“The wind must’ve opened it,” she says.
“Yeah, the wind.”
I close the window and secure it with a piece of duck tape I find nearby.
Whoever opened that window was a tall man like me.
Someone shorter like Grayson wouldn’t be able to reach it without the help of a ladder or a chair.
“Okay, baby. Everything is fine. I need to go now. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I say.
“Yes.”
“Have a good night.”
I slide my phone into my pocket and take a deep breath.
This attic is the answer to so many people’s questions.
At least we think it is, or this place wouldn’t see the traffic it sees.
What is it about this place that attracts so many people? My father included?
It’s him.
My father.
He is the key to all this. He knows what he’s looking for. He doesn’t know the form of that thing, but he, at least, knows what it is.
Maybe the third party knows that too.
I’m the only one following his instinct without knowing what it is.
I move my focus to her stuff and I review a few things I haven’t had the chance to check.
Postcards coming from a different time, things her grandmother collected overseas.
A handful of trinkets that strangely have survived her.
I remember the things my mother left behind.
They all fit in a few boxes. Some of her clothes that my grandfather didn’t want to part with, and my father disregarded.
There was no use for them.
But they’re still stored somewhere.
And then there were the books she used to read.
Again, no one has touched those books since then. They are stacked somewhere, collecting dust in some box.
Like Raven’s grandmother, my mother liked to collect things, especially when she was deployed overseas.
Most of them were for me.
It took me some time to realize I was the center of her existence.
I thought she left the country because of me. Because I wasn’t enough. Or good enough. All kids think like that.