The Hatbox

Prologue - Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

 His duffle bag was the only thing in the truck aside from him and his dad. Not that there would've been any more room, it took up a third of the space in the single cab. But they both knew it wasn't a good idea for her to go with them to the airport. His dad discretely watched as his son turned around and took a final look through the rear glass. He willed himself not to, but couldn't help glancing in the rearview mirror, just for the quickest second, and caught the scene that would be seared into his son's mind. It was heart-wrenching. Nora was standing there, at the edge of his driveway, nearly in the road now, waiting for him...to what? Brett used to think it was pointless. Just staring there at someone driving away. You said your goodbyes in the house, at the door, or at the car, so why prolong the inevitable. I mean you said the words, you achingly held them, one last time.... "goodbye." So why painstakingly perform the whole, bend your neck to the breaking point, looking over your shoulder, and feeling the searing pain as the person you love fades into something unrecognizable.

He found out why when he was in the passenger seat of his dad's truck. One last look...to memorize all that they could about one another. And they were both thankful that they did.

 CHAPTER 1

 Everly walked from room to room. Looking around, letting her fingers drift across the edges of picture frames and furniture, taking in every inch of the life that had been hers with her mom...every memory that the rooms contained. The table where she and so many others had been meticulously fed and where her mom taught her to play cards. The bathroom mirror that she sat in front of, so many times, as her mom braided her hair. Every single piece of furniture held a memory that was on automatic replay. She walked over, hesitantly, and sat in her mom's chair, rubbing the arm that would've supported her mom's hand just days ago. It felt soothing and...vacant. She foolishly hoped that sitting there would give her something...some kind of peace, a comfort, some help with the ache that was tearing through her. But instead, it sat there, motionless and silent. Much like herself. It felt wrong to sit there...like she should be prepared to rise at any moment. Like all the times before. It was the prettiest chair in the house. It was her mom's chair. Everyone knew it too. And everyone loved to sit in it. But with this chair, there was an unsaid understanding that when her mom entered the room, anyone who occupied the chair, relinquished rights to it immediately and moved to another spot, even if it meant the floor, allowing her mom to take the seat. It was the respectful thing to do. Her mom always insisted that the person remain seated, but it was never heeded. She wanted more than anything to give up that chair to her mom. She began to cry again.

Her footsteps now seemed to thunder through the house. It was suddenly so very quiet. She felt guilty relishing in it. But today had been hard. Harder than she thought it would ever be.

One by one, she and her brother greeted each condolence. They were openly affectionate like their mom had been. It seemed that they influenced the same behavior out of others. As they stood at the front of the church, side by side, one person after another wrapped them up and whispered soft apologies. It was kind and loving and hard. After the two had greeted countless friends and family, their legs ached, their balance felt teetering, and their arms were exhausted from reaching for the next embrace. The smile, which was only for the comfort of the next visitor, felt forced and they were spent. Their expression to one another was easily understood. They were hugged out. So, to say it was the longest day of their lives, was an understatement.

Each kind face came to their mother's home after the burial. Casseroles, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, desserts that couldn't be named until they were cut into...every type of southern dish imaginable was brought in by the droves. Their mother was loved and cherished, and it overflowed into the house. But there comes a time to grieve and some people just want to cry in private. She spent the rest of the day crying on her brother's shoulder.

Days following the funeral, Chad helped his sister, Everly, with the assiduous task of going through their mother's belongings. He stuck around to help with the bigger items (the furniture, the yard equipment, the vehicles) but all of this took a toll on his wife, who had just entered the third trimester of her pregnancy. Her emotions were unstable and her ankles too, so Chad stayed for as long as he could and hesitantly agreed to leave.

Everly insisted that they get her home, "It's a long drive. I've got this. I promise."

Chad's wife, Olivia, never complained. But as the days passed, she was clearly exhausted. Well, they all were, but her swollen ankles and sluggish walk were clear indicators that she had met her stamina limit. It was time for them to leave. Chad needed to return to work anyway. His employer had been gracious with his leave, and he had been willing to ask for more to help Everly. Everly would not hear of it.

Before her brother left, they talked about times that he would come back and help her finish anything that may prove more difficult. So her two companions gave her one last kiss on the cheek. She stood waving goodbye to them in the driveway. She realized that again, her actions reminded her of her mom.

Now, amidst the large home, with all the things that looked and smelled of her mom, she suddenly felt very alone.

Since her mom's funeral, a week ago, she found this the hardest. What to keep. The little things were the most precious. So far, the keep pile was huge and the "donate" pile was vacant. She had thought about just putting the boxes in her extra bedroom at home for a while after this task was proving more difficult than she ever imagined. She cried so hard over the first three boxes that her eyes were swollen. Maybe it was too soon to finish.

But those tears were for her Mom. It felt necessary. She was going to push through this. She kept telling herself, "Just a little while longer."

Each box held memories of her mom. Some of the times were so long ago that she had forgotten. Some, she had been too little in the pictures to have even remembered. There were moments that she laughed through the tears. A picture of her brother and her, sitting on a fence. Chad was up to no good. She's pretty sure he pushed her off the fence shortly after the picture was taken. Pictures of their favorite hangout...in their mom's trees...the largest oaks in the neighborhood. The trees had to be over thirty years old. They would stay in them for hours. Some of the branches were so thick that it felt more like sitting on a bench. The trees, as Everly thought about them, were instrumental in the bond between her and her brother. He would look down over his shoulder and tell her which foot to place on each branch. He was her guide as they'd climb them together. Much like he was later with life. Then, once seated in their special place, they'd talk about the world. The world mostly consisted of kids from school and little crushes, but the talks grew into broken hearts and missed catches. Defeats and victories. It was where they came to think and share...and be there for each other. She was going to ask him to climb the tree with her when he came back in, she decided. She smiled at the thought.

As she pulled one item out after another, she ran across a journal. Her mom kept so many of them. The first one she found was leather-bound, a sea blue like her mother's eyes. It was beautiful. There was never a moment in her life that she wasn't writing in them. As she delicately turned the pages, she could feel the love oozing from the pages. Her mom was a loving person and never let a day go by that "I love you" wasn't echoed through the house or over the phone, but while she read the words today, like all the many cards and letters from her mom, these words were infinite. You could look at the words, "proud" "love" "forever" and you felt it with her. The journal must have been one that she dedicated to only her and Chad as no one else was mentioned in it.

God, she missed her mom.

She found herself staring at a window for a long time. Not really looking at anything of consequence. She just seemed to be fixated on the amount of life going on outside of the window. And how it felt quite the opposite in the room. Time passed quickly, but yet she was unaware of its existence. Time that is. It just kept creeping by. Even during her pain. It went on. She tucked the beautiful journal back into its box and pulled the next box up to her side and took a deep breath...wondering if she had the strength to view another box today.

Something prompted her to continue.

This one was another hatbox. She loved all the hatboxes that her mom had collected over the years. They all seemed to have a theme to match their contents. They were never random hat boxes. Each one had been specially selected. Perfectly picked. A Christmas tree or snowmen on a box lid was full of Christmas memories. A hatbox from her trip to Ireland had a lush valley on its cover. But the one she had pulled up to her now had a beach scene with endless sand and distant boats.

She gently pulled off the top and instantly saw another journal. This one wasn't as worn as the one about her and her brother...but it did look older with its dated design. Nothing modern, a reddish-brown tint. At a quick glance, she noticed more pictures and letters, a ticket of some kind, a pamphlet, a flyer of a carnival, and a small plastic container that appeared to have sand in it. The bottom of the box almost looked lined by a manilla envelope that everything else had been placed on top of. This was the fifth hat box that she'd gone through since she couldn't sleep.

Why save the sand, she wondered?

This one had to be when they were little. Maybe a family beach trip that again, she didn't remember. But here was a plastic container, full of sand, that was important enough that her mom kept it. How sweet! Looking at the simple mineral, she knew that if it meant something to her mom...it was special to her as well.

She opened the lid to the sand. She squeezed some of the coarse pieces between her fingers and let them fall back to join the others. She repeated this over and over, thinking that perhaps her mom had once done the same.

The thought was soothing.

The texture of the sand was soothing too.

She placed the container to the side, and her eyes cascaded over the multitude of small pieces in this box. On the top of the pile, laid a ticket. She picked it up. It was a ferry boat ticket to Bald Head Island.

"Passengers 2"

"June 11th, 1991."

"That was before I was born," she thought.

She continued to finger through the items, setting them aside. After doing so, she confirmed that the bottom was in fact lined with a large envelope. As she began to pull it out, it had been formed to the bottom of the box and relented slowly at its removal. She was careful not to tear it.

After opening the sealed envelope, she stared at its content for a long time. Confused. Reading it over and over while suspecting that in her distress, she wasn't understanding the most common of words: parcel, deed, owner, real property. She saw her mom's name on this deed. Something heavy was still in the envelope. She turned it upside down and a key fell out.

"Hey, you okay?" Chad asked, surprised at her unexpected phone call.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a weird question to ask."

"Okay?"

"Do you know anything about mom owning a place at Oak Island?"

"No. Why would you think she does?

"I found a deed in an old hat box with her name on it. There's a key with it."

"Really?" he questioned, as equally confused as intrigued.

"Yeah."

"Maybe it's from a long time ago."

"Yeah, I think so too. I just wanted to see if you remember her mentioning it because I sure don't. I'm going to call the clerk of courts there tomorrow morning and see what's going on with it."

"Weird huh?"

"Yeah. She has this hatbox full of beach stuff, Chad. There's even sand."

"Sand?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that's sweet," his voice softened.

"I think so too," she smiled to herself.

"What else is in it?"

"I just started going through this one, so I'm not really sure yet. I was just curious if you knew anything about the deed. I'll look through some more and call you if I find something and..." she paused, "I think I needed to hear your voice."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Oh, okay," he sounded less than convinced.

"Is Olivia feeling any better?"

"Yes, she's slept a lot since we've been home."

"Good. Keep me posted on her." Just thinking about her brother and the dotting way he takes care of his wife was so romantic. He was so caring to his wife, especially now. It was even sweeter than before. And it was seriously sappy sweet then. Now, the way they looked at one another, knowing "their" baby was growing inside of her just changed things. It really changed him.

"I see how tired she is getting now. It's really sinking in...how really close we are to having our baby."

"Everything's going to be fine."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"Thanks, Everly," he replied with some calmness to his tone now.

"You're welcome. I love you."

"Love you too. Oh, and call me if you find anything else out about that box and the deed."

"I will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She hung up the phone with her brother around 9 p.m. She spent the next two hours canvassing the contents of the box. There were so many letters. She felt a bit guilty when her thoughts lingered on what they might contain. They were addressed to her mom. Should she even read them? They were all clearly opened but the letters were neatly placed back into their original envelope. Would her mom have wanted anyone else to read them? She was always very open with her children. She didn't keep things from them. Even embarrassing things. But this was something different, she could feel it. Why else would her mom have never told her about it? She began to be unsure of herself, so she decided to finish the contents and discuss the letters with her brother in the morning. That sounded better. She would have her brother agree with her. That reading them was not an invasion of her privacy and she'd feel justified somehow in reading them. Right? That's what she was convinced of.

She picked up the journal. It felt heavy to her. Or was that the weight of the week? She untied the neatly wound leather strap and opened it slowly, afraid that the pages might be stuck together over time. Inside the front cover was a picture that slid down the page. She caught it just before it dropped to the floor. A picture of a man. A man that was not her father. No doubt about that. The man was young, her guess was early twenties. Tall, slender, and muscled nicely. Quite handsome she thought. The most beautiful natural blond hair she had ever seen. It reminded her of her mother's in her younger years. The man stood in a proud stance, definitely confident and he was wearing military pants and no shirt. Very nicely built, she thought again. He wasn't tanned yet, so she deduced that he must have been new to the area that the picture had been taken. A military, green canvas tent was draped open behind him. He was smiling. It wasn't a playful smile. It was something more intentional. Like maybe the picture was the exact one that he knew he'd send to her mom. Well, that was how they developed pictures back then. Not like today. Back then, you didn't have the luxury of taking fifty pictures and picking out your favorite one or two. No, back then, you had to authentically pose, and hope that the picture turned out to be worthy of the receiver. This picture most definitely was that. Everly kept staring at the man. Wondering who he was. Something about his gentle smile told her that he was kind. She wondered why that was her first thought...well, after the "nice chest." She turned the picture over, Love always, Brett.

"What?" she yelled. Her mind had a battle with opposites that night. One moment she was crying from utter devastation, the next, her mind lingered back to the man in the picture. She had a silly thought that her mom kept this "fake" box to give her something to do upon her death. A distraction. That would be something her mom would do. It would be something she could see herself doing. Keep the brain busy while the heart learns how to cope. Yes, she could definitely see her mom doing that. When she finally woke, after maybe three hours of sleep, she decided she would call the moment that the clerk's office opened. She made coffee...which also made her cry. She made coffee all the time, just not at her mom's. Her mom made the best coffee. Her mom made the best everything.