April, 1975 “Get me a trash bag.” William Collins looked up at his mother. He was sitting at the dining room table in the home of his late aunt and uncle waiting for her. She had told him that she needed to stop to pick up some papers for the attorneys, but as soon as he entered the house he had taken a seat at the dining room table to wait for her. It was creepy. His aunt Sarah and uncle Carter had been dead for a little more than a week and yet the house looked exactly as they had last left it – tidy, friendly, and organized. It was as if nothing had happened at all in the past ten days, when he entered that house. He knew his little cousin Beth would have loved to come back home, even for a moment. Maybe just to get her dolls or her pillow. “William, get me a trash bag. I’m not going to tell you again.” Nine-year-old William had no idea where the Bennets kept the trash bags in their house, but he knew enough not to question his mother when she was angry. He rose and began his search, looking underneath the sink. He found what had been requested of him in relatively short order, and then, he searched for his mother. He found her in the most unlikely of places, with the most unlikely thing in her hand – Uncle Carter’s bedroom, with a wedding album. His mother tore the box of trash bags out of his hand, snapped one open, and put the wedding album inside it. He followed her around the house as she added things to it, and filled more. “You bastard, Carter,” she rumbled to herself, while going through a hall closet. “You want to leave me here with your brats and make me do your job? Fine. I’ll make it so those damn girls don’t even know who you are.” Catherine went through every room in the house, including the nursery and five-year-old Beth’s room, and removed every picture she could find. In all, when she opened the trunk of her Cadillac to take them away, there were four bags – not necessarily full, but heavy with picture frames and albums. William sat quietly in the back seat while his mother smoked in the front, driving him home. He knew that she was going to put the bags in the trash can as soon as they got home, and neither Beth nor her little sister Ana would ever see them again. Even at nine, William recognized that what his mother was doing wasn’t right, but he felt powerless to stop it. He didn’t know if anything would make her see reason; the past ten days had been the hardest of his short life. He missed his aunt and uncle, and he knew his mother would never be the same. He wondered if she would regret having thrown away the pictures at some point in the future, and resolved on hiding them. When the Cadillac stopped, William and Catherine both jumped out. “I’ll get them, Mom,” he offered, quickly. “I’ll put the bags in the trash.” Catherine looked at him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at him and placing her hand on her hip. “You’re awfully helpful.” “It’s one of my chores,” he said desperately. “It’s my job. I don’t want to lose my allowance. I’ll do it.” The suspicion didn’t leave Catherine’s eyes as she took another drag off of the long cigarette in her hand, but she inclined her head toward the trunk as she opened it. “Fine. Go ahead.” Waiting until she had disappeared inside the house, William grabbed all four bags and ran with them into the garage. There, he looked around the dusty shelves for something a little more sturdy and a little less obvious to hide them in. Two old suitcases sat in the back corner, behind the lawn mower. William recognized them as having belonged, at one time, to his uncle Carter, who had given them to his nephew a few years ago for his first trip to Florida. They were beautiful, reddish brown leather, but were too small to hold any of six-foot-two Carter’s belongings. William crawled over shovels and garden rakes to the corner and opened the suitcases. They were both empty. Laying them flat on the scratchy garage floor, William emptied the contents of the bags that were taken from the Bennets’ house into the suitcases. He quickly shut and locked them, leaving them on the garage floor and trying to make it look like nothing had happened. In the ensuing weeks, without time to think of much else besides how to avoid or appease his mother, William forgot about the suitcases, and the pictures inside them. For five years the suitcases sat untouched in the Collins’ garage, until their move to a new home. At fourteen, William had been assigned the task of directing the movers. William was unhappy about the move to begin with – it meant he would have to switch schools – but now, on a sunny weekend, he had to do his mother’s job while she went to the salon. Luckily, the movers had told him that they’d handle everything when they got there. He spent most of the afternoon wandering around the house, trying to make himself look busy. He wondered if any of the movers would ask him to help. He usually didn’t get asked for help – he was short and pudgy, and most people assumed he was spoiled and lazy. Although he was, in fact, spoiled, the truth was that William would have done anything that anyone asked of him. He was more starved for attention than his cousins were – at least they had the Gardiners, and most of their teachers at Providence Academy felt sorry for them, since their parents were dead. After their lunch break, he surveyed the movers as they emptied the garage. “As if they’d pay any attention to a fourteen year old kid,” he mused to himself, while taking in the sight of the emptying garage. It was an odd feeling – the house he had known for all fourteen of the years of his life was slowly being picked apart, and would never be put back into the same order. Their new house was incredible and grand, but William knew he would always think of this house as his home. “Hey, kid!” William turned to face one of the movers, a lanky but muscular fellow with long hair tied back in a ponytail and a scruffy beard. He held up two suitcases. “Where are these supposed to go to? They’re full of stuff.” He recognized the suitcases in which he had stashed all of the Bennet’s pictures some five years ago after his mother went rampaging through their house. He grinned, a little triumphant. He rarely ever got away with anything, especially where Catherine Collins was concerned. “Those are my dad’s. They’re supposed to go to his office.” “All right.” The mover turned away and placed the suitcases in the cab of the moving truck, where some other things that were to be sent to Bennet Realty’s main office were sitting. William knew his father would simply direct them to be stored, and think of them no more. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------\ ------------------------------------- Twenty years later . . . The biggest reason that the Powers That Be at The Bennet Company had decided to build a new corporate office was that there was no room for the mountains of records which it was required to keep. Miranda Weatherby, a brand-new assistant to an agent who had been representing The Bennet Company for more than thirty years, had been sent to locate a particular file her new boss wanted. Eager to please but confused and lost, she wandered around the building in search of storage. She had been to three other rooms, without success, and considering the mass of records housed in the building, she hoped she would not have to look much further. She entered yet another storage room lined with gray steel shelves with stacks of graying bankers boxes piled five high on each of two shelves. The entire expanse was cold concrete and smelled dry and dusty. The smooth cement floor made her shoes click and clack as they slowly made their way down the center aisle of the room to the back. Miranda turned left. Now there were filing cabinets stacked two high on the steel shelving, with thick particle board layered in between. The bright orange labels indicating the file numbers contrasted harshly with the varying shades of tan that the cabinets were painted. She read the labels one by one as she walked along, occasionally referencing the post-it note stuck to her left index finger. Anticipation coursed through her as the numbers on the files crept closer and closer to the number on her post-it note. When the line of filing cabinets stopped just short of the one containing the number she was seeking, she stopped and sighed. She turned around to look elsewhere in the room, but there were no more of the cold, dusty filing cabinets. She decided to double check the numbers and turned around again. This time she noticed that next to the last filing cabinet in the line, on the top shelf, there was a stack of three banker’s boxes. They were up too high for the petite Miranda to reach, so she located a stool and stepped up on the first rung. It raised her small frame just enough so that she could brush the thick dust off the face of the box to read the number, and to her delight, it was the box she had been searching for. She smiled and stepped up again to grab the box more firmly so that she could pull it down. She tugged a few times, but the box was heavier than she supposed it would be. She tightened her grip on the box, braced herself, and pulled as hard as she could. Much to her surprise, she had pulled the box all the way off the shelf, and along with it came a medium-sized suitcase. They both landed on the cold concrete floor with a loud thud. The box landed in one piece. The suitcase did not. “Shit!” she exclaimed and the suitcase split in two, sending its contents all over the dusty floor. “Crap, crap, crap!” Faded pictures had spilled out of the red-brown case, the sides of which lay on either side of her feet. Then, quite unexpectedly, she heard footsteps. “Are you all right?” asked a light, female voice. On the brink of tears, Miranda was relieved to see the friendly face of the receptionist, even though she didn’t remember Sue’s name. “I’m okay,” she said. “But I just destroyed this suitcase. I don’t know whose it is but it’s obviously personal. Pictures . . . kid’s drawings . . .” With her coffee cup in one hand, Sue looked down at the mess as she patted Miranda’s back with the other. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll figure it out. Hang on just a sec, I’ll be right back.” As Sue turned to leave, Miranda flopped with a frustrated sigh down on the stool she had used to climb to reach the box she wanted and began to pick up the spilled items. A moment later, just as she had promised, Sue was back with a towering man, with red-blonde hair and a cleft in his proud chin. His feet were huge and his suit looked expensive and while Miranda didn’t know who he was, it was clear enough that he was important. “You okay?” he asked calmly, placing his hand on her shoulder as he crouched down. Miranda nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see it on top of the box I was trying to pull down.” “Don’t worry about it,” he replied in an even tone, looking at her agitated face. She was struck by the blue of his eyes and was grateful that he wasn’t upset – at least, not for now. “People shouldn’t keep their personal effects in here.” He turned to pick up a picture and studied it a moment. “That’s Ed,” he commented, and handed it to Sue. She took it. “Yep,” she confirmed. “Who’s the other guy?” The man didn’t reply. He picked up another picture, and then another, and then another, filing them in his hands. “Oh my God,” he whispered, when he came upon a particular one. “Oh my God.” Miranda looked at Sue. “Is this bad?” Sue shrugged. “What, Chuck?” “Beth is gonna flip.” Miranda froze at the names spoken. She didn’t know much about the company, but she sure knew who Beth and Chuck were, and she knew she didn’t want to piss them off. She rested her forehead in her hands. Gazing at the picture in his hand, Chuck reached for his cell phone and dialed a number. “Hey. You better get down here. Yeah, right away. Storage room three.” He turned his phone off and replaced it in his pocket. “Who’s this guy, Chuck?” repeated Sue. “That’s Carter,” he replied, giving her a significant look. Miranda looked on, wanting to know who Carter was. “Carter . . . like . . . as in . . . Carter Bennet?” “Yep,” said Chuck, picking up another handful of pictures. “Carter James Bennet, CEO of Bennet Realty from 1968 through 1975.” “Wow . . . I guess Ana does look like him. What are all these pictures doing here?” “I don’t know . . .” said Chuck thoughtfully as he rubbed the cleft in his chin. “I’m going to go get Ana,” said Sue, after a quiet pause. Chuck looked up at Miranda when she had gone. “Hey, don’t worry about this,” he said, patting her leg. “This is a good thing; trust me.” “Well, just in case it isn’t,” she replied, “I’m going to go hide now.” She picked up the box she had been searching for, and left the room, passing a woman in a dark tailored business suit on her way, who she correctly assumed was Beth and so did not make eye contact. “Chuck, what’s the deal?” asked Beth as she found her president. “What the hell is this mess about?” Chuck said nothing, but rose to hand her a picture from the cold floor. She accepted the picture with a curious look. “That’s Ed,” she commented, looking at Chuck, and then back at the picture. “And my dad. Who’s got a picture of my dad?” Chuck put his hand on her shoulder and gestured to the floor. “You do, Beth. They’re all yours.” He watched as Beth surveyed the floor in shock and confusion. “Are you kidding?” she asked as she looked at Chuck. “Where did this come from?” “These are all your family pictures,” repeated Chuck. “It’s not just the one in your hand. I don’t know where they came from. Ted’s new assistant came in here looking for something and this suitcase landed on her head.” “What do you mean it landed on her head?” Beth was still very confused. For twenty years, she had two pictures of her father, besides the formal portrait hanging in the lobby of the building, one of her mother, and one of them together. As far as she knew, when Carter and Sarah died, Catherine had gotten rid of everything in their house that she did not want to keep for herself, and she hadn’t wanted any pictures of her brother or his wife. “Is she all right?” “She’s fine,” said Chuck. “A little scared that you’re going to be pissed at her, but fine.” “Who’s pissed at who?” Ana’s heels could be heard as they clicked into the storage room. “Sue said you needed me.” Still a little dazed, Beth finally dropped down on her haunches and searched through the pile of pictures on the floor until she found a certain one. She rose and handed it to Ana, in much the same way as Chuck had done. Ana took the picture. It was a beautiful summer day at the park. In the background, children could be seen playing on swings and sliding down slides. Posies and marigolds were in full, glorious bloom, and the grass was bright green and clipped neatly. In the center of the picture, a gentleman with sandy blonde hair, dark sunglasses, and a wide smile pressed his cheek against that of a little girl, less than one, with thin, unruly blonde curls who was giggling uncontrollably. “Is this me?” “Yeah.” Beth’s eyes were starting to fill, and so were Ana’s. “Is that Dad?” “Yeah.” Beth took the picture from her hand. “This is the day you got that scar on your knee, you know,” she said. “Dad was chasing you, crawling around in all that sand. Mom was trying to get him to stop because she thought there might be something in the sand, or in the grass. She was right. Big piece of glass, right in the middle of the sandbox. Wouldn’t have scarred if Dad had taken you in for stitches, but he couldn’t let anyone touch you.” Ana looked at her sister earnestly. She remembered nothing of her parents herself; Beth remembered very little, and what she did remember, she spoke of rarely. It was too emotional for her, to think of parents she would never see again when there was so much going on in her life that she wanted them to be there for. Ana looked at the floor and the broken suitcase. “Are these all ours?” she asked. Beth sat down on the floor. “Yes, they are.” Her sister knelt next to her. “Where did they all come from?” she asked, eagerly picking up a handful of pictures. “I don’t know,” said Beth. She picked up a drawing that she must have made, as it had her name on it, and smiled a little. Then she laughed and showed Ana the drawing. “What the hell is this supposed to be?” Ana laughed back at her. “You drew it,” she replied. “Art was never really your best subject.” Beth agreed and turned to the pictures she had in her hands. “You know who I bet knows something about this?” “Hm?” “Our darling cousin Will.” “Do you want me to get a hold of him for you, Beth?” asked Chuck, looking down at her. “Yeah. Just have him come here; I bet he’d like to look at them too.” Chuck agreed and left the room, and in a few moments was back. “I just spoke with him through Charlotte,” he said. “He’s on his way. He says there’s another one.” Beth’s head snapped up. “Another one?” “Yeah – he said there’s another suitcase. Looks the same and all.” Beth rose and looked him squarely in the eye, in full command mode. “Find it.” Chuck smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” An hour later the suitcase had been found and as her president triumphantly handed it to her, William Collins entered the room. Chuck left, kissing Beth’s cheek as he did. “This is incredible,” William commented as Beth opened the second suitcase. “My mom was gonna throw these out, you know,” he explained. “I squirreled them away to the corner of the garage and then when we moved I had the moving guys take them here, and then I totally forgot about them.” Both of his cousins hugged him tightly, thanking him, and then they spent the next handful of hours sitting on the floor of the storage room looking at pictures. William was gratified by the content looks on their faces and even the occasional tears that welled in their eyes, and none of them moved until every picture had been viewed by all three of them. “I always felt so detached,” said Ana when they were through, sitting back and wrapping her arms around her knees. “I don’t remember them and I had no pictures.” “It’s kind of like Christmas, isn’t it?” said Beth. Ana laughed. “A little bit.”