a nearby couch, and we both sink down onto the floral fabric.
“Now, before you panic, I think the damage caused by the fallen tree might be covered by your homeowner’s policy, and that’s half the expense. If you can provide me with your aunt’s insurance carrier, I can make a preauthorization request, see what we can get covered. It’s a long shot but worth a try.”
“That would be amazing,” I say, already doing mental math, trying to figure out just how far I can stretch my meager savings. The exterior is going to cost a pretty penny, but if homeowner’s insurance covers half, maybe it’s doable? Not really. And that leaves almost nothing for the interior. “What about the rest of the house?”
“The rest of the house?” He shakes his head. “To be honest, from what I can tell, most of the interior is in pretty good shape. But I won’t be able to give you a real, comprehensive answer until you start clearing away the junk. There’s so much upstairs that some of the rooms are practically impossible to get into.”
He isn’t trying to be rude or confrontational, but his words still sting. Mostly because I know he’s right but also because I had no idea Aunt Maggie had gotten this bad. Sure, everyone in the family knew she was eccentric, but this level of hoarding is a mental-health issue. Guilt works like battery acid on my insides. Of all the people in our tiny family, I should have realized something was going on.
I always thought it was charming the way she gathered up the unopened fortune cookie papers “for souvenirs” after our monthly lunch or how she always asked for the cork from our bottle of wine after girls’ night. I didn’t know it was just more stuff she felt compelled to save.
How could I not have known? More, how could I not have asked? Or visited? She always said she wanted to meet in the city because it was exciting, and I agreed with her. The last thing I wanted to do was come back to the burbs or, more honestly, back to my parents’ criticism.
All of which adds up to it being twenty years since I was here last. Two decades when my favorite person in the whole world kept hoarding and hoarding and hoarding. She never made it to reality-TV bad—the downstairs is mostly clean except for the closets, drawers, and cabinets—but, like Mikey said, the upstairs bedrooms are piled with junk, junk, and more junk.
Knowing this was happening only an hour train ride from my place in the city makes me a shitty niece. More, it makes me a shitty person who took the path of least resistance because it was easier, made fewer waves, and deep down the idea of even a little confrontation makes my bones turn to liquid.
“If you want me to be able to give you a solid estimate on what needs to be done inside, I’d suggest getting a dumpster. You can have one delivered to your driveway, and you can add to it as you sort through each room. When you’re done, I’m happy to come back and take a look.”
“How much does a dumpster cost?” I ask, because even though I hate the idea of throwing away stuff that meant something to Aunt Maggie, I know I can’t live here like this.
“I’ll add it to my estimate. In the meantime, look into getting someone in here to deal with the tree and we’ll be in business to start as soon as you’re ready for us.”
“Sounds good.” I force a smile I’m far from feeling. This place is turning into as big a mess as my former life, and that sucks, especially considering how much it felt like a potential lifeline when Aunt Maggie’s will was read.
“Oh,” Mikey says as he turns to go. “One more thing. Stay off that porch until we can fix it. And post a few signs to warn everyone else to stay off it, too. No telling when it’s going to collapse completely, but if I were you, I wouldn’t tempt fate.”
Why do his parting words sound more like an omen than a suggestion?
Chapter Ten
I’m just about to start cooking myself dinner—a chicken breast with a side of roasted asparagus—when the full bid comes through from Mikey. Steeling myself with a large sip of wine from one of the bottles from the awesome collection I just found in Aunt Maggie’s basement, I’m not