Читать книгу DARK WORK - Barbara Rush - Страница 9

“Please sit,” Erin gestured to the over-stuffed couch. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here. I can’t even remember where I put my coat five minutes ago, let alone figure out what I may or may not need.”

“That is common, Erin. It is exactly what you should be feeling. I imagine the waves of disbelief are also a challenge.”

Erin’s eyes brimmed as she looked at her shoes. “Yes. Exactly.” Then up, “But my point is-thank you, but I am in a fog right now, and I am doing the only thing I ever know to do when I’m upset—cleaning and organizing.”

Lydia smiled. “Your mother taught you that.”

“Yes—yes she did.” Erin smiled back for a second.

“Mine did too. It’s very Irish.”

“It helps. At least I think it does.”

Oh, it does. It does.

Lydia glanced around the room. In the far corner by the fireplace, empty cardboard boxes were strewn haphazardly. She remembered reaching her latexed hand up that flue just behind the firebrick. Nothing. To the left in front of the built-in bookcase were the drawers from Liz’s dresser, tenuously stacked on top of each other, clothes spilling out.

“It’s a mess. And it’s just started.” Erin sighed.

“No—it’s not bad at all, Erin. This is the hard part, and from the looks of it, you are already more organized than most. I wish all of my clients approached the sorting out this way. Tell me about your process? How are you organizing your mother’s things?”

“Organizing?” Erin half laughed glancing around, “This is exactly thirty minutes worth of crying and walking through the house not knowing where to start. There is no reason or rhyme to it.”

“It’s overwhelming isn’t it? That is also par for the course.” Lydia let it linger out there as Erin wiped a fresh pool from underneath her eyes. Just enough time to feign spontaneity. “I’ll tell you what—you say you don’t know what you need, but truth is, I do.Let me help you with this. I have done this hundreds of times with other mourners, and I’m told I am a life saver.” Lydia lightened her tone, mimicking the exact amount of concern and lilt of a long-time friend. “Tell me which room is most overwhelming?”

“Oh no—I couldn’t do that—I …”

“Erin—this is what I am called to do,” with her best expression of earnestness, “please don’t deny me this opportunity to serve you and fulfill my role. I am delighted to help out in any way I can.”

“Well-honestly, I have a friend—Kristy—who is going to help me. In fact she is probably making her way back here with some take-out. Really, you don’t need to do that.”

“Would you rather I wait for Kristy, see what she would like to do?” Kristy. She is now a bother.

Indecision tugging, Erin caved to kindness. “No—I guess there can’t be too many hands in a house this size. I am certain that almost everything in the basement can go to Goodwill or the trash—unless…”

“Unless it contains obvious memorabilia or family china—things like that?”

“Yes.”

“Listen—if you have some masking tape, or a magic marker, I will go through the boxes or whatever and tag them with a short description of their contents. When I am done, you come down and tell me what to do with each box—how does that sound?”

Relief loosened Erin’s forehead. “Good. I feel bad about this though—“

“Erin—please—I mean it—do not feel bad. This is what I am called to do, okay.” Come down there with me.