Enough to Miss Christmas

When we returned, Karen was in a happy mood, anxious to point out meaningless detail in the banquet-size dining room, obviously avoiding the subject of our descent to the basement. As soon as Timmy was out of ear shot, she turned to me. In a pleading voice and as tears seeped down her cheeks she begged that I not tell her father. The words were no sooner out of her mouth than I heard his car.

"No problem. That's between us," I said as I gave her a hug and wiped her cheek with my sleeve. I silently wondered if in my desire for her acceptance I was ignoring problems that begged to be addressed.

We sat at the dining room table eating fried chicken after Paul opened nearly every cabinet in the pantry trying to locate dishes and utensils. Timmy urged us to hurry as time was running out.

"We're finished here," I said as I ate. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"I even took Sarah down cellar," Timmy said proudly. "Kari wouldn't go."

Before Paul could comment I reached over and patted her hand. "Can you blame her? It's all dust and spider webs and nothing useable except some wine."

"The children weren't allowed down there," Paul said. "The wine cellar was my father's collection. It was his hobby for a year or two until he became bored with it. There are twelve hundred bottles. I'll have to find a storage facility. Much of the wine is too valuable to drink." Karen caught her breath in relief.

Everyone's mood lifted during our trip to Summerside. More pictures of our new home would be snapped and measurements taken. While both Karen and Timmy discussed buying new furniture but it was too late to do so this weekend. As we entered the town, we passed a garage sale in progress in the driveway of a nice older home.

"That's the only furniture place open today," I told Timmy as I pointed it out. I explained about garage sales and how I'd utilized a few in the past, as buyer and seller.

"Can we stop?" Karen asked.

"Sure," I answered, "but let's make it quick." Paul smiled and rolled his eyes. I turned to him. "Time to check your adaptability quotient."

I knew from experience garage sales are best attended early the first morning, before the good stuff is gone or late the last day when the owners will practically give the residue away so as not to haul the junk back inside. This was Sunday afternoon and there was little merchandise left and no customers.

A pretty blond woman in her thirties rose from a chair, put aside a book, and greeted us.