Loving Thy Neighbor

“Hap has gloves,” Kerri said.

“Yeah, he wears ’em all the time when he works outside,” Kyle added.

“I’ll go ask if we can use ’em,” Kerri said.

“No, don’t, Kerri,” Quincee commanded. “Don’t bother him again. We’ve pestered him enough for one day. But do put on shoes, please.” The children had run through the hose sprinkler to cool off and were still barefoot. “No telling what creepy crawlers we’ll find in there.”

“Ready, set, go!” Kyle called when they all were in place.

They made a great production of sliding back the old doors, one adult and one child wielding a door together. The huge panels creaked and groaned, bucking stubbornly along the rusted track until at last they stood wide. Stale air and shock waves of heat rushed out, making Quincee blink and Kerri cough.

Daylight reached only the middle of the structure, leaving the back corners in deep shadow.

True to Bette and Gene’s declaration, stacks of cardboard boxes filled half the space nearly to the ceiling on one side. What looked to be a number of old bicycles in various states of wholeness and parts hung from wall hooks. Bundles of newspapers, yellowed and brown, a couple of barrel crates holding unknown items, worn-out tires and several pieces of outdated furniture haphazardly occupied a near corner.

The four of them stood in wonder for long moments. “And this is only what we see without stirring a finger,” Laura muttered in awe.

“Bicycles,” Kyle squealed.

“Looks like your luck is in, sport,” Laura said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yours, too, Kerri bear. But it may take a day or two to find one that’s all together and still works. What say you, Quincee? Is there treasure enough here for you?”

“I scarcely believe it! Would you look at that?”

“What?”

“That rocker.” Quincee moved forward and tentatively removed a box from atop a rattan rocking chair. She touched it to set it in motion, but too many other items jammed its path. She shoved at a tall piece of furniture, covered with torn freighting blankets. It proved to be too heavy and wouldn’t budge.

“And there.” She turned as something else caught her gaze. “Look at this old Formica kitchen table. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s way out of style?” Laura suggested dryly. “And it has one leg short. See?” She pointed to a block of wood under one leg.

“Yeah, but it might be just the thing for Kerri and Kyle’s art projects.”

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