Frame It

Laura drove way below speed limit on a Sunday morning alone, coffee in hand, her eyes scanning the quiet road as she steered the car to her father's house.

Her phone buzzed in her bag for the fourth time that morning and she knew without looking that her siblings, Greg and Rachael, were arguing again in their group chat.

Months since the funeral, the house sat half packed in boxes as they debated whether to sell or keep the house.

She let herself in and took a deep breath. The place smelled of sawdust, old books and the faint scent of their father. She smiled when her gaze caught a drawing the three of them had painted as children that her father had mounted on the wall, crooked.

She had been embarrassed by it and begged him as a teenager to take it down. He never did. She slowly sat on the floor under it, pulled out her phone, scrolled the group chat and typed: “Guys, I'm at Dad's. Come over, now. Both of you.”

She dropped her phone back inside her handbag, unconcerned about whatever responses they might have sent.

An hour later, Greg and Rachael stood in the hallway, arms crossed and ready to fight. Then Greg saw her sitting under the drawing and went quiet. They both drew close to Laura.

“I've not been here in years,” he started to say, “he kept that thing?” He chuckled and his voice cracked halfway through.

“Remember when I tried to take it down?” Laura whispered as Rachael sat down beside her. “He told me that's the best thing anyone's ever made for him. I thought he was just being nice.”

“He meant it,” Rachael said with a sniff.

Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It's easier to sell a house than to say goodbye to one. Are we ready to do this?”

Nobody spoke for a while. Then Rachael took a breath. “I don't actually need to keep the house. I just couldn't stand the idea of strangers painting over the height marks in the pantry. That's my favourite part of this place.”

Laura and Greg looked at her. “How about we take the pantry door and sell the house? We keep the marks,” he said slowly, looking at their eldest, Laura for consensus.

Laura lifted the drawing gently from its nail, dust drifting down. “And this?”

Greg smiled, wet-eyed for the first time since the funeral. “Frame it properly this time and we hang it at your house. After all, we are always there for Christmas.”

“Yes,” Rachael added. “Hang it crooked.”

“Crooked,” Laura agreed, pressing the old paper to her chest. “Exactly how he'd want it.”

For the first time in months, the house felt like it was theirs to let go of.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "frame it”.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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