Sadie looked up the long, narrow staircase, balling her small hands into fists. Although there was a railing, the stairs appeared old and uncertain. What if she fell? Worse, no matter how hard she squinted, she still couldn’t see the top. It was too dark.
She had only been in the attic twice. The first time she had been seven, trailing close behind her father’s steps, a necessary excursion to retrieve an old bike, now hers. The second time was just six months ago, shortly after her tenth birthday, to find a box of antique silverware. Her mother declared it a waste to keep them stored away, unused. When they opened the box, Sadie peered excitedly over her mother’s shoulder, expecting a beautiful white light, like the golden glow of a pirate’s treasure chest. To her dismay, however, the tangled mess of forks, spoons and knives were nearly black, like something disgusting Prince, their Jack Russell terrier, had barfed up. Her mother, seeing Sadie’s heartbroken expression, had laughed.
“Don’t worry, Duckie,” she said. “All they need is a good polish, then they’ll be good as new!”
Sadie had been more than skeptical. Afterwards, she wandered out into the garden to play, searching the grass for fallen acorns. Hours later, when she returned to the house, pockets heavy with acorns, she had been astonished to find her mother standing proudly over a pile of glittering silver, fingers black with grease.
“What did I tell you, Duckie?” she cried happily. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
That night the family used the newly-polished silver to cut their steaks. Everyone nodded their approval at her mother’s work, who then turned to Sadie’s grandfather with a sweet smile and said, “Oh, Rick. You must have a lifetime of memories hidden up there! Who knows what else we’ll discover.”
Sadly, she never had a chance to find out. Just two months later, both Sadie’s parents were killed in a boating accident. Sadie spent the next three months being bumped back and forth between her relatives, like a crate of moldy oranges. Although everyone had been kind and welcoming, Sadie suspected the truth: no one wanted her. It wasn’t that they were being selfish, she knew, they just couldn’t take on the responsibility of another child, especially one so young. Her parents had waited until they were older to have Sadie, their only child, and, as a result, she had grown up lagging far behind her cousins. While they were in high school, whispering about boys and tasting their first cigarettes, she was still memorizing simple fractions and baking cookies with her Girl Scouts troop. In the end, despite being well into his eighties, her grandfather had taken her in. She guessed it was because he had been on his own since Grandma died, and missed having family in the house.
Sadie was grateful to him, of course, but in the month she had been here, she felt lonelier than ever. It was very difficult, she discovered, to feel close to someone so old and so removed from the world she grew up in. The only good thing to come out of it all was being allowed to keep Prince. Each time she had been forced to move, Prince the dog stayed loyally by her side. Now, he had come with her to live at Grandpa Rick’s, and sat patiently by her feet.
“You stay down here,” she said to him. “I’ll be right back.” Prince gave a quick bark.
She looked up the staircase again. This time, she had to face them alone. Her grandfather was too old and frail to make the journey, so it was up to her to retrieve the box. She took a deep breath and began to climb. The stairs creaked and groaned under her weight, and Sadie, terrified, scuttled up quickly and crawled onto a wide ledge that led into the room. She moved her palm along the wall until she found a switch and flipped it on.
The attic was a small, cramped space, with low ceilings and cobwebs everywhere. Once in a while she heard a light pattering and squeaks coming from inside the wall. She tried her best to ignore them. Just find the box and get out, she told herself.
It was a lot more crowded than she remembered. Almost twice as many boxes, and a couple new pieces of furniture. As she glanced around the room, her eyes fell upon a small wooden dresser, painted a light pink. She recognized it with a shocking jolt. It was her mother’s. As she glanced around for a second time, she realized why the room was so full: in addition to her grandfather’s things, there were also things from her house, carelessly thrown up here to collect dust. To be forgotten. She looked in horror at the boxes labeled Anna/Clothes, Anna/Kitchenware, Peter/Books, Peter/Suits. Some of them even had her name on them. She rushed towards a box labeled Sadie/Toys and ripped it open. Inside, she found her collection of long-forgotten Barbie dolls, one from each Christmas, and an assortment of stuffed animals. She pulled out a blue bunny rabbit she used to love and hugged it tightly. “You’re coming with me, Flopsy.”
She started to close up the box then hesitated. Finally, she opened it back up and whispered, “I promise I’ll be back for you guys soon!” then closed it again, satisfied. Flopsy in hand, she crawled around looking for the box she wanted.
As she searched, she passed many others with boring labels: Arabella/Tea set, Rick/Tennis and golf, Hector/Blankets. When she saw the last one, she frowned. Why did Uncle Hector keep an entire box up here for his blankets? Curious, she opened it up and peered inside. Instead of blankets, however, she found stacks of thin plastic cases, on the covers of which featured very naked and very big-breasted women. She stifled a laugh and closed the box. Now she knew why Uncle Hector was always so eager to “look through his old things” whenever he came for a visit.
Sadie continued to crawl around the narrow space, but failed to spot what she was looking for. Suddenly, as she brushed past a tall column of boxes, the top one came tumbling down. She leapt out of the way just in time. Sadie was about to put it back when she noticed it didn’t have a label. It was small, about the size of a shoe box. She opened it up and found a few scattered items inside: a rusty pair of binoculars, three black-and-white photographs, and, to her amazement, a small gun.
Gingerly, she picked up the gun and inspected it. She had no idea whether it was loaded or not, but it felt heavy in her palm and she could tell it was very old. As she held it in her hands, an eerie feeling passed over her. Regardless of whether it was loaded or not, she was filled with an awesome sense of power. The idea that she held in her hands a weapon, a real weapon that could kill another human being, was at once exhilarating and horrifying. She wondered, if she ever found herself in a situation where it would be necessary, if she could fire the weapon. At first she thought perhaps yes, she could, if her life or grandfather’s life were in danger; but then the word kill entered her mind and the horrible feeling came over once more, and she knew it was not something one could really know until the time came. Briefly, she wondered if the gun had ever been fired, and what the consequences of the shot had been. Then she quickly decided she would rather not know. She put the gun down.
The binoculars didn’t interest her, so she placed them beside the gun and went straight for the photographs. The first was of a young man standing next to a very pretty woman. Behind them was a large, old-fashioned airplane. The woman was dressed in a well-tailored summer dress, and the man was wearing a uniform and hat. She didn’t recognize either of them. Flipping it around, she saw that someone had written on the back, Rickie and June, 1941. Sadie gasped. That was grandfather? But he was so young, and, she had to admit, so handsome, too. But who was this June? Her grandmother had been Arabella, known to most as just Bella, and she had (though it turned white long ago) feathery blonde hair. In the second photograph, a close-up of June, Sadie noticed her dark curls swept back in the classic style. Sadie traced the worn photograph with her finger, admiring June’s delicate features. Then, she ran a hand through her own thick hair, so dark it looked more black than brown most days.
The last photograph was another shot of the young couple and the airplane, but this time they were standing in the open doorway, waving enthusiastically at the camera. They look so happy, thought Sadie. She smiled then, trying to imagine what they had been like together. Had grandfather been a gentleman? Did he bring her flowers and kiss her gloved hand? Sadie giggled, fully aware that, thanks to overheard snippets of conversation by her older cousins, men, or boys, rather, no longer did such things. But she found it comforting to imagine a world, her grandfather’s world, in which they did. It filled her with a sweet longing. The feeling didn’t last, however, instead replaced by a sudden dread, when it occurred to her to wonder, What happened to June?
But, of course, Sadie found no answers. There was nothing else in the box to suggest what happened between the young lovers, or where she was now. Suddenly, Sadie felt an enormous wave of sadness crash over her. Why did we have to lose the people we love? And what were we supposed to do after they had gone? She was thinking of her parents. Sadie wanted to be angry at them for leaving her alone, her and Prince, but somehow she couldn’t find the energy to. It was not anger she felt, after all, but a terrible longing. She wanted desperately for things to go back to how they were. But she knew it was impossible.
At that moment, she heard a bark from downstairs. It was followed by her grandfather’s voice.
“Sadie?” he called, his voice strained with age but still firm, demanding. “Are you alright up there? Any luck with the box?”
She poked her head out of the opening. Her grandfather was standing at the bottom of the steps, leaning on his cane. Prince sat obediently beside him, wagging his tail. “Not yet!” she said. “I’m still looking. There’s a lot of stuff up here!”
Her grandfather laughed, a low throaty chuckle. “Yes, don’t I know it. Someone really ought to clear some of that junk out.”
There was an awkward pause then, one that often arose whenever Sadie could not think of more to say to him. Finally, she called out, “I’ll be down as soon as I find it, Grandpa.”
“Okay, honey. You be careful now.”
Sadie watched him hobble back into the kitchen, where he spent most of the day reading. Prince remained at the steps, eyes huge, panting up at her. She laughed. “I’ll be down soon, Princey, okay? Good boy.” The dog barked once, spun around a few times, then curled up on the floor.
It was another twenty minutes until she found the box she was looking for. Excitedly, Sadie pulled it out from under an inflatable Santa Claus. X-mas/Tree. Thankfully, it wasn’t too heavy. She scooped it up in her arms and made her way down the steps, careful not to trip. Prince hopped frantically around her feet. Sadie smiled down at him. She was looking forward to the festivities.
***
Their neighbors, Sheila Montgomery and her husband Jason, had surprised them that morning by dropping off a small pine tree at their doorstep, along with a box of Sheila’s famous snickerdoodles. Grandpa Rick had been overly-enthusiastic with his thank yous.
“Sheila, Jason, my oh my! You shouldn’t have!”
“No trouble at all, Rick,” said Jason. “It was Sheila’s idea, mind you. Though, of course, we’d like to do all we can to welcome little Sadie to the neighborhood.”
Hearing her name, Sadie had peered out shyly from behind the large plant she was using as cover.
“Th-thanks, Mrs. Montgomery. And Mister,” she squeaked out.
Sheila Montgomery smiled and handed her the box of cookies. “Here you are, sweetheart. I baked them fresh just for you and your grandfather.” Then she bent down and, cupping a hand around her mouth, whispered: “Don’t forget to leave a couple out for your midnight visitor!”
It took a moment for Sadie to register what Mrs. Montgomery was referring to (or who, rather) and did her best not to scowl. How old did she think she was?
Meanwhile, Jason was chatting with Grandpa Rick. “Expecting any visitors tomorrow?”
Her grandfather shook his head. “Ah, I’m afraid not. The children – though I can hardly call them that these days! – have gone off with their families to remote destinations this year. You know how young people these days like to travel…terribly expensive, in my opinion. But they booked the trips months ago, you know, before…” he drifted off. Sadie caught both Montgomerys nodding sympathetically. She wanted to punch them.
Her grandfather continued. “Anyhow. It’ll be just me and Sadie tomorrow. For a time I was expecting a – an old friend to pay a visit, but it doesn’t look like she’s in any condition to travel. Terrible thing, you know. Getting older. Really quite awful.”
Again, the sympathetic nods. Then Sheila spoke up. “Well, listen, Rick. You take care of yourself, and Sadie, too. I’ll be sure to bring over a couple plates for you two tomorrow – I’m cooking up a storm! – so at least you’ll have a warm Christmas dinner to look forward to.”
“Thank you, Sheila, that would be very appreciated.”
After the Montgomerys left, Sadie had helped her Grandfather drag the little tree into the living room, next to the big stone fireplace. Then he had asked if she would go and find the box of ornaments in the attic. Now, they sat around the tree together, Grandpa Rick in his wheelchair, stringing up the little bulbs and cheerful figures one by one. Prince slept soundly on the rug by the fire.
“Been a long time since there’s been a tree in this house you know, Sadie.”
Sadie was struggling to get a ceramic gingerbread man to stay in place. “Really? Why?”
“Well, that’s what happens, honey. Children grow up, start their own families…and then after your Grandmother…things just, stalled, you know.”
“But I remember coming here when I was little.”
“Yes. Yes, when all the grandchildren were growing up – you were even younger than the rest, of course – everyone would come and stay a few nights. The house was full of people. That’s how it should be. But eventually they stopped coming.”
Although she knew her Grandfather was speaking the truth, Sadie felt that there were things he left unsaid. She vaguely remembered the years he was talking about, when Uncle Hector, Aunt Maggie and their spouses and children – her cousins – would come stay for Christmas Eve. But she had been too young for the memories to stay full and vivid. Even now, when she cast her mind back, she could only pull out interrupted fragments of time, a patchwork collection of a child’s memory.
In particular, she remembered coming downstairs one night, probably to get a glass of water, and hearing voices in the kitchen. Hushed, angry voices. When she tip-toed closer, she recognized them as Grandpa Rick and her grandmother, Arabella. She couldn’t quite hear or understand what they were arguing about, but she was sure she heard the names ‘Hector’ and ‘Mariko’, her uncle’s wife. The next morning, when they all sat down for breakfast, she noticed Grandpa Rick acting very stiffly towards his eldest son, and Arabella shooting apologetic glances at her daughter-in-law. The couple departed soon after breakfast, which was unusual; everyone usually stayed until after the presents had been opened.
Sadie never did find out what happened, nor did she ask her father about it. As she grew older, however, she noticed that Aunt Mariko, whom she was very fond of, showed up less and less at holiday gatherings. When she asked her mother one Thanksgiving why Mariko wasn’t there, her mother only shook her head and said her aunt was ‘very busy with work’. Sadie remembered thinking this was strange. She knew that Mariko taught high school in the town next to theirs, and didn’t schools have Thanksgiving off? Hers did. But when she repeated this to her mother, she had given her a stern look and said, “It’s not your place to worry. It’s not our place, understand? Don’t go asking your father these questions, Duckie. Promise me?” Reluctantly, Sadie had promised.
Over the years, whatever happened to Hector and Mariko began to happen with the rest of the family, too. Pretty soon, Aunt Maggie and her husband Jared stopped showing up. For a while her cousins still came on Christmas Day, but eventually they left for college all over the country – one even moved to London – and all of sudden it was just Sadie and her parents. And now, it was just Sadie.
They had mostly finished decorating the tree by now. All that was left was the star on top.
“Back in the old days,” her grandfather said, “we’d have the youngest one put the star up. That was your father. Someone, usually his brother, would hoist him up so he could reach.” He gave Sadie a tired smile. “I don’t think I have it in me to help you now, honey. Can you reach it on your own?”
Sadie looked up. The dusty ornaments glowed dimly, dulled by age. The tree was much shorter than a regular one, but still to tall for her. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you want a ladder, or should we just leave it as it is?”
Sadie took a step back to look at the whole tree. She had to admit it looked strange without the star, half-finished. But then she thought, who was going to see it anyway?
“Let’s just leave it,” she said.
Her grandfather gave a stiff shrug. “Alright. Now what do you say we try those cookies?”
***
That night, as promised, Sheila Montgomery brought over a heaping plate of food, more than enough for an elderly man and a young girl, as well as two thick slices of gingerbread.
“And here’s a small bottle of milk,” she said, winking at Sadie, “In case you ran out.”
As they ate, her grandfather said, “Very nice woman. Her husband went to school with your father, you know.”
Sadie didn’t know.
“They were close,” he continued. “Always up to no good, like boys are.”
He let out a laugh, which then turned into a long cough that began to sound like a sneeze. Sadie went over to the sink to get him a glass of water. He drank it gratefully. Finally, his face red, he wheezed out: “Unbelievable! The way the body starts to go…”
Sadie said nothing. Over the last month, her grandfather had often made these kinds of remarks. At first, she had felt embarrassed, though by what she wasn’t sure. Her youth? Ten years old with her entire life ahead of her, while his was draining away, like water swirling down the tub. But after a while she decided it wasn’t just her youth per se, it was her youth in her time.
One night, over a dinner of boiled carrots and pan-fried fish that tasted like bacon (Grandpa Rick had only one pan and he used it for everything) he had suddenly brought up his younger brother, Peter. Sadie was surprised, she always figured he was an only child, like her. She was also shocked to hear her father’s name. He must have died a long time ago, she thought. In fact, it had been more than eighty years ago. Her grandfather said little Peter died when he was only nine years old, of ‘blood-poisoning’. Later, she learned this meant tetanus. Apparently, his brother had been in the yard raking up leaves when he had cut himself. A week later, he was dead.
When she heard this, Sadie was hit with a heavy realization: her grandfather had survived so much. More than she could possibly understand. At ten years old, she hardly ever thought about death. Even when her parents died, she had trouble grasping what that truly meant. She understood that they were gone, and they never coming back, but dead? What did that even mean?
She never saw their bodies. Aunt Maggie had insisted on an closed casket funeral. At the time, she was angry. She wanted to see with her own eyes that they were really, truly dead. But now, four months later, she was grateful to her aunt. Her parents bodies had been at sea for almost a full day before they were found. They would have been bloated with water, but at the same time shriveled and dry from the salt.
She remembered watching her grandfather as people made their speeches. He was the only one, aside from herself, that had yet to shed a tear. She thought maybe he was saving them for later, as she did. She cried for three whole days afterwards, each episode descending on her like a wave. Even now, she cried. The episodes were less forceful than before, those had been like blinding, rolling tides. They were smaller now, little bursts of tears, whimpers in the night. But her grandfather never showed any signs of grief. Not at the funeral, and not now, with Sadie in the house. Of course, she did not know what went on in his mind or behind his bedroom door, but she got the feeling from him that the death of his youngest son was somehow not all that tragic.
Then, when he mentioned his brother Peter, Sadie began to understand. For him, death was common. Death was expected. In those days, you were more likely to die than to live. And then, of course, he had fought in the war. This, the notion of death on a massive scale, was even less comprehensible to Sadie. But she knew she was lucky for that. She was lucky to be spared a life lived under that cloud.
Now, whenever her grandfather complained about the aches and pains of old age, she no longer felt embarrassed. She did not feel pity. Instead, she felt only relief for him. After all, he had lived a whole life in the face of death. And every time, he had survived. Now, he was locked in the final throws. He knew, as she did, it was not a battle he would win. No one would. But he was lucky, so lucky, to have made it to this moment at all. So many from his generation would never know the satisfaction of dying a natural death. They, like her parents, had been robbed of the only real death there is. Her grandfather knew this. And now, Sadie knew it too.
***
The next morning – Christmas Day – Sadie came downstairs to a surprise.
Her grandfather was standing by the kitchen table, his special Christmas cane in hand (red and white stripes), a big smile on his face. “Sadie! Look what Santa brought us this year!”
An thin old woman with a shock of white hair sat in a wheelchair at the table. Another woman, young, dressed in pink scrubs, stood awkwardly to the side. She smiled and gave a half-hearted finger wave. Sadie waved back.
“Come here, honey. Come,” her grandfather said. When she reached the table, he gestured for her to take a seat next to the old woman. He gently lowered himself onto the seat on her other side. He smiled again, his bushy white eyebrows arching like fat, happy caterpillars.
“This is an old friend of mine, Sadie. Her name is June.”
Of course, Sadie knew who the woman was the moment she saw her.
“June,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you! My name is Sadie.”
The old woman gave her a confused look. “What?” she rasped. Her voice was like split wood.
Her grandfather chuckled. “She’s a little hard of hearing, honey. You’ll have to speak up.”
Sadie repeated herself, this time taking care to talk slowly and clearly.
For a moment, it seemed like June still did not understand her. But then, she nodded and shifted her watery blue eyes to meet Sadie’s gaze. She cracked a smile, revealing a mouthful of crooked, stained teeth.
“June and I go far back,” her grandfather said. “We met when I was just a few years older than you. I never thought…”
Then, to Sadie’s utter shock, she saw her grandfather’s eyes well up with tears. But even then, being the man he was, he blinked them away and swallowed once, hard.
“How did you find her?” Sadie asked.
“Your Uncle Hector…” he began, then shook his head and laughed in a way that suggested disbelief. “He found one of her daughters on those Internet pages. Face look?” His caterpillar brows knit together in confusion.
Sadie giggled. “You mean Facebook?” Then she added, “The one with the pictures?”
Her grandfather grunted. “Yes, I think so. Anyhow. He asked about her mother, June, and together they arranged for her to visit. It took some time, of course, but…”
Sadie smiled. “Here she is.”
“Yes. Here she is.”
They sat together quietly for a moment, then Sadie said, “She looks just like her photograph.”
Her grandfather frowned. “What photograph?”
Sadie smiled sheepishly. “I – I found some photographs of you two yesterday, in the attic.”
“Really? Do you happen to remember where they are?”
Sadie sprang to her feet. “Yes! I’ll go get them right now!”
Before her grandfather could protest, she had disappeared down the hall and climbed into the attic. Prince, who had been sleeping, was confused by the sudden shift in energy, and began barking enthusiastically.
“Hush, now, dog,” said Grandpa Rick.
“Oh, how nice…” said June, smiling dreamily.
Within minutes, Sadie had returned. She held out the three photos proudly while trying to catch her breath. “Here!”
Her grandfather took them and examined each one slowly.
“My oh my…”
He didn’t say anything else, but Sadie knew he was more than touched.
Finally, he said, “Thank you, honey. I had no idea I still had these.”
Sadie grinned. “Maybe you can post them on Facebook.”
Her grandfather laughed. “Yes, quite…”
Afterwards, the three of them sat together at the kitchen table and enjoyed a large breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast (all made in the same pan) with orange juice and coffee. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall. For the first time in months, Sadie felt a sense of normalcy return. As she munched on a piece of well-buttered piece of toast, she spotted her grandfather and June across the table, smiling at each other like not a day has passed since that summer day in 1941. She felt an overwhelming sense of happiness for them, for June, and especially for her grandfather. It really was true, then, what people said, about not knowing what the future holds. After all these years, Rickie and June and found each other once more.
It gave her hope, something she thought she had lost. Who knew, Sadie thought, when it was her turn to complain about creaking joints and a painful hip, what kinds of things she might find again?
