By mutual agreement, albeit subconsciously, Catherine and Lindsey agreed to spend the afternoon at the storage unit where they had stored Eddie's things. On this second anniversary of his death, their goal was to, perhaps, decide which clothes to donate, which would add spice to Lindsey's changing fashion tastes, and which they would keep simply because Eddie had been the owner. Last year, they had managed to painfully progress through his common day possessions--things like kitchenware and tools. Next year, they figured they could sort his personal effects: photographs, his wedding ring, and so forth.

They made good progress until Catherine found a small locked box with her name engraved into the lid in a beautiful calligraphic font. Memories immediately flooded her mind, not of the honeymoon period early in her marriage, but of the whirlwind of time before it.

Lindsey spotted her mother's inactivity and crossed the few steps to her side. She grabbed their water bottles en route and handed one to Catherine. Then, she gracefully threw herself to the floor in a way that showed much of Catherine's skill as a dancer.

"What's that, Mom?" she asked, without preamble.

Catherine smiled, wistfully. "It's my hope box."

Lindsey made a faint sound to ask for an elaboration.

"It's supposed to hold copies of the things I want. And it's like a time capsule, to see if I got everything I wanted the next time I opened it."

Lindsey's eyes sparkled with interest. "What's in it, Mom, do you remember? And why did Dad have it?"

"I used to keep it on the top shelf of the closet. He must've taken it with him. I haven't thought about it in years." Catherine shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Why not?" asked Lindsey, undaunted by her mother's avoidance of her first question.

Rather than answer, Catherine set the box aside and said, "I'll need to find the key; it's probably at home somewhere so let's finish this, Lindsey."

She fixed a look on Catherine that clearly showed her displeasure.

Catherine merely scoffed the glare away. "I can't show you what's inside without the key. C'mon, kiddo. We're almost finished."

Lindsey wisely surrendered to the compromise.

*****

It turned out to take much longer than anticipated to finish at the storage unit. The hope box forgotten for the moment, Lindsey began to model some of her father's clothes from the decades of the seventies and the eighties. With Halloween so close upon them, she now had a plethora of costumes at her disposal.

Catherine hid the hope box carefully among other things and smuggled it into the car and into the house. There was no difficulty in finding the key; she knew it was within the "hidden" compartment of her jewelry box with her engagement and wedding rings. Alas, however, time was against her: Lindsey was ready for that promised dinner and they had to put the clothes into the drop box behind the Tangiers. Then, there was work for her and, later, school for Lindsey.

The memory of the hope box stayed with her throughout the shift and as she slept. It was not that she could not remember what was within and therefore felt apprehensive; it was its implication that Lindsey was too smart not to notice. As a family, she and Lindsey finally had healed from the effects of the divorce and Eddie's death. She worried how Lindsey would accept what she thought she wanted to know.

In the end, Catherine decided that Lindsey was old enough--and considerably mature enough--to take it.

So, when Lindsey breezed through the door after school, she was waiting for her in the living room. The hope box rested on the table before her with its key atop it. Lindsey's face brightened imperceptibly at the sight; only that, nothing else, could have had the power to erase Catherine's doubts.

Lindsey abandoned her backpack, settled herself on the sofa, and reached for the box and key. Inserting one into the other released a cloud of dust telling her that Catherine had not opened the box. Everything--all its secrets--were as untouched as they had been at the storage unit.

Peering inside, she frowned at the initially boring contents of a pamphlet and a slim diary. It was clear that Lindsey had expected a multitude of hopes and dreams but, in fairness, she had not held the box so she could not have known of its light weight.

Lindsey examined the pamphlet first. It was a faded advertising poster of a club's Halloween party; it boasted of a costume contest and was open to singles only. Having lived in Las Vegas her entire life, she had become inured to these posters. She merely glanced at it and shifted her attention to the diary.

Though the handwriting was her mother's, the descriptions of a certain "He" confused Lindsey as she attentively read the entries. She had seen pictures of Eddie from this period, but he and Catherine had not met until roughly 1990. She had heard--often--of how everything had occurred quickly: their introduction, dating, the engagement and wedding, and her birth. The events recorded within the diary were from the mid-eighties, four years before her parents met, so who was Catherine writing about?

She came to the end of the diary and read the last entry: "We made a pact tonight. In twenty years, if neither of us were married, we'd marry each other."

Lindsey puzzled over the words and brought her gaze to Catherine's. There was a wariness she had seen only when the doorbell used to ring at odd hours of the night during her childhood.

Catherine reached for the diary and Lindsey automatically closed it for a proper return. The sharp suddenness of motion caused a picture to shake loose from somewhere hidden and flutter to the floor. A few tense seconds froze her mother in position. Lindsey had not seen what was on it, but obviously Catherine had. Curiosity peaked within Lindsey and she braved her mother's tentative "no" to examine the photograph.

There was a woman in a witch's temptress costume and a man wearing a safari hat and khakis. Their arms were entwined--in friendship?-- about each other. On the table behind them was a pointed hat and a butterfly net.

She recognized her mother without trouble in the woman's young face, and the man--Lindsey gasp in surprise when she saw Gil's world-weary but amused eyes in the man's smirking face.

What was going on?

Catherine removed the photograph from Lindsey's fingers, looked at it, and sighed. "I doubt he even remembers this picture," she said.

Lindsey peered over the top of it to see Gil in costume again.

"I didn't even know he ever got dressed up for Halloween." She scrunched up her nose. "It's weird to see him like that."

Catherine laughed, lightly. "A long time ago, he was as close to normal as he could get."

Lindsey snorted. "A long time ago? Twenty years isn't a long time, Mom. I'm almost twenty."

A predictable "I'm getting old" response came from Catherine. For a few more moments, they remained as they were, using the photograph as a barrier between them.

"Are you going to ask Gil if he remembers? He doesn't look drunk in the picture and he never forgets anything," Lindsey said, breaking the silence first.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "That's a lofty opinion of the man who forgot your thirteenth birthday party." There was a note of tolerated annoyance in her voice.

In answer, Lindsey made another somewhat rude non-verbal noise. Then, she shrugged. "Okay, I should've said he doesn't forget anything important. He's old," she said with emphasis on the word old, "and probably doesn't want a reminder that he is."

This made Catherine laugh. There was no deciphering which of Lindsey's comments on aging was her actual point of view: this or her observation of twenty years passing.

Then, she asked, "What are you going to do if he does remember and hasn't said anything because of Dad?"

"Why does it matter if I ask one way or the other?" Catherine countered.

Lindsey settled back onto the sofa and quietly replied, "Because both of you told me never to make a promise I wouldn't try to keep. I doubt he made the promise to marry you because it was funny at the time."

Catherine's shoulders slumped. This was, all of it, very true. At the time, it had seemed like fun but, now, her accrued knowledge of Gil told her that there was something behind everything he ever did.

Her daughter, meanwhile, had her thoughts elsewhere.

"You know, Mom, he hasn't had a serious relationship since I can remember."

Immediately, Catherine ordered, "Okay. Stop right there."

Lindsey smiled and, with knowledge backing her words, stated, "I'm just saying. And you did find this box while we were clearing more of Dad's stuff."

This triggered a thought and Catherine began to wonder if it was truly time to bury the dead and fully move on with her life.

FIN