Family History

Rummaging through the cherry wood trunk, her fingers reached the bottom. She let out a small sound of exasperation as her fingers brushed the cold, smooth surface of yet another yellow Fenton bell speckled with purple spots. It wasn’t there. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but she knew it couldn’t be another one of her grandfather’s glass trinkets.

Pushing the trunk aside with more force than necessary, she looked down at her perfectly polished nails; there was a stark contrast between her pastel purple nails and the weathered antiques that surrounded her in her grandfather’s bedroom. Everything he had owned possessed a distinctly classical, almost reminiscent, appearance. Something was to be said for the whimsy of antiques, she thought, as the corner of her mouth twitched upward thinking of her grandfather’s incessant lectures on the history behind each of the knick knacks on his dresser. In truth, his history lessons were less lecture and more storybook tales of adventure, peril, and magic. That is what she would miss the most.

Her heart ached as she pulled herself up and brushed off the dust that had stuck to her black jeans. Glancing in the mirror, she frowned at the reflection staring back. She smoothed her blonde, unruly curls down as much as she could. Green eyes stared back at her, reminding her just how much she looked like her grandfather.

"What am I looking for, Grandpa?" She sighed. Howard Kemble sure knew how to make a statement. He had left each of his grandchildren something as unique as they were. Except her.

She shook her head as she remembered the sympathetic look Jack had given her when her grandfather's will was read. Her brother had received Grandpa Howard’s beloved collection of pocket watches while her youngest sister Lucy inherited several, very old Fabergé eggs. Both of them acquired items worth thousands of dollars. She would be lying if she had said that she didn't feel at least a little betrayed when the lawyer finished reading the will.

"He was getting old, Trina, you know he probably wasn't thinking clearly when he wrote that will. He was always a bit eccentric; there’s no telling what he was thinking," Jack assured her with the smooth, placidity in his voice that he had always used anytime he saw the red flush of color beginning to flood Trina's chest and cheeks.

Jack was the ideal, perfect brother. When Trina was younger, she had never understood the stories her friends had told of their rivalry with siblings. While her brother was soothing and understanding, her little sister left a trail of joy and constant laughter wherever she went.

"Exactly. We all know you were practically his favorite grandchild, even if he didn't admit it aloud," Lucy smiled, nudging Trina’s shoulder. "Besides, we can still split everything. He knew how close we are; he probably thought that it didn't really matter whose name he wrote on that paper. Grandpa knew we could sort it out on our own."

Staring harder at her reflection, Trina crossed her arms. Grandpa Howard had never really lost his wits even in old age; she was certain of this. And Lucy was right. Grandpa had a special place in his heart for Trina, even if they butted heads on topics like modern technology versus tradition, or the value of antiques in general, or whether family members deserved second, third, or even fourth chances. Trina groaned. That last thought pained her the most. She understood Grandpa Howard better than any of his other grandchildren, or maybe even anyone, period. That meant Grandpa Howard understood Trina better than anyone. Period.

She began to close the weathered, cherry wood trunk, fastening the black, faded leather straps. As she was pulling the last strap down, she noticed that she had to pull far tighter to get the strap to even touch the buckle. Lovely, Trina thought. Thanks, Grandpa.

Frustrated, Trina yanked the other straps loose and heaved the lid back open to see if anything were in the way. Peering behind where the last strap was, she noticed a pocket in the trunk that was stuffed full of ruffled papers. Pulling at the papers, she realized it was a small, black notebook that Grandpa could have easily carried in his pocket. She couldn’t remember him carrying it, though.

“Huh,” she wondered aloud. Just as she was about to read the first page, she heard the door creek behind her.

“Hey, you ready? I packed a couple of boxes in the car. Do you want me to carry that trunk out?” Jack’s dark eyebrows raised in concern as he registered the bewildered expression on Trina’s face.

“Is everything okay in here?” Jack inquired as he pushed the door open. In a couple of strides, Jack was at Trina’s side. Trina look at Jack in awe, realizing she must have inherited the short genes in the family

“All is well. I just found this notebook in the old trunk that I apparently own now. Have you seen it before? It looks quite… loved.” Trina flipped the notebook over in her palms, back and forth, the ruffled pages bouncing.

“Nope. Never. But I can imagine that Grandpa needed some place to store all of those outlandish stories of his,” Jack grinned, “Have you read any of it yet?”

Trina had the inexplicable urge to hide the notebook from Jack. Maybe it was just because this notebook was the only seemingly special thing Grandpa Howard had that was truly hers, even if it were just his journal on the history of antiques. She shoved the notebook into her pocket and shook her head.

“Let’s go. I’ll come back for the trunk later. I don’t think we can fit it in that dainty, little sports car of yours,” Trina smiled mischievously. Trina glanced at the room one last time, her eyes settling on a picture of Grandpa Howard and their aunt: Macie. Macie’s blue eyes glittered, even in the dusty, brass frame. Trina noticed the similarities between Macie’s golden, thick curls and her own. “Do you think she even cares?” Trina asked, pointing toward the picture frame. Jack paused.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. Trina nodded, “I don’t think so. Anyway, let’s go.” Trina slammed the door behind her with, again, more force than necessary.

The following morning, Trina wasn’t sure what to think anymore as her fuzzy tabby cat, George, batted the notebook in her lap, fascinated by the way it would bounce back open each time. What was Grandpa thinking, she wondered. Did she actually know him as well as she thought she did? How did she not know that Grandpa had been in contact with Macie all of these years? Why had he not said anything about reuniting with his one, living daughter? Trina rose out of the chair, carefully placing George back on the couch. George sniffed haughtily, jumping off of the couch to show that he was, in fact, in charge. He licked his paw once, staring Trina straight in the eyes. Then, he proceeded to stroll past Trina and jump on the recliner adjacent to the couch he had just been sitting on. George looked triumphant. Trina rolled her eyes and picked up her coffee mug to take one last sip before making the call that she dreaded.

To her disgust, the call went straight to voicemail. Trina huffed as she thought of her little sister’s forgetfulness; she probably forgot to charge her phone. She began to dial Jack’s phone number instead. She stopped. Trina couldn’t handle Jack’s disappointment right now. That phone call could wait.

Glancing back at the black notebook, Trina sighed. She walked back over to the couch, grabbed the notebook, and plopped down. Just a few more pages, she thought, and perhaps Lucy’s phone will be charged. Her eyes widened as she read the details of the antique shop he and Macie had planned to open before the end of the year. Wow, Trina thought. Maybe that’s why Grandpa Howard didn’t bother to leave much for Trina; he had only been thinking about his plans with Macie.

Trina knew that thought wasn’t fair, but she didn’t care. Grandpa making amends with his only living daughter made sense- she could understand that. What didn’t make sense was why he hid it from all of his grandchildren. Macie abandoned Trina and her siblings when her parents died. That was a fact. Trina remembered the tears slipping down Macie’s cheek as she pulled up to their grandfather’s old cabin that night in order to leave them forever. She told each of the children she loved them, but she just “couldn’t do it.”

Sometimes, when Trina was feeling more optimistic than usual, she thought that Macie meant she just couldn’t get over her sister’s death. That every time Macie looked at one of her sister’s children, she was reminded of her only sister who was taken from her. More often than not, Trina went with her other theory: Macie didn’t care. That theory was proved over time when Macie never bothered to visit Trina or her siblings. Trina could feel her cheeks turning red. She glanced back down at the notebook trembling in her hand and saw a phrase that her grandfather had bolded intentionally, “History is not a burden on the memory, but an illumination of the soul."

Trina didn’t feel her soul illuminated by the memory of her aunt’s betrayal, and it very much felt like a burden. Lord Acton didn’t have it right this time. Sorry Grandpa, Trina thought. Flipping to the last few pages of the notebook, Trina stopped when she saw a list that included each of her siblings names.

“1. Jack-pocket watches

2. Lucy- Fabergé

3. Trina- Macie”

Trina stopped reading. She felt breathless. Below the list, she saw Macie’s address listed. It looked like the same address that she had visited as a little girl, pulling vegetables from Macie’s garden under the sweltering heat of a summer sun. Trina slung the notebook across the room as hard as she could. Flashbacks of arguments with her grandfather began to surface in Trina’s mind.

“I don’t want to hear from her. Ever. Do you understand?” Trina had exclaimed louder than necessary at her grandfather.

“Someday, I hope you’ll forgive her,” Howard smiled sadly, pulling his glasses down the bridge of his nose as he examined a particularly shiny, glass bell. The sun from his bedroom window hit the bell in such a way that it gleamed in contrast.

Trina pounded her fist on the armrest of the couch, causing George to raise his head questioningly. He deemed the situation dire enough. Stretching his body as long as he could, he jumped off of the recliner and onto Trina’s lap. He let out a small meow and stared at her, waiting for a response. Trina looked at George begrudgingly, “You’re right. I have to know why.” George seemed to understand. He slipped off of Trina’s lap and snuggled beside her, waiting knowingly for Trina’s next move. Trina quickly rose off of the couch, walked over to the little, black notebook, reached down and stuffed it into her jean pocket. She grabbed her keys on the table next to her and rushed toward the door, pausing in a moment of hesitation. She slowly pulled the door open and, this time, gently closed it behind her.

When Trina arrived, Macie was already gone. Walking up the sidewalk of the old, ranch-style home with dark blue shutters and a light tan base, Trina immediately noticed the bright red and white “For Sale” sign on one of the windows. Before reaching the door, Trina pulled out her notebook and flipped to the last page. It was the correct address. However, Trina noticed that a page, or several pages, had been ripped out of the book.

Continuing to the door, she could see all of the signs of vacancy inside. No furniture and no signs of life besides a gallon of paint and a measuring tape laying on the living room floor. Trina felt hopeless. Looking around, she noticed that a few of Macie’s yard decorations were still there. She saw the cat statue that Macie had always hidden her house key under. The left side of its chubby-cheeked face was cracked, but there it was. Hopelessly, Trina tilted the statue to one side. To her surprise, the key was there as it always had been. Quickly, Trina grabbed it and opened the front door.

Unsure of what to do next, she walked over to the paint bucket and measuring tape. Noticing a paper that looked suspiciously like the paper in her grandfather’s notebook pinned under the measuring tape, she crouched to retrieve it. Trina let out the breath she had been holding in as she positioned herself on the floor to read the paper.

Trina’s face fell, rose, and flushed all within a single minute as she read the contents of the missing paper. A smile began to surface on her lips as a tear began to roll down her cheek. Grandfather Howard knew exactly what his granddaughter needed. He hadn’t forgotten her at all, and she began to understand how history could, in fact, illuminate her soul. Trina scrambled to get up, bumping the paint can with her shoulder. Trina watched, as not paint, but rolls of one hundred dollar bills spilled onto the floor. The hollow sound of the rolling paint bucket echoed. Trina stood dumbstruck. She counted the rolls: twenty thousand dollars. Her heart ached suddenly. No, she shook her head, she would find Macie. Trina pulled open the door and raced out, not even remembering to shut it behind her.