Chapter 12 - A Box in the Attic
Before they departed for the airport that evening, Clara handed Julian a beat-up cardboard box labeled Julian’s Things.
"David kept this in his bedroom," Clara said. "He asked me to give it to you if you ever came."
They carried the box back across the country, landing in New York late that evening. They drove home through the quiet suburban streets, arriving at their house just before midnight.
After ensuring Adrianne's mother was asleep in the guest room, Julian carried the box into their private study. Adrianne sat across from him, resting her chin on her hands as Julian cut the aged packing tape.
Inside were not legal documents or financial receipts.
There was a collection of high school track ribbons that had belonged to Julian, preserved in plastic sleeves. There was their father’s pocket watch, meticulously polished and wound. And at the bottom lay a stack of unsent letters, dating back across ten years.
Julian opened the topmost letter, dated six months prior to David's death.
May you like
Dear Julian, the handwriting read, somewhat shaky from illness. I know why you stopped answering my calls. You thought I ran away from our father’s sickness because I didn't care. The truth is, Julian, I was terrified. You were always so strong, so capable of handling reality, while every time I looked at Dad slipping away, I felt like I was drowning. I went out into the world looking for broken things because I was too weak to fix the only thing that mattered. If this shelter survives me, it is because I tried every day to be half as reliable as you were to our father. Forgive me for being a coward. You were always the anchor.
Julian set the letter down, covered his face with his hands, and wept. Adrianne moved beside him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him as the accumulated grief of a lifetime finally poured out into the quiet room.
