Leave a Note

Gerald Foster was a creature of habit. He would stare at the ceiling fan, and with every whooshing noise, he’d count a tally until he felt like getting up. He stretched his limbs before leaning over to polish his wooden cane, always making sure he shined it until he could see his reflection. Then, he would begrudgingly hoist himself up and journey to the bathroom, where he would brush his teeth and carefully part his rapidly greying hair to the side. He’d dress in one of his many flannels, which lined his dresser in colorful rows, folded neatly side-by-side. Then, he’d proceed to the kitchen where he’d boil a pot of water for his instant coffee. The only mugs he owned were the floral patterned ceramics his late wife Amber had picked out. With the creamer mixed to his satisfaction, he would retrieve the morning paper from the front lawn and move back to the porch that sagged just slightly downward. The old planks would squeak under his weight as he moved across them, the sound of his heavy footsteps followed closely by his cane. The wooden rocker that he had made by hand so many years ago rested comfortably in the corner.

This morning, the sun had just started to rise, outlining the houses with a halo effect. He plopped himself into the rocker and sipped his coffee. The back-and-forth movement aggravated the porch planks, which gave the occasional protest, but the chair itself never so much as creaked under his weight. There was a barren spot next to his where Amber’s chair used to be. He sold it last year because it reminded him too much of all the times they would sit alongside each other and rock gently with the wind. He found himself missing her most in these mornings.

Christmas was three weeks off and the neighborhood was lit up with decorations. Across the way, Gerald could see the Sanders’ infamous collection of inflatable reindeer, complete with a giant Santa Claus, tied to their roof. Gerald didn’t plan on decorating his house because he didn’t care to participate in the holiday festivities alone, but he still enjoyed seeing his neighborhood adorned with colorful lights and fake snow. It was early enough that most of the houses still had holiday lights on from the night before.

Today, he decided to attempt the paper’s crossword first instead of last. Gerald was perfectly aware of what anyone would think if they observed him, as solving the crossword was a practice reserved for old people. But Gerald knew he was just that— an old man. He enjoyed doing the newspaper’s crosswords because they kept his mind active, and there were few things left for him to tend to nowadays.

He was having trouble with 11-down when a whining noise disrupted the street. In the distance, an old Chevy cranked its way toward Gerald’s house, which lay at the end of the cul-de-sac, and eased itself onto his driveway. Just over the hedge, Gerald looked out in disbelief. He squinted at the driver’s seat, unsure of the figure behind the car’s windows. A woman threw open the door and stepped out, and, mimicking her, a small blond boy popped out from the backseat.

Her wiry brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She stood there, dark circles and fine lines etched neatly into her face. Her figure seemed fragile; she looked as though she was wrapped in skin.

“Laura,” Gerald said. He used the cane to hoist himself up. It had been so many years that saying her name felt odd on his tongue. It was as if he finally remembered a word he had forgotten. Nine years had erased so many memories that Gerald had forgotten much of his own child.

Time had left its mark. When Laura left home, there was no note, no explanation. The only mark of her departure was her disheveled room, raided of some clothes. She’d been seventeen. Amber and Gerald were left to cope with the sudden loss of their only child; they waited to start a family only to enjoy it in brevity. They speculated, at the time, that her sleazy boyfriend Carmen played a role in her disappearance, but they could never confirm it. The police closed the investigation soon after, because Laura turned eighteen. They concluded that her disappearance had been willing.

Gerald could think only of the moment he called the police to report what he’d lost. He could almost feel his body go numb again, seeing her now. He remembered having trouble telling them what she wore to school that day because he never saw her in the morning. And then he couldn’t recall when she stopped asking for his morning pancakes. An aching pain gnawed at his heart as he looked at her now. It was if he had woken up in a different universe, one in which Laura pulled into the driveway regularly for weekly visits with her father. Gerald never knew how to deal with Laura leaving, so he hadn’t. He did his best to just go on with his life. It had been harder for him to watch Amber. Although Gerald had long ago accepted what he could not change, Amber never did.

Trailing closely at Laura’s hip was the blond boy. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt with a chocolate stain near the collar. The striped lines emphasized his tiny, round belly.

Standing at the foot of the porch, Gerald watched as his daughter and the little boy came closer. Laura stopped to open the rusty front gate, ushering the boy in first, and then herself.

She smiled tentatively at him. “Hi, Dad.”

Gerald didn’t know what to say.

After a moment, he blurted,“You never came to the funeral,” Then, “I’m sorry.” He took a step forward, moving to the side of the porch’s alcove. “Why don’t you come inside? Warm up a bit. I can make some food for you two.” He motioned to the home’s entryway.

Laura’s mouth opened into a small o-shape as if she was about to speak, but instead she shrugged her shoulders and abruptly closed her lips. Her right hand gripped the inner side of her left arm and she moved the little boy in front of her. The boy came to rest his head against her belly button, staring up at Gerald, a tiny human shield.

“Thank you, it’s so nice to see you,” Laura finally said. “Thank you for being so understanding. I know this is so sudden. And this is Timothy, he’s eight.” She smiled down at the boy. Timmy’s head was covered in blond hair that was so light, it was almost white. His big brown eyes looked up at Gerald in wonder.

“Timmy, say hi to Grandpa.”

To Gerald, the notion of being considered a father to a child he barely knew felt daunting enough; now, in front of him stood a little boy claimed as his grandson. Laura stood at the house’s entrance. Her face appeared unfazed as though the situation wasn’t unsettling, as though she hadn’t been gone for almost a decade. Her demeanor upset Gerald. In Amber’s last days, she couldn’t stop asking where Laura was. The Alzheimer’s hit the hardest toward the end, and Gerald had to remind his wife time after time that their daughter wasn’t coming home.

“Hello!” Timmy exclaimed, hopping up the porch steps. He opened the front door and Laura followed closely behind. Gerald leaned over to pick up his mug and newspaper, astonished at the turn of events upsetting his morning routine.

Gerald took great care to prepare breakfast for his two guests. He was overcome by a sense of déjà vu as he delicately poured plops of pancake batter mix into a pan. He placed the food in front of the little boy first, whose eyes widened like saucers. He served Laura before placing a bottle of maple syrup down on the table, finally turning his attention to his own pancakes.

“I know this is all so unexpected,” Laura said.

Gerald chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here. We have so much to catch up on.”

“I know you have a lot of questions and I was really sorry to hear about Mom,” Laura said.But before we go into a history lesson, I just need to let you know that I’m only staying for a few weeks.” Gerald hesitated before adding another plop of batter to the pan.

“Just until I get some things in order,” Laura continued. “And I really appreciate you being so understanding with how weird this is and just being so nice,” she rambled as her leg bounced under the table. “God, I know this is so awkward,” she said with a laugh. She reached for the maple syrup and started squeezing it in a zig-zag fashion over her plate.

Gerald smiled at the sound of her laugh. He was glad he could recognize some parts of her. But then he frowned as something jolting came to mind.

“How did you hear about Mom’s passing?” he asked.

“The town paper.”

“You saw it?” It had been published almost three years ago, “Laura, have you been…nearby?” Gerald looked at his daughter. His chest tightened.

“No, no, not nearby. I had to pass through town, just a few times.”

He repeated her words in his head, wondering when she had been in the area, thinking of where she had been staying. He glanced over at Timmy, who was trailing his tiny finger over the plate slowly. The little boy’s face was mere inches from the plate as he drew shapes and swirls in the syrup.

Gerald paused before saying, “You must be tired, I’m sure.” He looked away from Timmy. “Stay as long as you’d like, you can take your old room. I’ll let you and Timmy get settled.”

As the week wore on, Gerald went on with his days as before, only now with a new routine. His usual cup of coffee turned into two and he prepared a small breakfast for Timmy and Laura in the mornings. He read the newspaper inside at the kitchen table, solving his crosswords there. Most days, Laura was gone until sunset and Gerald got to spend time with Timmy, who he quickly learned was a curious boy.

Timmy questioned everything. He would walk around the house and observe dusty objects displayed on their shelves. Playing with books, trinkets, and random objects found in junk drawers, Timmy would trail back and forth, asking, “What’s this?” every time.

One morning, while Gerald was sipping his coffee, he watched as Laura trudged into the kitchen, smiling and reaching for her coffee.

“A package came for you yesterday,” Gerald said.

“Yeah, thank you…” Laura paused. “Feel free to just leave them when they arrive. I can bring them in at night…just some things I’m moving around and need a place to keep them.” She held her mug with both hands and observed Timmy in the room past the kitchen, toying with a little wooden eagle.

“Afraid I’ll have to,” Gerald chuckled. “Physical labor only on the occasion,” he said, tapping on his cane, which leaned against the table.

The packages arrived in various forms. Most were just big enough to wrap one’s arms around, but a few were so large, Laura had to push them across the floor, weaving her way through the house. Often, they came in bundles, left one on top of another on the porch.

Gerald would observe the phenomenon every night while sitting on the couch reading. Laura would spend the entire day away, and at night, he could hear her footsteps approaching the door before seeing her. Usually, she already had a package in hand. She executed her routine, treading the same path: through the front door, past the living room and kitchen, then down the hallway to her childhood bedroom and back. Without fail, Timmy would abandon whatever he was doing and follow her each time, sometimes helping to carry in the smaller boxes. Other times, he would merely imitate an act of assistance, as his tiny hands touched the undersides of the bigger boxes she carried. After finishing, Laura would always head to the kitchen to heat up the dinner Gerald left out.

One night, Gerald heard the familiar sound of her footsteps and the jingling of the spare house keys he had given her. Laura’s upper half popped through the door frame.

“Hi,” she said in a greeting. Timmy sat on the rug by Gerald’s feet watching cartoons on the TV.

“Could you guys help me bring this one in? It’s a little bit on the bigger side.”

Timmy immediately sprang up. Gerald reached for his cane.

On the porch was a large, square box. It dominated the entryway. Gerald could see why Laura had requested help. Slowly, they began to push it across the doorway and into the house. Inch-by-inch, they pressed their weight into the box’s side and journeyed down the same path Laura usually took alone. Finally, they made it to her childhood bedroom, where they would leave it, centered. It was the biggest box in the room, surrounded by many others and a several envelopes on the desk. The room had come to resemble a storage unit.

“That was heavy!” Gerald huffed. “What’s in the box?”

Laura scratched aggressively at her arm. Her eyes scanned the towering boxes that covered the free space of her old room. The top of her white bookshelf remained visible, the shelves stacked with Barbie dolls and stuffed animals.

“What?” she responded aimlessly.

“I said that was a heavy box,” he repeated. “What’s inside?”

By now, Timmy had departed the room to watch more cartoons.

“Oh, nothing,” Laura paused. She took a moment to catch her breath while scanning her old bedroom, its faded floral wallpaper and dusty picture frames closing in on her.

“I don’t know,” she continued. It was at that moment Gerald decided to know. He reached out to rip up the folded tab of the large box, ready to pull it apart when Laura squealed.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!”

He stared at his daughter and, after a moment, conceded.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said in an almost-whisper. Gerald let out a sigh before reaching for his cane, and the two headed toward the kitchen.

“How was your day?” Gerald asked. He came to rest against the counter. Laura, sitting at the kitchen table, began to eat dinner.

Her mouth totally full, she responded: “Good, I’ve been commuting to the place I work still.” She shoveled more into her mouth, clearing the plate and fixing her eyes on the white of the dirty dish, her right hand mindlessly scratched the crook of her left arm. Gerald noticed her leg bouncing.

“So, what are all those packages, Laura?” he asked. He eyed her as she went to the refrigerator and came to rest against the counter with a fresh beer in hand.

“There are some things from our old place that I thought would fit better here. There shouldn’t be many more coming,” she shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much more.”

“Yes, that’s fine and I understand. But…why are there so many? I mean, the last one…”

Laura sat back down at the table, leg no longer bouncing. Her eyes bore into the plate.

“Just some things,” she continued tersely. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s stuff, OK? I need storage space, OK? It’ll be gone once I’m settled. I’m almost settled.” Her mouth came to form a thin line.

“Alright, alright,” Gerald said. He paused, then said, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Gripping the edge of his cane, he eased out of the room. From down the hallway, he looked back at his estranged daughter, seeing just the outline of her figure resting against the table, illuminated by the kitchen’s light bulb. Her head rested in one hand while she nursed the beer with the other.

Laura and Timmy had arrived exactly two weeks ago, and Gerald wanted to ensure they were enjoying their stay. He found himself gravitating toward the supply closet more frequently until finally he opened it, immediately reminded of its function as a makeshift junkyard. After rummaging for a while, he found at the back what he was looking for: old boxes stuffed with holiday decorations. He began to scoot them out, letting an umbrella and an old lampshade topple over in the process.

“Timmy!” he called out as his scissors made a satisfying slice through the duct tape. The little boy trudged over. In his hands, he held a stuffed unicorn and a small robot toy from the Happy Meal he had devoured yesterday at McDonald’s.

“What?”

Gerald began shuffling through the contents of the box, where garlands and shiny ornaments revealed themselves, along with nutcracker dolls. He had forgotten how Amber had loved collecting those.

“I thought you and I could put up some Christmas decorations around the house. How does that sound?”

Timmy began going through the boxes, growing quickly unamused by what his hands picked up: snowflake ornaments, knotty strings of Christmas lights, a Santa Claus suit that had been stuffed into a plastic bag.

Looking up at Gerald, the boy frowned. “I want to know what is in the boxes Mom brings home at night,” he said.

Gerald shrugged. He could provide the boy with no consolation, for he dealt with the same desire.

“We have to respect your mom. She asked us to just leave them in the room for now,” Gerald replied. “Let me show you this game.”

The answer did not satisfy Timmy, who dropped his toys and bolted down the hallway toward Laura’s bedroom. With a heavy sigh, Gerald reached for his cane.

“Now, Timmy let’s not cause any trouble,” Gerald yelled out, hobbling down the hallway. He nudged the door farther open to see Timmy on top of one of the boxes. The boy stood on his knees with his hands on a sizeable box.

“Why can’t we open just one? I want to know why they’re here,” Timmy said. The edges of the box were worn down, the corners banged around.

“Because we were told not to touch the packages, so let’s respect your mom’s request.”

“Just one box. There’s so many and she won’t care.” Timmy’s big eyes shone eagerly.

“Now, see here, if we open one box, we have violated all of your mother’s respect.”

Timmy began rubbing the box’s side. He stared back at Gerald with a mischievous smile. He got off his knees and climbed up onto one box.

“We can open just one little box!” the boy exclaimed.

“It’s not the act that matters,” Gerald stated, “It’s the principle of respect.” His left hand rested wearily on his cane as his right one hovered over another box. He stared down at the child.

“We wouldn’t want to disrespect your Mom, now would we?” Gerald inquired, “Why don’t we take a drive to the store for a bit instead? There are some things I need to pick up. We can even stop for some ice cream after.”

Timmy’s eyes lit up as he found a new, sweeter thing to give attention. He jumped down from the box and headed toward the driveway while Gerald let out a sigh.

“You can get whatever flavors you want,” he said.

The sun had almost set and a dark blue dripped over the cul-de-sac. After pulling the car into the driveway, Gerald leaned over to grab his cane from the back seat and stepped out, appreciating the cool nighttime breeze against his face. Timmy had already reached the front door. His chin rested against the screen frame as he waited for Gerald.

The little boy bounded into the kitchen as soon as Gerald unlocked the door, beating the old man to a seat at the table. Gerald moved slowly toward the kitchen. Over the counter, he could see the little boy’s blond head.

“How do we feel about chicken tenders?” Gerald said.

“Mom left a note,” Timmy replied. He sat with his eyes glued to the front door. His tiny hands stuck to a single sheet of yellow paper, the same pads Gerald used to scribble grocery lists.

He plucked the note from the boy’s hands. The note read in thin, slanted handwriting:

I’ve left his papers organized and labelled on the desk.
The boxes hold everything I have of his and a little more.
There’s some money in the envelopes on the table.
I know you will take better care of him. I hope you understand.
– Laura

A sinking feeling grew in Gerald’s stomach. He looked back at the boy, who sat there motionless. He felt as if a large grape had suddenly appeared in his throat, trying to force its way down whole. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Timmy looked up, his eyes shining, brimming with tears poised to spill over.

“I don’t get it.”

“Hey,” Gerald said. He sank.

“We will sort this out together,” he whispered. He began to make dinner with mechanical motions, shaking the frozen bag to break apart the chicken tenders, placing them on the pan, side-by-side and in perfect rows. He stared at the bright numbers on the oven’s top panel. They read 7:12 PM. The blinking colon marked every passing second, and he tallied each one. Thinking of Amber and her adamant refusal to accept their daughter as someone who wronged them. A tally of twenty-five seconds. Ruminating over his failures as a husband and, more so, as a father. Forty more seconds. Resentment toward Laura and her refusal to accept responsibility, at least some accountability. Sixty more seconds. The time had changed, and those red figures dominated his vision..

“-pa! Grandpa! Grandpa!” Timmy shouted. Gerald, startled, looked up.

“Yes, sorry,” he said. “What?”

Timmy’s eyes bore into his. The little boy’s eyebrows crinkled so tightly together, there was no separation between the two.

“Why did she leave? Why is she gone?” He picked up the yellow paper. “Why didn’t she say goodbye?”

“I don’t know.” Gerald let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Is Mom coming back?” Although phrased as a question, it didn’t sound like one as he spoke. He stared at Gerald and repeated. “Is Mom coming back?”

“I don’t know.” Gerald looked down the dark hallway. “I’m sorry, son, I don’t think so.”

The response wasn’t enough for Timmy.

“Why did she leave? She’s not coming back.”

Gerald touched the deep part in his hair. He combed through the greying strands, starting at the middle part with his finger and stroking down to his jawbone.

“She’s not coming back.”

“She’s not coming back.” Timmy repeated. Gerald sat down at the table next to Timmy and took the boy’s hands in his.

“She’s not coming back. But it’s not because she doesn’t love you.” He took Timmy’s hands and placed them on his temples, and slowly, their foreheads touched.

“She loves you very much.” Gerald sighed. “But sometimes love is not enough and we let go; it doesn’t mean we don’t still love. It just means love is not always enough.”

Timmy’s eyebrows crinkled further together. A few silent tears fell.

“I don’t expect you to understand right now,” he paused. “One day, you will.”

“And I can stay here?”

“And you can stay here.”

“And you’re not leaving?”

“Nope, I’m right here.”

Timmy pulled up his shirt collar, wiped his cheeks and stood up.

“Can I open the boxes now?”

Gerald looked at Timmy, who looked older than when he first popped out of the backseat two weeks prior. Perhaps it was the way his hair almost brushed his shoulders now, or how his clothes that were two sizes too small. He felt his chest swell.

“Yes, you can,” he replied.

Timmy quietly stepped out of the kitchen and made his way down the hallway. Gerald set the timer on the oven and followed. Along the way, he passed by his wedding photo that hung on the wall, and for a moment, it appeared to Gerald that Amber’s smile beamed a little bit brighter.

Sydney Ahmed is a junior at USC, double-majoring in English and economics. She holds a love and appreciation for both disciplines. She can usually be found reading during her off time, usually with a key lime pie nearby.