Dad is dead. I’m up in the attic, going through boxes, and all I can think is, Dad is gone. He’s dead. I’ll never talk to him again. These last three sentences loop over and over and over again.

My brother hasn’t returned my calls. The funeral home director needs all of this information that I don’t have. I don’t want to think about any of this. I don’t want to think at all. Dad is gone forever. I’ll never see him again, and I have to go through his things. I have to decide what to keep, what to sell, what to donate, what to give to other family members. I’m out of my depth.

Okay. Breathe. One day at a time. One step at a time. Dad wouldn’t want me to get so worked up about his material things. He’d want to talk about the memories, the times we had together as a family. That makes me think of Jude again. What the hell, man? Where are you? Our dad is gone. He’s dead. And I could really use your help.

An odd-looking box stops my spiraling. It’s completely covered with dust. Okay, let’s be honest. After a while, this layer isn’t dust; it’s dirt. Dad obviously didn’t touch this box for years, maybe even decades. It’s dirty, and it’s old. There can’t be anything of value in it. Plus, I’ve had enough for today. If I have to sleep in my childhood bed in my childhood home after my dad has died, I’m not doing it sober. It’s time to get out of this attic. Dad left a fully stocked bar. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.

∇

I wake up with a splitting headache. How much did I drink last night? No matter. It’s morning now. All of the sudden I remember. Oh yeah. Dad’s gone. Dammit. Oh, wait. Did I dream that dirt-caked box in the attic? Why do I even care? It’s just a box.

Breakfast. I need to eat before I get into any tasks. There are a few eggs, some milk and a few slabs of bacon in the fridge. Ew. Okay, the milk is most certainly rancid. I have no idea how old the eggs and bacon are, but they smell okay. Beggers can’t be choosers. I need to eat soon, and I’m not going to the store right now.

After two cups of instant coffee and some breakfast, I’m ready. Or at least as ready as I’m going to be. I didn’t really keep in touch with Dad the last couple years. Jude didn’t either. I mean, he hasn’t even answered my calls for at least four years. We all just kind of stopped talking to each other. After Mom died, there was no one keeping us together.

What is it about this box, and why did Dad keep it for so long? He always made us throw shit away. We couldn’t keep anything we weren’t using regularly. I had to get rid of so many things when I lived at home. Nothing was important enough to keep. I can’t help but chuckle. Not even his sons.

Steadying myself on the ladder up to the attic, I take a deep breath. My head is still pounding, and my stomach is off. I may not be solid on my feet this morning, but it’s just a few rungs up. I make it back up to the attic and find a safe spot to sit.

There it is. The box really does exist, the box that has no business taking up so much of my limited brainpower right now. I must be obsessing over this mysterious box to avoid dealing with the reality of today. That’s all it is, a sad coping device. Once I see what’s inside, I can move on. It’s heavier than it looks. Hopefully the bottom doesn’t drop out before I can get it downstairs. It’s a good thing I haven’t showered or gotten dressed yet. These pajamas – and I - are going to be filthy.

It takes about fifteen minutes to get the box past everything else in the attic and to ease it down the steps. I’ve smeared the dirt enough to see that the box is wooden. It had looked like cardboard at first. Three rags later, the muck is mostly gone. There’s nothing special about this box, no intricate designs or ornate hardware. In fact, the only hardware seems to be the nails holding it together and keeping it closed. It’s made of ironwood or some other ridiculously heavy wood. The box clearly isn’t meant to be opened frequently. If I had to guess, it’s never been opened. What is this, Dad? What did you leave for me to find?

∇

After a lot of cursing and a crowbar, the box is open. It’s already mid-morning, and I’ve successfully put off all of my responsibilities. …But I opened the box! I smirk at how efficiently I’ve wasted my time. Okay, it’s time to see what all of the fuss is about.

Photos. The wooden box is chockful of loose photos of Dad when he was a kid. There are so many of them! I haven’t seen any of these pictures before, but I recognize Dad and Grandpa. Geez, Dad and Jude look exactly the same in some of these. It’s uncanny. There are baby photos, milestone photos, birthday photos… So many photos! I can’t help but laugh when I pick up one from when Dad must have been eight or nine, looking sideways at Grandpa. I have so many memories of Jude giving Dad the exact same look. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree on that one.

I really should try calling him again. Sighing, I pick up my phone. I fully expect the call to go to voicemail, just like it has been over the past few days, and for years, but instead Jude answers.

“Hello? … Um, hello?!”

“Hey! Jude! Yeah, it’s me, Jamie. I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

“I kinda wish I hadn’t. What do you want?”

“Geez, good to talk to you, too.”

“Did you call just to guilt me? I’m not—”

“No! No. I’m sorry. I called because Dad is gone.”

“What do you mean, gone? Did he run away or something? I didn’t think you even talked to him anymore.”

“He’s dead, Jude. Dad died.”

The silence hangs heavy for a moment before Jude responds. “Okay. You’ve told me. You’ve done your job. Let’s talk again in another 10 years or so—”

“Wait! Did Dad ever mention a wooden box of photos to you?”

“You’ve just dropped the news that he’s dead, and now you want to talk about a stupid box of pictures? I don’t know anything about it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go.”

“One more thing, please. I thought you might want some of the photos. You and Dad look really alike in a lot of ‘em.”

“No, I don’t want any of them. What a question. Why don’t you go visit Grandpa? You can give him some and ask him any questions you want. Leave me out of it.”

“You know as well as I do that Grandpa’s memory is pretty much shot. You’ve made your point. (pause) Well, Jude, thank you for answering. It’s good to hear your voice. If you change your mind and want to come down for the service or to help me—.” Before I can finish, Jude hangs up. Is it possible he’s an even bigger jerk than he used to be?

I’m suddenly drained. I don’t know if it was lugging the box around, using the crowbar to open or the phone call with Jude, but I am exhausted. Sure, I haven’t gotten much done today, but I finally got in touch with my little brother and broke the news. I think that deserves a nap.

∇

“Oh shit.”

I wake up to four missed calls from Gabby. I was supposed to call her as soon as I got in last night. She’s either going to be worried out of her mind or completely livid. I don’t know which I’d prefer. I sit up and clear my throat before calling her back.

“Jamie! You’re alive! God forbid my own husband checks in like he promised he would.”

Worst case scenario. She’s worried AND livid. Great. “I’m so sorry, Gabs! I got in late, and I got overwhelmed by the enormity of this whole thing. I should have called, or at least texted. I’m sorry.”

She sighs, deciding to let it go in light of the situation. “I’m glad you made it safely. How are you holding up anyway? Is there a lot to do at the house?”

“I’m okay, I think. I just had the weirdest dream.”

“Did you sleep the whole morning??”

“Oh. No, I took a nap. I found this wooden box in the attic last night. Dad wasn’t one to hold onto many material things, so it caught my attention. I got it open, and it was filled to the brim with his childhood photos. It was kind of weird, though, like he didn’t ever want the box opened. Why keep it though?”

“Was that your dream? A box?”

“No, the box is real. I dreamt Dad was here with me. He warned me to leave the box alone. It was weird. He felt like Dad, looked like Dad and sounded like Dad, but he was acting strangely, almost like he was scared? I don’t think I ever in my life saw Dad scared.”

“It sounds like you’re grieving, babes. Are you sure you’re okay? Should I fly out there now?”

“No, I’m okay. Really. I’ll see you in a few days for the service. Thanks, Gabs. I’m really sorry I didn’t call last night.”

“You’re going through a lot. It’s okay. I love you. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will. Love you too.”

I hang up the phone and sit with my dream. I think I need to get out of this house. I’m going to lose it if I don’t. But first, I’m going to move this damn box. Outta sight, outta mind, right? My hand slips as I pick it up, and the box smashes to the ground, right onto my left big toe. This fucking thing! I kick the box with my other foot, which is stupid. Immediately, I stub toes on my right foot. Fuck! That was dumb.

Getting down on my hands and knees to clean up, I notice that a piece of the box popped off on the inside of the box. No way. There’s a false bottom. Why would an ugly, old box of photos need a false bottom? This is making less and less sense.

Sweeping the fallen photos into a pile, I pry the rest of the false bottom out of the box. There’s only one thing under it, another photo. This one has Dad in it like the others, but there’s also a woman I’ve never seen before. There’s something about her that makes me uncomfortable.

I grab my car rental keys, a spare housekey and my wallet, I head towards the door. I really will lose it if I don’t leave the house right now. I decide to grab the photo last minute. Maybe Grandpa can remember who this woman is. It’s worth a shot. I’ve gotta go tell him about Dad anyway.

∇

Grandpa’s assisted living center is as depressing as I expected it to be. Why do I have to be the one to deliver the news to everyone? The building has a Spanish villa motif, but it isn’t architectural. It’s just a stucco façade with fake potted plants and some Spanish-looking trim.

Inside, the receptionist looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, and old people shuffle aimlessly through the halls. At first, you feel a sense of calm, but then you realize the feeling isn’t calm. It’s actually malaise. Residents merely exist, and the staff have surrendered their lives to the residents’ care. It seems like no one here has much life in them.

Sure, the center specializes in memory loss care, and you would expect a certain amount of resignation. Even so, I can’t help but wonder if losing one’s memories is akin to losing one’s soul in a place like this. It’s been years since I’ve seen Grandpa, but I can’t imagine him fitting into a place like this. He’s in room 20B. When I knock on his open door, he’s sitting quietly in an armchair, staring at the TV. The thing is, the TV is off. He’s staring at a blank screen. Maybe he fits in more than I want to admit. I don’t think today is the best day for this, but I’m here. Gotta do it sometime.

I knock on the open door a second time. “Hey, Grandpa. It’s me, Jamie … Jameson, Danny’s older son.”

“I know who you are. Come on in and take a seat. No need to loiter in the doorway.” Taking a seat on the sofa, I can’t help but smile. He’s more aware than I’ve given him credit for. “So, Jamie, why are you here? I don’t remember you visiting here before now.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Grandpa. I should’ve come sooner.”

“I understand not wanting to come to a place like this, but imagine what it’s like living here. The least you could do was visit every once in a while.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’ll come more often. Actually, I’m glad you’re sitting down. I have bad news.”

“Is it your dad?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He passed away on Tuesday. From a heart attack.”

“That boy. I told him he needed to exercise more and eat better. He was always bringing me cheeseburgers when he visited.” Grandpa sighs and shakes his head. I don’t really know how to respond so I sit quietly until he continues. “Thank you for coming by and telling me, Jamie. This can’t be easy for you. When was the last time you saw your dad?”

“It must have been five years ago, at least. I should have come by. I should have looked past my pride.”

“Well, it takes two. He was as much at fault as you were. No need to beat yourself up over it.”

“Thanks. I mean what I said, by the way. I’ll come visit more often, and I’ll bring my wife Gabby next time.”

“That’d be nice. I’d like that.” Grandpa leans back in his armchair and closes his eyes. For a second, I think he’s sleeping, but then he exhales heavily and looks at me. “Does Jude know?”

“Yeah, I talked to him this morning. Oh! That reminds me.” I take out the photo and show it to Grandpa. “I found this photo this morning. Do you know who the woman with Dad is?”

I can’t tell if he has looked at the photo or not when he starts the difficult process of standing up.

“Grandpa? Did you hear my question? Who’s this woman?”

But, instead of answering, he ushers me out the door. “Jamie, it’s time you go. They’re about to serve dinner soon, and I don’t want to miss out on dessert. They don’t always make enough.”

“But—.”

He waves me away and says sternly, “Goodbye, Jamie. Let me know when Danny’s service is. I’ll see you there. And I look forward to our next visit, hopefully your wife can come, too.” He doesn’t leave any room for disagreement. It’s time to leave.

As I walk through the front office, I realize I left the photo in Grandpa’s room. When I ask the receptionist if I can go back to get it, she’s immediately annoyed someone is asking her to work. Still, she walks me back to the room and unlocks the door.

The photo is gone.

I look on the armchair, the sofa and the carpet, but I can’t find it anywhere. The receptionist puts her hand on her hip, clears her throat and stares at her watch. I get the hint.

Maybe Grandpa took it with him? I know better than to interrupt his meal after he’s asked me to leave, so I walk out to my car. I can just ask him about it later. I was going to bring Gabby by next week when she flies in anyway. They should meet before Dad’s service. Plus, I need to clean up those other photos and pick some out for the service. Maybe I’ll find another photo of her.

∇

Back at Dad’s house, I’ve looked and looked, and I’ve found bupkis. There aren’t any other photos of that woman. I should’ve at least taken a picture of it with my phone so I could search for her online. Too late now! That reminds me, my phone. Where did I put it?

Fortunately, I only had to dig through a few stacks of papers and photos before I hear buzzing. Found it! It’s my lovely wife.

“Hi, honey. How are you?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why? There’s no reason to worry. I’m okay.”

“This is my twelfth time calling you over the span of more than six hours. I was about to start calling hospitals out there.”

“Six hours? Really?!” But even as I say it, I know she’s right. It’s dark outside, and I’m suddenly very aware I haven’t eaten in over eight hours. “Oh man. I must have been hyper-focused. I’m sorry I scared you again. I’m really not doing this on purpose.”

“No, I know you’re not. That’s what worries me. Okay, I’ve already changed my flight. I’m coming first thing in the morning. Can you pick me up, or should I rideshare?”

“I can pick you up. What about work?”

“I talked to Steve, and he’s fine with it. I’ll forward my flight info. Do you promise you’ll pick me up?”

“Yes. I promise. I’ll eat dinner right now and then get right to bed. I’m sorry, sweets.”

“It’s okay. Please just take care of yourself, okay? And let me know when you get my email.”

“I will. For both. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

How did I spend six hours looking through this house for photos? What is wrong with me? Oh well, what’s done is done. I’d better get some food.

∇

It doesn’t take long for me to spot Gabby at airport pickup. Her neon green luggage and striking red hair stand out. She deftly throws her bags in the back of the rental car, and we’re off.

“Thanks for pickin’ me up. The last thing I want after a middle-seat flight is a talkative Lyft driver.”

“Of course, my love. I know I’ve been hard to reach these last few days, but I’m okay. Promise.”

She rubs my arm and gives me a hesitant smile. It’s going to take more than a verbal promise to convince her.

She changes the subject, “So, catch me up. Did you finally get in touch with Jude? Are the arrangements all made? How can I help?”

“Jude knows. Grandpa too. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t done much about the arrangements. I’ve been pretty preoccupied with the woman in the photo.”

“Woman in the photo? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. I guess we haven’t talked about it. Do you remember that box of photos I found?”

“The one your dad was talking about in your dream?”

“Yeah, that one. Well, there was this false bottom in the box, and the only thing under it was a photo of Dad with a woman I’ve never seen before. It’s bizarre.”

“Huh. That is strange. Did you ask anyone about it?”

“Yeah, I asked both Jude and Grandpa. Jude didn’t care, and Grandpa shooed me out of his room when I asked him. I accidentally left the photo in his room at the center, actually, so I can’t even show it to you.”

“He didn’t know who it was?”

“He didn’t even acknowledge my question. He just stood up and told me to leave so he could go to dinner. I actually went back for the photo when I realized I’d left it, but it wasn’t in his room anymore. I just don’t get it.”

“It sounds like he’s hiding something, hon.”

“But what? Who could it be?”

“I mean, forgive me for asking the obvious, but could it be your grandma?”

“I didn’t even think of that. I don’t know.”

“I mean, your dad had to have come from somewhere. Did you think your grandpa adopted him or something? Didn’t you ever wonder?”

“Of course I did. I’ve told you before that we didn’t talk much about family history on Dad’s side.”

“I remember that, but did anyone ever say something that might be a clue? Maybe your mom said something?”

I chuff. “Yeah, right. My mom was the one that forbade Jude and I from asking. It wasn’t that they didn’t talk much about my grandma. They didn’t talk about her at all.”

“Sometimes I worry about you, babe. I think it’s pretty obvious that woman is your grandma.”

“You’re probably right. I think I’ll flat-out ask Grandpa. I told him I’d try to bring you by soon. He really wants to meet you.”

“I’d love to meet him, too! But let’s go get lunch first. I’m hungry.”

I take Gabby to one of my favorite childhood spots, Roper’s, and she temporarily pulls me out of my head. I sure do appreciate my wife.

∇

Before too long, we’re back in the rental and on our way to Grandpa’s center. I’m mentally practicing how I’ll confront him about the photo again. I need to stand firm. I continue practicing as we follow the receptionist down the hallway.

Jamie knocks on the door. “Hi, Grandpa! It’s Jamie. I brought Gabby with me.”

“What’d you say?”

“Grandpa, it’s me, your grandson Jamie. I was here a few days ago.”

“Oh. I don’t remember that. Come on in then, I guess.”

Gabby walks in alongside me, and I introduce her to Grandpa.” She smiles and extends her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Morris.”

Grandpa side-eyes her and keeps his hands firmly at his sides. Warily, he says, “I don’t think I know this one. Who is this? I don’t like surprise guests.”

“Grandpa, this is Gabby my wife. The last time I was here, you asked me to bring her by to meet you, remember?” He frowns and looks away. Perhaps we’ve come at a bad time. As I start to ask the receptionist if we should come back later, I notice that she’s long gone. It’s probably for the best. I’m eager to learn more about the woman.

I update Grandpa on the plans for the memorial service. Every so often, he grunts. I can’t tell if he’s angry with me, or if he’s just pretending to hear me. Is this how he is now? The guilt of being an absent grandson sticks in my chest, and I stop talking. The three of us sit in muggy silence, breathing in nonenal and unease.

I clear my throat. “I think I left a picture here last time, Grandpa. The one I asked you about. Have you seen it?”

A momentary clenching appears on his face, but it’s gone before I can be sure I saw it. “No, can’t say I have.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, if you see it, will you please let me know?” He nods and shifts impatiently. I muster up the courage and ask, “Was that woman, the one in the photo, was she my grandma? (silence) Was she Dad’s mom?”

For the next few moments, it feels as though the air has been sucked out of the room. I hear a nurse chatting with the resident next door, and the air vent whistles. I feel Grandpa’s eyes narrow.

“Now who have you been talkin’ to?”

“No one. I mean, Gabby and I thought it was the logical answer to who the woman in the photo might be.” I sputter a bit, feeling very much like my prepubescent self, diffident and blundering. Gabby puts a hand on my arm, and I ask again, “Was she Grandma?”

“Show respect, young man. You haven’t answered my question truthfully, and as an elder, my question takes precedence over yours. Don’t make me ask again.”

“No one told me. No one told me anything, I promise. Please tell me who she is.”

Grandpa starts to stand but falls back hard into his recliner. Suddenly, he shouts a string of expletives and lunges forward in his chair. Startled, Gabby and I jump up and rush to him.

“Get away from me, ya nitwits!” Grandpa’s recliner teeters back, and he totters forward, so far that he tips out of the chair and onto the ground. He grimaces. “This is your fault. Now, get out of here before I make you.” Gabby’s face twists in an odd way. She must be imagining a doddering man standing up and pushing us out of the room. I can’t tell if she’s suppressing a laugh or wondering if he truly could.

A nurse hurries into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Morris. Let’s get you back up, shall we?” A caregiver walks in behind the nurse and assists in lifting Grandpa onto his bed. It’s obvious he hates the assistance, but he’s too tired to protest.

Then, the caregiver quietly approaches us. “Thank you both for coming in today. In the interest of preserving Grandpa’s dignity, it’s best if you leave and try again another day.” She funnels us out the room before we can protest. “Your grandpa will be fine. His IMS can come on strong sometimes.”

“IMS?” Gabby probes.

“Irritable Male Syndrome,” replies the caregiver. “It isn’t an official medical diagnosis yet, but it’s real. It comes and goes for him, much like his Alzheimer’s. Again, thank you for your visit. Please come back another day. It’ll be better for everyone.”

I shrug at Gabby as we walk toward the front door. She frowns but waits to speak until we’ve left the building.

“Don’t you think you were being a little harsh, Jamie? Your grandpa clearly isn’t with it enough to talk about the past. No wonder he didn’t tell you anything on that first visit.”

It’s my turn to frown. She wasn’t suppressing a laugh earlier; I had become a monster. “He wasn’t like that on my first visit. Did you hear the caregiver say it comes and goes?”

“I can’t imagine it’s that much different from what we saw today. I’m sure you just didn’t notice before. He’s an elderly man, Jamie. We should leave the poor man alone.”

I sigh and turn towards the car. There’s no use arguing with her. Either way, it doesn’t look like I’m getting answers from Grandpa. The photo is gone, and I’m no closer to the truth.

When we get back to Dad’s house, Gabby has travel fatigue, and I am completely wrecked. We hardly speak and we eat quickly. As Gabby and I sink into bed, I relish the warmth and security of my wife’s body next to mine. Fortunately, I drift off to sleep relatively quickly.

∇

Gabby rouses me from a deep sleep. Sunshine pours onto the bedsheets and across my face. I must have slept in.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“G’morning. What time is it? How long have you been up?” Gabby slips a steaming mug of coffee into my hands.

“It’s 9:30. I didn’t wake up until 9 myself. Guess we both needed the rest.”

“Guess so. Thanks for the coffee! Did you eat yet?”

“Nope, not yet.”

“I’ll make us something. Gimme a few minutes to wake up, and then I’ll get started.”

“Thank you. And no rush, babe. I’ll be out here reading my book.” After Gabby leaves the room, I feel my chest seize. This feels like some bizarre déjà vu moment. What am I even remembering? Then, it dawns on me. I’m feeling the residual froth of a dream. Gabby had woken me up in the middle of a vivid and unsettling dream.

Dad was here again. In the dream, I told him about how I’d found the box’s false bottom and about how Grandpa reacted to the photo. He’d responded with a clenched jaw and an angry snort.

Then, he said if I’d come this far, I might as well keep going, though he warned me that if I did keep going, there was no going back. Ominous, of course, but I just had to know. I urged him to continue, and he asked if I’d found a camera or a film canister in the box.

“No. Can’t you just tell me who she is, Dad?”

“Find the camera. Find the film. It’s in your hands after that.”

“My hands? Dad? What does that mean? Why can’t you just tell me—" And that’s when I woke up.

Dream Dad isn’t going to answer my questions. Dream Dad is from my subconscious, and my brain doesn’t have the answers. I feel like I did yesterday, like I’d run full speed into a brick wall.

Now wait just a second… Is that?.. Could that be what I think it is? Yep. A perfectly round black cylinder sticks out from between a stack of Dad’s slacks I’d pulled for the funeral director. I sit on the end of the bed and square off with the cylinder after a deep breath. There’s no harm in looking, right?