Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“You ate anything, Cas? I can feed you.” Noah offered; a sweet smile on his face. His light brown eyes lit up, despite them being glossed over and swollen with grief. “I made some sandwiches downstairs. Tea, too. Mrs. Beale brought over some cookies. I think they’re peanut butter.”
“Thanks, Noah, but I’m okay.” He ran his hand through his hair, brushing the straight black strands away from his face. “I did eat already actually.”
Caspian sighed and slumped onto the bed, hands on thighs, head down. A million naps wouldn’t be enough to give him the rest he so desired. The guest room was his old bedroom. Some of his things from his childhood were still there, such as an old poster on the wall of Sugar Ray and 3 Doors Down. I can’t believe Aunt Angel kept this stuff.
When he’d come back in town for holidays, he’d never ventured in this room. He avoided it for it was a dungeon of pain. A prison of sharp remembrances. A certain power radiated in those walls. The stench of the unknown future and the perfume of the past. That room saw him grow and develop, and break down behind closed doors. It wrapped him up in secrets and spit them out in his dreams. He stayed on the first floor most visits because of this damn room. Now, he was taking a trip back in time, incurring whiplash from the memories zooming past him at high speed. Some good, some not so great. Some purposefully forgotten, for all the right reasons.
“Well,” Noah sighed after a long silence, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I’ll let you get settled in.”
Caspian nodded in appreciation, then bent down to remove his shoes and socks so he could attempt a few moments of shuteye.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Mama left you a box of stuff from your mother. She… she wanted me to give it to you when she passed. It’s down in the basement. I’ll go get it.”
“Hold on, man. It might be heavy. I’ll come with you.”
Noah nodded and the two hightailed it back downstairs, trying to navigate the crowd that smelled of baby powder, smoking pipes, dank remorse, sorrow, phoniness, and antiquated fragrances. What stuff did Mama have that Aunt Angel was holding onto?
His heart pumped against his chest like the saxophone and trombone in the jazzy tune now playing, vibrating inside his ribcage. Pulsing like hot blood in misshapen veins. The basement door opened and Noah flicked the switch on the wall. A buzzing sound commenced and a light flickered, yet it was dull and lackluster.
They made their way down the steps, carefully holding the banister. It smelled damp, and was quite dark in some areas, dank like a gutter. The odor reminded him a bit of freezer burned groceries, too. The walls were made of stone and concrete, the things of nightmares. He recalled being a little boy and hating to be in there alone. As he got older, he savored the darkness, often going down there to escape the light.
Snapping out of his wayward thoughts, he continued to look around.
Two washers and a dryer sat side by side. One of them had been there since he was a child, and yet, it still worked last time he’d checked. An ironing board was in a corner, along with fabric softener and detergent. An exercise bike from the 1990s collected dust, and a small television was mounted on the wall, crooked with a cobweb wrapped around it. Noah went about moving things to and fro. For a split second, he envisioned him as a little boy. He’d grown up so fast.
Noah was naturally gracious and shy. Some said he was perhaps a bit slow, but he didn’t agree. He was just unique and his own person. He had worked at a grocery store the prior year, but had gotten laid off. He was one of the sweetest souls to walk the planet. That used to anger Caspian, and he never understood why. Even now, a surge of indignation filled him as he observed his cousin move about, trying to find this special box. Shame washed over him—an emotion he rarely felt.
“There’s my old football!” Noah cackled, tossing it aside as he continued to dig.
Noah loved talking about football and wrestling, and though he was thirty-six, he still lived at home. Aunt Angel made it so he could stay there, for the house was paid for in full and Noah had been a great help to her during her illness. Now it was just a matter of clearing it out, getting it clean and presentable, and selling what they could. But all of that would come after Aunt Angel was put to rest.
“Here it is, Caspian.”
Caspian walked over and helped Noah maneuver the cardboard box. On the front of it was written, ‘For Caspian. Don’t open until I meet God.’ He smiled at that. Aunt Angel had always had a way with words. It was a bit heavy, but manageable.