- Ted.

Maria paused, waiting for the sneeze, but it didn’t come. She sighed - the attic was dusty, a nightmare for someone with allergies like hers. She couldn’t work in these conditions. She picked up the cardboard box, lifting with her knees, and cursed as the bottom bucked and threatened to give out. Finally, she managed to steady it, and hauled it down the ladder, leaning back and raking the rungs against her own back to keep from tipping over. She’d have bruises in the morning. If she’d thought, she could have gotten one of her boys to bring the box down, but it was a little late for that. Besides, they were having a good time fiddling with the car their grandfather had left them. They wouldn’t know what it needed for sure until Al had a chance to look it over, but they’d both want to be the one that got it right.1

Maria sighed heavily as she wandered into her old room, now a generic guest room, and lowered the box to the floor by the bed. Her dad had been gone almost six months, and though they’d been close and she knew he’d been ready, little moments like these made the loss seem fresh. She remembered him buying that car with a bonus, joking that it was a piece of crap not fit for a sixteen-year-old to drive, but he and her mother would sure have fun necking like teenagers, even If it never got out of the garage. She’d squirmed then - it had always made her feel awkward thinking about her parents that way, but she’d understood more as she had her own family. Her dad delighted in the times he could still make her shudder, and that image had done it. 2

She shook her head, clearing it - there had been time for remembering, and there would be more later, but right now she had a job to do. Her ever-practical mother had allowed herself a three-month grieving period before finding an assisted living community that would offer her a group of friends and a daily roster of activities and trips to choose from. Maria had been surprised - she’d never thought of her mom as the assisted living type - but her mom had laughed when she’d brought it up. She didn’t plan on becoming some old bat that sits around playing Bingo, she just wanted somewhere that she didn’t have to mow and clean so she could concentrate on finishing her own life right. She would, however, be glad to have her only daughter that lived in the area help her clean out and sell the house. 3

Which brought her back to the box. Maria gave it her best dirty look, but it remained unphased, sitting patiently in the middle of the floor, waiting to be sorted through. She pulled apart the cardboard flaps, expecting yet another box of old magazines or sweaters, then froze - there was some sort of fabric in there, but on top of it, as if it had been placed for viewing, was the photo album they’d given her parents at their fiftieth anniversary celebration three years before. It was silly to be annoyed, she knew, but she was - she’d made sure they had copies of every photograph she could find with both of them in it, paying extra for a professional photographer to take a picture of them together that day for the first page. She’d wanted them to cherish it, and here it was, shoved in a box in the attic. She picked it up, and it was heavy - maybe they’d at least put some pictures in it before shoving it away.4

Maria opened the cover, revealing the filmy page that went over the first picture. Her father had written over it in black marker, his scrawl distinct, but legible - it had been before the stroke, then.5

“Angie: I know the kids had that picture taken for us, but I like remembering that day with this one better. I love my morning bike rides with you…and I loved the look on that boy’s face when he noticed us taking the picture. - Ted”6

In the large, round hole where the professional picture was meant to sit, a smaller, traditionally sized picture was placed. It had been taken what her teenaged sons would refer to as Myspace-style, by her father’s outstretched arm, as he and her mother shared a kiss in some neighbourhood. They both still wore their helmets - they’d taken to biking together instead of running, wanting to get to see more of the world each morning. Maria couldn’t help but smile - at 74, her father was more spontaneous and romantically inclined than her own 42-year-old husband. 7

She flipped the page, and there was a spread of all the photographs from the anniversary party, filling a few pages. Her father’s script would occasionally find a place over top of the plastic, making snide comments about the picture or prompting a memory tied to what was happening in it. At the end of the section, across from a rather unfortunate picture of her father, mother, herself, and her twin sisters, a piece of paper was tucked inside the plastic, one of the napkins from the party with “Edward and Angela Pryce” written on it. Her father had also written on it, in blue ink.8

“Angie: The next time someone calls us an inspiration, I’m going to throw up. Or possibly ravish you in front of this room half-full of children, and see if I can pop the role model bubble once and for all. There are a million other places I’d rather we were at the moment, but as you should know by now, the place I want most desperately to be is with you. Luckily, I’ve gotten my way for fifty years - I always do. (Don’t bother arguing - it would be terrible form to leave me at our party, and besides, you know you can’t resist me!) - Ted”9

Maria smiled, remembering her mother glancing down and spitting out a mouthful of wine before glaring at her husband. Now she knew why.10

The pictures she’d given them filled most of the book, with additions from various trips they’d gone on and events they’d attended tucked in here and there, notes attached. Most were on top of the plastic, but some were on other things, and the definite minority were on actual pieces of paper. Apparently in romance, just as in all other dealings, her dad could never bring himself to be serious for long. The pictures eventually gave way to before the ones she’d given them, and she smiled at a familiar picture - the last full family vacation. The twins were leaving high school and she was going into her major at school full-force the next year - the five grown adults seemed incongruous next to each other, the picture almost mimicking the one from the party, though many years before. Next to it, a page from a pocket-sized Gideon Bible had been ripped out.11

“Angie: Woke up. Looked in on sleeping children. Logged onto bank account and realised what this vacation was costing. Decided money would be better spent on drinks for some hot young thing. Off to chase tail, be back tomorrow. - Ted 12

P.S. Just kidding, nothing young will have me. I would, however, love to buy a smashingly attractive woman drinks. Go have your girls’ day, then meet me at the Cocomo Bar off the main drag tonight.”13

They hadn’t noticed that their mother was gone for over an hour - they’d gone back to the hotel to freshen up, and received no response when they’d knocked on their parents’ door. They’d considered kidnapping and death, but never sneaking away for drinks in a touristy bar. Maria shook her head, moving on, watching herself and her sisters grow younger. She chuckled as she came across a picture of herself, babysitting her cousin - she’d done that the whole summer after freshman year. She was wearing an unfortunate patterned jumpsuit that her friends had thought was fantastic, her hair huge and free. Underneath, her father had simply written: “DISOWNED. (God, what IS that?!)” She laughed out loud as she looked closer and realised it was written on the picture itself, from when it was taken by the looks of the fading.14

It was nice to see the time that her father had put into making the book, and to see the tokens of his love for her mom, however jokingly he chose to express it. He’d forever been touching her hand, resting his own hand in her lap - Maria had always assumed he just liked touching her, but it was clear now that a fair number of the touches were expert note-passes. The notes were longer in some places, shorter in others, and became few and far between as she and her sisters dipped to elementary-school age. She turned the page from a set of pictures taken at her third-grade play, and was met with an unexpected sight - typewritten paper, with a blank page across from it. She frowned down at the paper, wondering what it was doing in the book as she began reading.15

”To: Angela Pryce16

From: --------17

Concerning: Your husband’s disappearance.18

Mrs. Pryce:19

We have your husband. He is being kept in a secure location. We have not hurt him yet - whether he gets hurt or not is your decision. You have five hours to reclaim him, or we begin hurting him. Your instructions are as follows: 20

1) Call 253-7442. We have arranged for a qualified babysitter. Do not discuss the situation with her.21

2) There is a box under the left side of the bed. Put on the clothing inside. This will allow our driver to ascertain your willingness to comply with our instructions.22

3) Call 253-8372. This number will connect you with our driver. When someone answers, ask for Austin. Tell him that you are ready.23

4) Accompany Austin. You will be blindfolded so you cannot lead the police to the location later.24

You will receive further instructions when you arrive at the location. Any attempts to contact the police will result in your husband’s immediate death. He urges you to cooperate, for both your sakes.”25

Maria stared at the note, then started as there was a sound in the doorway. She glanced up to find her mother standing there, expression unreadable, and sighed, relieved.26

“You startled me. What is this? I don’t remember it at all. Was it some kind of joke, or…?” she trailed, tilting the book so her mother could see. The woman, still wearing jeans and a t-shirt at 71, bent over the book, and immediately turned bright red.27

“I’ll finish this box, if you don’ t mind,” she said quickly. Maria tilted her head to the side - her mother didn’t blush easily.28

“Your father had rented a cabin for the weekend, he was just being overdramatic,” Angela explained unconvincingly. Maria glanced down, then laughed - at the bottom of the page she’d thought was blank, her father had written, “Do you really want those pictures in here? Our kids are going to see this when we’re dead, you know. Make sure they’re safe before then.” 29

Maria was on the verge of asking about the pictured when the note clicked in her head, and she felt her own cheeks start to burn. She was probably thinking something worse than what it was. Please let her be thinking it was something worse than what it was.30

“It wasn’t…you all didn’t…my mind’s in the gutter, right?” she squeezed out, glancing up at her mother. The woman’s usually strong face was bashful, and she looked away, avoiding Maria’s gaze for what could only have been the second or third time in her life.31

“This box is…private. I’m not dead yet, you see, so I haven’t put it away for good,” she murmured. Maria shifted uncomfortably, mind flashing on the things she wouldn’t want her children to find. She really, really didn’t want to know what was in the box.32

“Sure, sorry,” she murmured, letting her mom put the album back in the box, pick it up, and carry it out. She noticed an envelope on the floor - it had to have come out of the album - and had opened it before she could stop herself. Inside, there was a single sheet of notebook paper. Unlike the rest of the album, this writing was all but illegible - her father’s, after the stroke that had set him up for death weeks later. It wasn’t her business, she knew it wasn’t, but she couldn’t help herself.33

“Angie:34

Hello, darling. There are thousands of men who have loved thousands of women, and written them hundreds of thousands of love letters. They keep them wrapped up in ribbons, or in boxes. You don’t have that, and I’m sorry. You have a sarcastic old curmudgeon’s comments on life, and the words of a sarcastic young curmudgeon on whatever he could find, most written in a bored effort to make you blush…or spit wine all over a table. Heaven help anyone that hopes to look through this album and find the secrets to a long marriage. Of course, this isn’t for anyone, this is for us. And this letter, specifically, is for you. I want it to be clear between us: I love you. I love fighting with you, I love making you blush, I love doing things that would scandalise our children, I loved raising our children with you so there’d be someone around to scandalise. We both know it’s only a matter of time for us, less for me. It’s right that I should go first - I’ll figure out who all the interesting people are in the Great Beyond and put in a good word for you so they won’t think you’re a bitch. Until I see you there, don’t forget me, and don’t let the fact that I’m not there keep you from living. I’ll expect some good stories when I see you again - I know you won’t disappoint me. You never have. There are a million things I would love to tell you, but I think you’ve heard them all before in one way or another, and I can’t read a damn thing I’ve written. Love you, kitten. - Ted.”35

Maria stared at the letter for a moment, then folded it up, tucking it back in the envelope.36

“Mom,” she called, standing and following her mother out the door, “you dropped something.”37