Madeline
Ceiclia tapped the toe of her crossed leg against the leg of the wooden table. She stopped tapping long enough to take a sip of tea with both hands and then continued to tap. The table had been in the family for longer than Ceiclia had been alive. For longer than Margot, her older sister, had been alive.
When they were growing up in another house, this is the table they had breakfast at every morning. This is the table they made cookies on during the holiday season. This is the table the sisters built forts under. This is the table that Margot pushed across the room when she was told there were no funds for college and she should start at a junior college instead. This is the table that received her parent’s tears when they learned Cecilia was not graduating from highschool and instead was going to travel the country in a bus with a man named Piere.
This was the table that held the family memories. It held great memories as well as great sadness. Their mother moved this table to this house. Once the girls moved away and their father died, she decided to downgrade it to a two bedroom in a senior community. But now that the table was up for grabs in a house neither of them ever called home, neither the sisters wanted it.
“Okay,” Ceiclia started, “Let’s move onto the living room.”
“You mean the threadbare couch and the television that is thicker than it is tall or wide?” Margot said and then added. “The bedrooms?”
“With mattresses full of twenty years of dead skin?” A look of disgust formed on Ceiclia’s face.
“Don’t I remember hearing that you found a rat in your van once? And now you state that an old mattress is disgusting. I didn’t realize you were such a germaphobe,” Margot said as she tilted her head down and looked up at her sister.
“I didn’t realize you thought mom’s stuff would have any worth. I figured with all your fancy new things, fancy new clothes, and fancy new home,” Cecilia mimicked her sister.
“The stuff here is all sentimental. We can’t just get rid of it,” Margot said and pursed her lips.
“Great! Then you take it.” Cecilia threw up her hands.
“Mom has only been gone a week and you want me to take all her stuff? You don’t want any of it? Don’t you have an actual home now? With space.” Margot said as she raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, but it’s Danny’s home and he already has plenty of stuff. I can’t clutter it with mom’s things too,” Cecilia countered.
“Well, my apartment does not fit this decor, so I can’t take it. The movers are coming tomorrow. The real estate agent the next day. Unless you want to pay mom’s mountain of debt, we need to empty this place so we can make some money.” Margot said.
“Oh, don’t blame mom for this debt. You damn well know that dad had a lot to do with it.” Cecilia said.
“Sure he did, but he left it to her, and now she has left it to us and the only way we can pay it off without emptying our own pockets is to sell the house. So let’s figure out where all this shit is going.” Margot waved her hands around and her bangles jingled on her wrists.
“Can we sell it?”
“To who? No one wants this crap.” Margot scoffed.
“Sure we can. Haven’t you seen those shows? People buy storage units when they don’t even know what’s in them. Of course there is some money here. We can have an estate sale?” Ceiclia said.
“Are you kidding me? Those things get announced a long time in advanced. There is no way there is enough time,” Margot said.
“Sure there is. We could put up an ad on Craigslist and make up the prices as we go,” Ceiclia said.
“If that is your solution, I say go for it. But that’s all you, I have back-to-back meetings starting at 6am tomorrow. If the house is not empty, that’s on you. Let me know how it goes,” at that Margot snatched her purse from the table and stood up.
“Wait a minute. There is still some stuff to sort out.” Ceiclia said.
“Like what?”
“The car,” Ceiclia started.
“You can have the old Volvo. It’s got nothing on my Benz.” Margot headed toward the kitchen door and then turned around, “Although there is one thing I would like.”
“Oh yeah, what is that? Her old toenail clippings?” Ceiclia scoffed.
“Her locket,” Margot said.
“Oh no. The locket is mine.”
“Why do you get it?”
“I’m throwing the estate sale tomorrow. It means you lost your share and I get the locket.” Ceiclia declared.
“And thank you for that. But that doesn’t warrant you getting the locket.”
At that, the woman stared at each other with puckered lips and hard eyes.
Then Ceiclia stood up knocking the chair to the floor behind her and ran toward the stairs. Margot dropped her bag on the table and chased after her sister. Margot tugged on her little sister’s belt loop and pushed her aside with her elbow. As Cecile came crashing down, she grabbed Margot’s booted foot. Margot kicked at her sister until she broke free. Both women got to their feet and made a dash towards their parent’s bedroom. Margot opened the door and found their mother’s jewelry box sitting atop the dresser of the small cold room.
Margot opened the lid. Ceiclia peered over her shoulder. Margot pushed the contents of the box to one side and then the other. “It’s not here.”
“Give me that,” Ceiclia grabbed the box.
Margot sat on the quilted bed thinking where the locket could have ended up.
“You’re right. It’s not here.” Ceiclia proclaimed.
After a moment, Margot opened her mouth. Then shut it. Then she opened it again and said, “I think I know where it may be.”
“Just because you know where it is doesn’t mean it’s yours,” Ceiclia said.
“I will not go get it. I think it’s gone for good.” Margot thought carefully about how to phrase her explanation, “I think mom took it with her.”
