Keeping Time: A Novel Read Free Page A

Paul’s. He was not a hoarder. Seventy-eight years of life were distilled into a handful of boxes. Daisy, approaching the first of them, looking for some kind of label. Nothing was marked. Finding some that were hers, all her old treasures, but now she was not even sure what was in them—except one. She knew one. One that hadn’t been opened since the day it was closed, one that contained a jewelry box.
    Daisy, opening a box of Paul’s. Bowling shoes. His and hers. Underneath, ice skates, a black pair, a white pair. And ski pants and ski jackets, plus random hats, scarves, gloves. Daisy, remembering skiing at SaintMoritz, where they had bought them. Thinking it unlikely she would ever need anything in that box again. Donate it.
    Closing that box, opening the next. Old Christmas decorations from years gone by. Daisy, lifting, inspecting, touching, lost for a time in memories. Closing it. Moving on, aware that time was ticking along. Old gardening tools, gardening gloves, packets of seeds never planted. No overalls.
    Next box of Paul’s, baby things. Tears springing to her eyes. He had kept their baby blankets! Daisy, gasping, running her fingers over first Lenny’s, then Dennis’s. How sentim@er. Ann, ental Paul had been. How lovely.
    She had loved having babies. Never wanted those days to end. She may have been uncertain about marrying—and she was, terribly—but she had never held one single doubt about becoming a mother. Feeling tender inside, once again holding the blankets in her hands. Sniffing each one for some trace of baby scent. Nothing. Just a deep pungent mildew. Putting them back for the time being.
    The next box, her own box, her wedding gown. How strange to see it again. Remembering how it had felt to wear it. The conflict. Her mother’s impatience. Daisy, shuddering, her mother’s face in her mind’s eye.
    Slowly lifting the gown out of the box, holding it up to her shoulders, leaning forward to see how it fell. She had loved the dress, the fake little pearls, and the high lace neck. Wondering if it would still fit. Thinking it possibly might.
    Doing something she hadn’t seen coming.
    Trying it on, right there in that gloomy cellar. Stripping off her nightgown and stepping into it. From nightgown to wedding dress. Not even stopping to consider how silly it was. Just doing it. To feel it again.
    Looking down at the drape of it; the hem reaching the cellar floor. Getting a glimpse of the back. Picturing her sons seeing her now. Laughing at what they would think.
    Taking it off, replacing it neatly in the box, her mind driftingback to the one unopened box, the one housing the jewelry box. Returning to it.
    Opening it. Peering inside. Seeing the jewelry box among other miscellaneous things, after almost sixty years. Reaching in. Lifting it out. Bringing it over to the stairs. Leaving it there to take up with her once she had found the overalls.
    Seeing something at the stairs reminding her of what the old hardware store man had said to do. Doing what he had said. Turning the main water shutoff valve.
    Feeling like a plumber.
    Three boxes later, finding Paul’s overalls. Bringing them upstairs with her along with the jewelry box—and something else: the baby blankets. Into her bedroom, her arms full of reclaimed booty. The overalls over the back of the chair, the jewelry box on the bedside table, the baby blankets laid lovingly on the bed.
    Daisy, stepping back to admire the blankets. In their new home.
    HALF AN HOUR LATER—overalls on. Shower head off. Frayed washer out. Stepping stool in. Daisy on it—one hand on the white shower tile for support, one finger probing around to make sure the new washer was placed correctly and smoothed out. Getting down to retrieve a flashlight, peering inside.
    All looking good. Daisy excited, replacing the shower head again. Screwing it in.
    She had done it. Off the stool again, back on the bathroom floor, looking up at the shower, congratulating herself. It