Free Remember the Time by Annette Reynolds

The weak light pooled in the center of the attic, unable to penetrate the blackness that lingered in the corners. The floor creaked under his weight as he walked the narrow path left between boxes and suitcases and trunks. There were no real windows in the attic. The two vents on either end of the space, if viewed from the outside, resembled small gothic windows covered with a tracery pattern. From the inside, the tracery allowed air into the attic, and small pinpoints of light on a sunny day. Today, they were nearly invisible.
    His tiny flashlight wasn’t going to do the trick. Mike made his way back to the attic’s opening and called down to Kate. She finally heard him after his third shout and was soon standing at the foot of the ladder.
    “You bellowed?”
    “Sorry to drag you up here, but I need a good flashlight.”
    “It’s in the kitchen. Be right back.”
    He sat down to wait, dangling his legs through the trapdoor. His eyes settled on a stack of boxes. They were marked taxes in thick black felt pen, followed by the year. He was surprised to see the dates going back as far as 1984. These were the boxes he and Paul had put in the tower room years ago. Had she moved everything out of that room? By herself?
    Her voice brought him back. She was climbing the ladder. Mike reached between his legs and took the flashlight from her. “I’ll try not to bother you again.”
    “No bother. Find anything interesting?”
    “No,” he said, standing. “Not even a bat.”
    She still stood on the ladder, her head and shoulders above the floor now. Mike had disappeared into theshadows. The flashlight’s beam moved over the rafters. She heard him grunt.
    “What?”
    “There’s a small leak over here.” The light moved to the floor. “No damage, though.”
    He continued his search while Kate rested her chin on her arms. He found one more wet spot near the front of the house.
    “You got lucky,” he said. “Looks like the outside needs the most work.” Stooping, he traced the electrical wiring with the light. “What time’s dinner?” he asked, continuing along the side of the room. He discovered mouse droppings and a little fraying around the insulation of one of the wires that ran along the floor. He made a mental note to wrap them. “You have a mouse. Want me to set out traps?”
    “No. Live and let live. How’s six o’clock?”
    “Great,” he said, straightening up. “You move all this stuff by yourself?”
    His casual question caught her off guard, and she answered without thinking. “Well, yeah, who else?”
    Hunkering down in front of her, he said, “Katie, I know you know where the key is. If you value what’s in there, why not let me take a look? Make sure there aren’t any problems.”
    Stiffening, she pushed away from the frame of the trapdoor and disappeared.
    Mike closed his eyes in frustration. “Come on, Kate. I promise I’ll only check the roof and wiring.”
    “No,” she stated like a three-year-old.
    He heard her footsteps fading away down the hallway, and then a door closing firmly.
    Kate flung herself onto the overstuffed chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared out the window of the guest room. The rain was falling steadily now, creating ahypnotic pattering sound. It was a sound she’d forever associate with aching muscles and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.
    The day of Paul’s funeral is overcast, but the rain that threatens holds off for the memorial service, which has turned into a standing-room-only media circus. Kate sits at the far end of the front pew, eyes lowered to her hands folded in her lap. To her left sits her mother-in-law. Margaret A rmstrong sniffles into a lace handkerchief, while her daughter and son-in-law, sitting to her immediate left, stare straight ahead. Kate already feels the family moving away from her. She no longer matters.
    Mike sits directly behind Kate, his hand resting on her shoulder. She longs for the reassuring bulk of her