18. Frederick
18
FREDERICK
“ H ow are you feeling?” I ask. Rochelle has been quiet the whole trip. I thought about making conversation, but she seemed lost in thought, so I didn’t want to disturb her.
“Hm? Oh, um, I’m okay. Just nervous. I know Steve did something, so I guess I’m just worried about that.” Rochelle’s voice sounds distant. She keeps looking out the window and avoiding my gaze.
“You’re not excited to get your stuff back?” I ask, hoping to break the tension.
“I guess. Maybe part of me is glad that I finally can get Steve out of my life. But something tells me he’ll weasel his way back in. He always does.” She sighs at the last part.
“I’ll make sure he’s out of your life for good. Besides, it sounds like the case is pretty well wrapped up.” I reach over to touch her shoulder, but she recoils slightly. It catches me off guard.
“I don’t really want to talk about that right now. How far away are we from the storage unit?” Rochelle leans over to look at my GPS. It says we have another five minutes.
She settles back into her seat, leaning against the window. I’m a bit out of my depth. I don’t know what to say. Hopefully, seeing her things will make it easier.
As we pull into the parking lot, I can tell she’s more nervous than ever. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat, looking out for the unit number.
“Number 18?” she asks, her head bobbing around for the right number.
“Yeah, that’s what the movers told me.” As I talk, I pull in front of the unit and park. We sit in silence for a few moments. I can tell she’s working up the nerve to open the door and see what’s inside.
She turns to face me. “Thank you, for all of this.” Her words sound genuine and heartfelt. “I can’t remember the last time someone genuinely helped me out.” Her voice cracks faintly, and I can see the beginnings of a tear welling up in her eye.
I want to reach over and grab her, hold her, and tell her everything will be okay. My protective instincts kick into overdrive, and it takes a lot of strength not to kiss her immediately. She’s had it so rough, and yet she’s so pure of heart. She deserves nothing but unbridled happiness from this moment on.
Instead, I grab her hand and squeeze it. “You’re a special person, Rochelle. You deserve to be happy.” As I speak, the tears well up even more. She quickly wipes her face and opens the door.
“Come on!” She sounds excited. I know she’s trying to hide her feelings right now, but I can’t help but feel good that I’m making her feel special.
I get out and join her at the roll-up door. “You ready for this?” I ask, somewhat jokingly. She smiles.
“Definitely, let’s see what we’re working with.” As I unlock the door, she pulls it from the bottom and opens it in one fluid motion. The sound is deafening.
The unit is pretty packed. I didn’t get the largest size because I didn’t feel like it was necessary, but now I wish I had. There’s an assortment of furniture and boxes, with a baby grand piano shoved against the right wall.
Rochelle moves some boxes out of the way and makes a beeline for the piano. “Well, this looks pretty good. I’m surprised. I thought he would have turned it into useless junk.” She walks over and inspects it more closely.
“He definitely used it to hold his drinks. I can see a bunch of watermarks on top. I just hope it still plays well.” She runs her fingers over the old wood, feeling every bump and scratch.
Rochelle reaches down and opens the key cover. She presses a few of the keys, and the notes sound crystal clear as if the piano was still brand new.
She closes the key cover and moves deeper into the unit. I follow behind her, trying to both give her some space but also offer some reassurance.
A few more boxes are sitting on top of an old couch. There’s an end table and a few chairs stacked in the corner. Everything looks like it’s been used for years or decades. They all have scuff marks and scratches.
“Do you want to keep all this furniture? I can buy you new stuff,” I remark.
She turns to face me. I’m wondering if my comment was too insensitive. “Yes, I want to keep some of it. It’s mine, and that’s what matters.” Her words are sharp, but she’s not angry. She seems more defensive than anything.
“I get that,” I reply amiably.
She inspects the outside of one of the boxes closest to her. There is some writing on the side, but I can’t make it out.
“I think this says miscellaneous. But I can’t really tell with Steve’s chicken scratch.” Rochelle says. She opens the top and starts pulling stuff out.
Inside are papers, notebooks, and other assorted belongings. Nothing that seems really important. Rochelle skims through the pages and tosses them back into the box.
“I guess the movers didn’t have much to pack, huh?” She turns around to survey the rest of the unit. Something catches her eye.
“They said some of the boxes were already packed when they arrived. I’m not sure which ones those would be, though,” I reply.
“I think I know.” She brushes past me and moves to a set of three boxes that look different from the rest. The cardboard has some kind of pattern on it like it used to be a gift box many years ago.
“I’m pretty sure this is the stuff Steve packed himself. I still can’t make out what it says.” Rochelle comments. Each box is taped shut, so she pulls her keys out to cut it open.
“Hey, do you have a flashlight?” she asks. The sunlight illuminates the interior of the unit, but it’s still pretty dark.
“Yeah,” I pull out my phone and activate the flashlight. She grabs it and starts poking around the first box.
After a few moments, she stops, her shoulders slumping down. She looks upset.
“What is it?” I ask, moving closer.
She pulls out the body of a porcelain doll. The head is broken off and missing, and the rest of the doll looks pretty filthy.
“What’s that?” I ask. Suddenly, I notice she’s tearing up again.
“My mom used to collect these dolls. They were her pride and joy. She would always tell me that they would be worth a lot when I grew up. She got them from her dad, and she promised to put them in the will.” Her voice cracks as she speaks.
“And that piece of shit Steve broke them! Look, they’re all damaged!” She pulls out a few more broken dolls. Some have their arms missing, while others are just missing small pieces. It looks like he threw them into the box as hard as he could.
Rochelle wipes the tears dripping down her face. These mean a lot to her. To make matters worse, they are a family heirloom, so they can’t just be replaced.
Then, I have an idea. “Hey, my mom knows someone who repairs porcelain. I hear he’s pretty good. I don’t know if they will look as good as new, but they can at least be in one piece again.” I put my hand on her shoulder, although it feels like it doesn’t mean much.
She sniffs and wipes her tears again. She looks me deep in the eyes. “You would do that?”
“Of course,” I reply, smiling. She’s never looked so beautiful to me.
Suddenly, she leans in and kisses me. She wraps her arms around me and holds me as tight as possible.
My mind races as we embrace. I love you, Rochelle. But what would you think if I said it to your face?