Residue

’Seph scrapes ash across the tab of one of the Pepsi cans that sit on the desk, takes one last drag from the short cigarette and drops it in. The butt fizzles. He gives the can a little shake.

“Damn,” he swears aloud, to himself, and to the unseen mice he hears scrabbling through the mountains of empty pizza boxes scattered on the counter, and in the sink, and on the kitchen floor. “I thought you were an empty,” he mutters to the half-full soda can. He looks past the computer screen into the dark, where he spots Venus low in the Southwest, and the familiar constellation Orion mounting the sky from the Southeast. After a few minutes Venus winks out of view behind the branches of a tall Spruce tree. ‘Seph drags the mouse across its brown-stained pad and the computer screen brightens.

“DAMN! That lady comes TOMORROW!” he exclaims, with a hint of anger and a touch of panic, as he reads the email reminder in his inbox. “Ahh, screw it. Nothing I can do now...” ‘Seph shuts the computer off, yawns, and pushes his chair back from the plain metal desk. He leans his head back and gradually falls into a troubled sleep.

***

When ‘Seph awakes the sky has congealed into a dull, heavy morning. “CRAP,” he thinks, rubbing his neck and staring out between the smoke-yellowed drapes. “That damned kid never did come to shovel the drive yet this week. Probably out there running wild with those droopy-drawered friends of his. Back in my day...”. He lights a cigarette and boots up the computer. He nibbles on a slice of yesterday’s pizza and starts scrolling.

A light blue sedan slows in front of his house, backs up the sloping driveway and comes to a stop. A petite woman with short blonde hair climbs out of it, and then leans her head back in to retrieve a teal-coloured tote bag. Then she opens the back door and pulls out a white plastic cleaner’s caddy, setting it down in the drifted snow while she closes the two rusty doors. She drops her keys into the tote, checks her reflection in the side mirror and trudges toward the old yellow-brick house. ‘Seph watches her approach and winces when she stumbles on the dilapidated second step. A brisk knocking on the door. A moment passes. The front door cracks open.

“Hello? Mr. Brayden?”

“Over here,” ‘Seph calls from behind the shiny grey desk.

“I’m Gina,” she says as she steps inside. “I’m the professional organizer from Hazel’s. I’m here to help you with the decluttering and cleaning you require,” she smiles. “With your input we’ll get your home into compliance by the county’s deadline.”

“Glad to meet you, Gina. Sorry about that driveway.” ‘Seph suddenly remembers the stack of flyers that sits on top of the wood stove behind him. Definitely not in compliance, he knows. In fact it would be downright dangerous to keep them anywhere near the stove, if he actually had any firewood inside to burn on these frigid winter nights. But where else to keep the stuff together and handy. He is bound to use some of those coupons one day and he doesn’t want to lose track of them.

“So, have you given some consideration as to where you would like me to start today, what you feel comfortable about?” Gina plops her tote on the desk and it tips over. Her keys and a little black book spill out toward ‘Seph.

“Well...um... I really hadn’t thought about that yet. Well...how about maybe in the bathroom? Yes, I think I would be okay with the bathroom... It’s...um..it’s the first door on the right at the top of the stairs.”

Gina picks her loaded caddy up off the floor and heads up the stairs. A moment later ‘Seph hears the crinkling of long-since discarded aluminum cans being piled into plastic garbage bags and finds himself tearing up.

“What must Gina think of me?” His face flushes with embarrassment as the clatter continues above, and he weeps. He rubs at his whiskers and pushes back his greying shoulder-length hair. “Seven years,” he thinks. “Seven years and look what I have done to myself.” Seven years since Evangeline had entered his life, cleaning house for him at first, and then gradually her weekly visits took on a tone that was more companionship than mere employment arrangement. Before the motorcycle crash, when ‘Seph was still a whole man...

***

Gina calls down the stairwell, “Sir, I think the bathroom is in pretty good shape now. I’m going to leave these bags up here until the dumpster comes on Saturday. What else would you like me to tackle while I’m up here?”

‘Seph looks up from the computer screen where he has been scrolling through racy images of beautiful women dressed in French maid outfits. Prim uniforms, short ones, naughty ones and even a few prudish old-fashioned ones.

“Uh...could you please take a look at the bedrooms, and wash the bedding? Maybe crack the windows to let some fresh air through?”

“Of, course, Sir,” she calls down.

‘Seph hears the shuffling of Gina’s feet above his head. He sighs and allows himself to fall into aching reverie. His dear, sweet Evangeline, long curly black hair and lithe body complementing her very revealing French maid costume and shiny black stilettos. The uniform she used to wear for him alone, and that she would never don again. After a while he pulls his gnarled hands from the keyboard and contemplates the things that lie on the desk. With only a moment’s hesitation he reaches one hand out. He touches the keys and the little black notebook, which feels like soft felt to his grazing touch. Inside the bluegreen tote he finds a beige leather wallet, some loose gas receipts, and a crumpled piece of paper. He pulls the paper out and smooths it. It is a notice of termination, on letterhead from Hazel’s Cleaning and Organizing, dated eight days ago and addressed to Ms. Gina Taylor, 17 Admiral Street, Vinca, Ontario. Gina apparently no longer works for the agency? Odd... ‘Seph replaces the letter, then reaches again for the black book. He slips off the elastic ribbon closure and glances quickly at the ceiling. He cautiously flips through the first few pages of what is obviously a day planner. Curious now, he turns to the current date, January 27, 2015. Under the date he sees his own name, address and phone number, and under that a single word, printed in large block letters. “HOARDER.” ‘Seph snaps the book shut and squeezes his eyes tight.

***

Gina comes down the stairs with loud footfalls. She hums as she shuffles through the cluttered living room, her arms full of blue cotton sheets. She puts them down to shift a dusty stack of magazines off the top of the washing machine, then lifts the lid and stuffs the bedding inside. She spies a container of detergent on the overhead shelf, squeezed in among an eclectic collection of old appliances, Mason jars, and other sundry kitchen cast-offs. She wedges the jug out, pours a capful of blue liquid in, and then adds a splash more in right from the bottle. She goes back upstairs while water fills the washer.

***

“That’s all I can do for today,” Gina says as she folds the last of the sheets from the dryer.

“Would you care for a cup of hot chocolate, Gina?”

“I would like to, Sir, but I am running late for my next client,” she frowns. ”I’ll be back on Saturday at ten, and we’ll make some more progress. There is nothing else on my schedule that day, so we can take a bit of time to chat about how to move forward. I’ll leave you my cell number in case you need anything in the meantime. The agency is completely unreliable about passing messages from clients along to me.”

“Okay, it’s a date. I’ll go out and get some of those little marshmallows,” says ‘Seph, thinking to himself, “we’re liars, both.”

“Okay, see you then,” Gina says as she rushes out the door.

“Please drive safe, Gina,” ‘Seph calls after her as the door closes.

After the dented car has lurched out onto Cobalt Drive and disappeared around the corner, ‘Seph rolls his wheelchair to the sofa and knocks a bunch of pizza boxes to the floor with a swipe of his muscular arm. He maneuvers himself onto the couch, pulls the old Hudson’s Bay blanket over his body and, exhausted, falls asleep quickly. He dreams of his precious Evangeline. She smiles her cheeky gap-toothed smile as she tickles his face with her jet-black feather duster.

“Don’t worry. Everything will work out okay now, Darling,” she purrs into ‘Seph’s right ear.

***

“Hi Gina,” says the middle-aged woman in a smart navy pantsuit, as Gina peeks into the small, well-appointed office. “Please come in. Can I get you a coffee?”

“No. Thank you, though. I had an iced coffee on my way here.”

“I’m Olivia Kinney.” She offers her manicured hand and the women shake firmly. “Please have a seat.” Olivia motions to the chair across from hers. “As you know, our firm was retained to administer Mr. Brayden’s estate,” she says, “and I need to let you know that he revoked his prior will on May 7th. He instructed me to add a new bequest. He wanted to set something aside specifically for you.

“Really?” Gina had assumed she had been called to the lawyers’ office because she had signed as a witness to documents involved with the county’s final inspection of ‘Seph’s newly-compliant living conditions in March.

“We have a full copy of Joseph Brayden’s Last Will and Testament here for you,” Olivia taps a Manila envelope that sits on her polished desk, “but I sort of wanted to read this section to you in person.”

Gina is curious and a little mystified. Yes, she and ‘Seph had developed a comfortable rapport over the months, but she had only been the help. She didn’t even know when his birthday was. Why would he want to include her in his will? Once the house had been restored to mostly-compliant condition, she had continued her weekly visits, keeping on top of the housework and running errands for him in her car, which was still holding together in precariously patchwork fashion. The car and its muffler had parted company almost three months ago, and she still had yet to have the badly-cracked windshield replaced.

“You will find it highlighted on your copy, but here is the wording that Mr. Brayden asked me to include as a special gift, set aside from the other matters of Execution,” Olivia clears her throat and slips on the silver-framed reading glasses that hang on a chain around her neck. “To Ms. Gina Ellen Taylor, of the town of Vinca, in the county of Jeffries, province of Ontario, who has helped me with so many of the things I cannot do for myself, I leave the sum of $20,000. I hope that she might use this money in the purchase of a reliable, quiet vehicle that she can use for transportation to and from employment opportunities where she will be personally satisfied and appropriately compensated.

Gina sits in her chair for a moment, handling the vintage Pepsi can that she carries in her tote as a memento of what she had been able to do to help Mr. Brayden, even during her own financial trials. Her finger tips brush over the two little holes of its vented lid and her eyes brim with tears.

So ‘Seph had known all along...