Free Another Dead Republican by Mark Zubro

it came from?”
     
    “I don’t unless it has some effect on Veronica.”
     
    Scott swept his hands around at all the papers. “Makes you think.”
     
    “About what?”
     
    “Death. What it will be like when we’re old. When we’re sitting on rocking chairs on a porch waiting for the sun to set. When we die. I don’t know if I’d want to live without you.”
     
    I got misty eyed. I walked over to his side of the desk and pulled him close. I said, “It’ll be a long time before we’re sitting on rockers on a porch at the Old Gay People’s home.”
     
    “Forever with you sounds good.”
     
    “Sounds perfect to me.”
     
    We embraced. His warmth and strength were always a joy to me. His smell was intoxicating.
     
    Then back to work, box after box, mounds of papers getting higher and higher.
     
    Maybe the saddest thing I found was in the bottom box in the front on the farthest right of the closet. It contained papers and memorabilia from Edgar’s childhood: birth certificate, report cards, class photos, Valentines received, high school diploma, letters of recommendation to colleges. In second grade he’d won third prize in a spelling bee contest. The most consistent thing in his report cards were the checks in the sections, Does Not Work and Play Well With Others. Some things never change.
     
    I said, “This is sad.”
     
    Scott came over and looked.
     
    I said, “This is it? This is the sum total of the honors he received?”
     
    “You don’t have to win a lot of honors to be a good person. The vast majority of teams don’t win the championship.”
     
    “I know that, but the high point of your life is in second grade? And that was third place?”
     
    “Maybe there’s more.”
     
    “I hope so.” I pulled more memorabilia out of the box. One was a certificate for third place in the county checker championship when he was in sixth grade. I said, “This is just sad more in kind of a nostalgic way rather than a you-didn’t-win-a-championship way.”
     
    “Well he married Veronica. That had to be a good thing.”
     
    “That’s true. I wonder where the wedding stuff is. Or probably Veronica has that somewhere.”
     

SEVENTEEN
     
    Wednesday 11:10 A.M.
     
    Scott and I took a break from sorting papers. We found the rest of the family in the kitchen. The two boys sat at the table with electronic game devices in their hands. Patricia sat in my mom’s arms. They were discussing dolls and flowers and dresses. Dad was washing dishes while Veronica was wiping and cleaning.
     
    The phone on the kitchen counter rang. The Caller ID said it was the gate keeper. I answered. He said, “I’ve got five more deliveries. I can’t keep all this stuff here.”
     
    I asked, “What deliveries?”
     
    “Food, flowers, gift baskets. Mr. Grum said to hold them here. I don’t have room for all this.”
     
    “Can you bring them to the house.”
     
    “All of them?”
     
    “How many are there?”
     
    “A bunch. They’ve been arriving for a couple hours. People wanted to stop in too, but Mr. Grum said not to let them in. I think they were Mrs. Veronica Grum’s friends.”
     
    I said, “Mr. Grum is no longer here. He was never in charge. I am. Bring them on up. If you want, I’ll come down and help you with them.”
     
    If they were friends of Veronica bearing gifts, I thought they might bring her some comfort. If she didn’t want visitors or the gifts, we’d keep them out. It was certainly not Mr. Grum’s decision to make.
     
    I put my hand over the receiver. “Your friends have been stopping by. Bringing food, gifts. Do you want them to come to the house?”
     
    She thought for only a second or two. “Yes, having people around will help, people I know and who are friends.”
     
    She grabbed a paper towel and dabbed her eyes. So much for Grum’s isolationist’s nonsense. I told the gate keeper Veronica’s wishes.
     
    Scott and I met the guy at the door five minutes later. He