Filed to story: The One That Got Away
I roll my eyes at the window. Louis’s so Louis.
We’re at a stoplight when Louis suddenly sits up straight and says, “Oh, shit! The Epsteins!”
I was halfway asleep. My eyes fly open and I yell, “Where? Where?”
“Red SUV! Two cars ahead on the right.” I crane my neck to look. They are a grey-haired couple, maybe in their sixties or seventies. It’s hard to tell from this far away.
As soon as the light turns green, Louis guns it and drives up on the shoulder. I scream out, “Go go go!” and then we’re flying past the Epsteins. My heart is racing out of control. I can’t help but lean my head out the window and scream because it’s such a thrill. My hair whips in the wind and I know it’s going to be a tangled mess, but I couldn’t care less. “Yahhh!” I scream.
“You’re crazy,” Louis says, pulling me back in by the hem of my shirt. He’s looking at me like he did that day I kissed him in the hallway. Like I’m different than he thought.
We pull up to the house and there are already a few cars parked in front. I’m craning my head trying to get a good look. I was expecting a mansion with a wrought-iron gate and maybe a gargoyle or two, but this just looks like a normal house. I must look disappointed, because as he puts the car in park, Louis says to me, “Don’t judge an estate sale by the house. I’ve seen all kinds of treasures at regular houses and junk at fancy houses.”
I hop out and bend down to tie my shoelace. “Hurry, Bella! The Epsteins will be here any second!” Louis grabs my hand and we run up the driveway; I am breathing hard trying to keep up with him. His legs are so much longer than mine.
As soon as we are inside, Louis goes right up to a man in a suit and I bend over and try to catch my breath. A few people are milling around looking at the furniture. There’s a long dining-room table in the centre of the room with china and milk glass and porcelain knick-knacks. I go up to it and take a closer look. I like a little white creamer with pink rosebuds but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to touch it and see how much it costs. It could be really expensive.
There’s a big basket with olden-day Christmas memorabilia in it, plastic Santas and Rudolphs and glass ornaments. I’m sifting through it when Louis comes up to me, a huge grin on his face. “Mission accomplished,” he says. He nods at an older couple who are looking at a wooden sideboard. “The Epsteins,” he whispers to me.
“Did you get the chairs?” Mr Epstein calls out. He’s trying to sound casual and not annoyed, but his hands are on his hips and he’s standing very rigidly.
“You know it,” Louis calls back. “Better luck next time.” To me he says, “Do you see anything cool?”
“Lots of stuff.” I hold up a hot-pink reindeer. It’s glass, with an electric blue nose. “This would look great on my vanity. Will you ask the man how much it costs?”
“No, but you can. It’ll be good for you to learn how to negotiate.” Louis grabs my hand and leads me over to the man in the suit. He’s filling out some paperwork on a clipboard. He looks very busy and important. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be here. I’m thinking I don’t really need this reindeer.
But Louis’s looking at me expectantly, so I clear my throat and say, “Excuse me, sir, but how much is this reindeer?”
“Oh, that’s part of a lot,” he says.
“Oh. Um, I’m sorry but what’s a lot?”
“It means it’s part of a set,” he explains. “You have to buy the whole set of ornaments. Seventy-five dollars. They’re vintage, you see.”
I start to back away. “Thank you anyway,” I say.
Louis pulls me back and gives him a winning smile and says, “Can’t you just throw it in with the chairs? A gift with purchase?”
The man sighs. “I don’t want to separate them.” He turns away to flip through his clipboard.
Louis throws me a look, like, You’re the one who wants the reindeer; you should step up. I give him back a look that says, I don’t want it that bad, and Louis shakes his head firmly and pushes me towards the man. I say, “Please, sir? I’ll give you ten dollars for it. No one will know they’re missing a reindeer. And, look, his paw is a little chipped on the bottom, see?” I hold it up.
“All right, all right. Just take it,” the man says begrudgingly, and I beam at him and start to pull my wallet out of my purse, but he waves me off.
“Thank you! Thank you so much.” I clutch the reindeer to my chest. Maybe haggling isn’t as hard as I thought.
Louis winks at me, and then he says to the man, “I’ll bring my van closer so we can load up the chairs.”
They go out the back, and I hang around, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. I wonder if they’re for sale too. Some of them look really old: black-and-white pictures of men in suits and hats. There’s one picture of a girl in a confirmation dress, it’s white and lacy like a wedding gown. The girl isn’t smiling, but she has a mischievous glint in her eye that reminds me of Kitty.
“That’s my daughter, Patricia.”
I turn around. It’s an old man in a navy-blue sweater and stiff jeans. He’s leaning against the staircase watching me. He looks very frail; his skin is paper white and thin.
“She lives in Ohio. She’s an accountant.” He’s still gazing at me, like I remind him of someone.
“Your house is lovely,” I say, even though it isn’t. It’s old; it could use a good cleaning. But the things inside it are lovely.
“It’s empty now. All my things sold up. Can’t take it with you, you know.”
“You mean when you die?” I whisper.
He glares at me. “No. I mean to the nursing home.”
Whoops. “Right,” I say, and I giggle the way I do when I feel awkward.
“What do you have there in your hand?”
I lift it up. “This. He – the man in the suit gave it to me. Do you want it back? I didn’t pay for it. It’s part of a lot.”
He smiles, and the wrinkles in his paper skin deepen. “That was Patty’s favourite.”
I hold it out to him. “Maybe she’d like to keep it?”
“No, you have it. It’s yours. She couldn’t even be bothered to help me move, so.” He gives a spiteful nod. “Is there anything else you want to take? I’ve got a trunk full of her old clothes.”
Yikes. Family drama. Best not to get involved in that. But vintage clothes! That’s tempting.
When Louis finds me, I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in the music room, looking through an old trunk. Mr Clarke is snoozing on the couch next to me. I found a mod minidress the colour of cotton-candy pink that I’m crazy about, and a sleeveless button-down with little daisies on it that I can tie at the waist. “Look, Louis!” I lift up the dress. “Mr Clarke said I could have it.”
“Who’s Mr Clarke?” Louis asks, and his voice fills the room.