"I gave the help the day off so you can poke at your leisure," Paul said as we drove from my hotel to the suburb of Newton. "Don't feel compelled to move items unless you truly want them. I have no sentimental attachment to any of that junk. Carol purchased everything or it was left by my parents. None of it means a flip to me except a den chair and some books. An auctioneer can gavel away the rest."
"You must have family pictures and mementoes," I said
"There are a few photo albums and a painting or two I like. I know it's difficult to understand, but I'm looking forward to this new start as much as you are. I haven't had many adventures in my life, and this has the makings of a doozy."
"No memories you're reluctant to leave behind?" I asked, though I didn't want to hear about them.
"I told you those first few days after we met, I've never been a fan of looking backwards." He sensed I was perplexed by his response and expanded. "I'm not saying there weren't good times; there were, but I'm far more enthusiastic about what lies ahead than dwelling on what occurred in the past. I can turn my back on that life; can you?"
"Easily," I said, truly meaning it and hoping he did as well.
My future husband had more good news. Thatcher Wright had located and cleared out my deceased husband's secret bank account. He presented me with a certified check for nearly seven years of accumulated monthly rental payments, deposited by Suzie and Ben. The amount would give my sister funds for her long delayed college education if she sought to so proceed. I'd mail her the check as soon as I returned to Virginia.
When we arrived in Newton, the children met us at the door. They had been left alone for the short time it took Paul to pick me up, at Karen's request I learned. It was her way of showing responsibility, her father said. Timmy was his usual excited self but Karen showed none of the jubilation of yesterday. Paul suggested the children act as tour guides while he sorted through pictures, books and family papers. Timmy grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs into his bedroom with Karen tagging behind.
The room was a story book rendition, as if designed for the make-believe by someone who'd never been a child. More antiques lined the walls than actual play things. Even the bed was far too large for a child. I would have had nightmares at Timmy's age sleeping in such a monstrosity. There was no warmth and no heart to the quarters. Stacked in the corner was a modest pile of toys, mostly play figures similar to his recent toy store purchase in Summerside.