowing looks, but neither felt the need to revisit that time.  Instead, they went about the business of living.

With the further passage of time, Leila left the letters in the past.  Her parents’ lives were not hers to determine or to judge.  That was how she was able to open her heart and keep them there.  After all, they had done the best they’d known how in the time they had.  The best legacy she thought to leave in their honor would be to simply move forward.  

The three siblings continued to grow through the years and to strive for their own ideals of a good life.  Leila tried, at the very least, to find her way and to accept life on its terms, whatever they turned out to be.

A small gesture she adopted shortly after her father’s service was to keep apples nearby, either in a bowl or in her refrigerator.  If she ever lived in a home with a yard, an apple tree would be the first thing she’d plant. The apples were a gentle reminder to her that life was a sweet adventure, worms and all.