Free Two of a Kind by Yona Zeldis McDonough Page A

alongside her ample tote bag, was a three-ring binder with all this information and more—dimension requirements, color and material preferences, price ranges, fabric swatches, and paint chips. Inside the tote itself were a flashlight, rope, rubber gloves, sunblock, a baseball cap, a plastic rain poncho, and a bottle of water—she came prepared. Even her outfit—worn chinos, white T-shirt, Keds—was utilitarian rather than fashionable. Her only nod to self-adornment today was the handwoven belt she’d bought on a trip to Mexico some years ago and her silver bangle.
    Andy woke up just as they were pulling up to the house. He pressed his hands to his face. “I must have conked out.”
    â€œYou slept almost all the way up here,” Christina said. The dashboard clock said eight fifty; the sale started at nine. There were already cars parked and waiting; a couple of them had New York plates.
    â€œI performed an emergency C-section last night,” Andy explained. “I didn’t get to bed until three o’clock.”
    â€œThree o’clock!” said Christina. “You should have told me—I would have understood if you needed to cancel.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Andy said. “I was looking forward to driving up here with you. It’s a nice change of pace.”
    Christina grabbed her bag and binder and got out of the car. Then she and Andy walked across the lawn toward the house, which was set back behind a low and serpentine stone wall. She loved walls like this, each stone selected and set in by hand, the whole thing kept together by the dynamic tension of the parts. A house with a wall like this had promise, and her heart started its eager, anticipatory thrumming as they got closer.
    This was the best part of her work—the hunt, and the sifting through the accumulated possessions of the dead, their precious lives both revealed and defined by what they had chosen to keep. In a way, she hated to carve it all up, the books and bibelots, the rugs, the furniture, the collections of candlesticks and teacups, thimbles and botanical prints. But she couldn’t buy it all, much as she sometimes wanted to. No, the accretion of these particular objects was over now; their story had ended. It was time for these things to return to the stream again, ready to be scooped up and made part of someone else’s life.
    â€œHey, wait for me,” Andy said as he came up behind her.
    â€œSorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get ahead.”
    â€œYou were practically jogging,” he said.
    â€œI just get excited, that’s all.” She was at the house now, taking her place beside the other people waiting there. Just then the door opened and a frosted blonde with pale pink lipstick greeted them.
    â€œWelcome, folks,” she said. “Most everything is marked; if it’s not, just come and see me. There’s stuff in all the downstairs rooms. Second floor too, though not the rooms with the red tape
X
s on the doors; the stuff in there has been claimed by the family or sold already.” She had the eager air of a den mother about to release her charges into the wild. “Happy hunting!”
    She stepped aside; the small group entered and quickly dispersed. Christina immediately went upstairs; if there was an armoire, it was likely to be up there. Andy trailed behind, but she barely noticed him; she had caught the scent and was not easily distracted. She made a quick tour of the rooms on the second floor. No armoire, but a big mirror shaped like a sunburst sat on the floor, propped against a wall. It was a gaudy thing, probably from the 1960s, but was also kind of wonderful in its way. And it might work very well in Andy’s place.
    â€œWhat do you think?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s a little over the top,” he said, kneeling down for a better look. “But I kind of like it.”
    â€œSo do I.” She