my dad. He has an unruly gray-peppered beard and is wearing a tweed newsboy hat. This, too, I remember from childhood.
“I expected your mom or dad to stop in any day now. Didn’t think they’d be sending you in, but it sure is good to see you. All grown-up. I can’t hardly believe it.” He clicks his tongue, then lifts a finger, indicating I should wait. “I’ll go get your money. Be right back.”
I blink. Money?
But before I can say anything, he’s slipped into a back room, a tiny office with a window covered in yellowed blinds. I approach the main counter, where he keeps the jewelry. There are so many little velvet boxes holding little diamond rings that it’s dizzying. I move to the next case. Necklaces, watches, bracelets—earrings.
I inspect them all, but none of them is Maya’s. He probably wouldn’t keep a solitary earring with these sets anyway, I reason.
Maybe he has a missing-parts jewelry section?
I make a quick pass around the room. More glass cases hold antique cigar boxes, porcelain figurines, hand-painted teacups, pocketknives, collectible coins, baseball cards. One entire case is dedicated to used cell phones. The walls are covered in paintings. The shelves display everything from clarinets to laptops, bowling balls to table lamps.
There is a display of costume jewelry on one counter. I spend a minute digging through it, but there’s nothing that resembles the earring, and if Clark really did pay more than a grand for it, I doubt it would be sitting out here unattended.
“Here we go,” says Clark, emerging from the office with a white envelope. He lays down a handwritten receipt, then opens the envelope and takes out a handful of money. He starts to count it out, placing each bill down so I can double-check his math, but my attention is on the slip of yellow paper.
Guitar amp: $140.00
Tennis bracelet (diamond 1 ct): $375.00
Cordless drill: $20.00
DVD player: $22.00
Electronic keyboard w/stand: $80.00
At the bottom is my dad’s signature and phone number.
My eyes linger on the last item. A keyboard. The keyboard, I’m sure, that I’d told Ari I would give to her, before I realized we didn’t have it anymore.
Before my parents told me they sold it.
“Six hundred and thirty-seven.” Clark finishes counting, then stacks up the bills again and slides them back into the envelope. He hands it to me, along with the receipt. My hand instinctively closes around it, feeling the heft of the money inside. “We’ve had some interest on that cutlery set, but no takers yet. Your pop mentioned he might be bringing in a guitar? Acoustic, I think? Those have been selling like hotcakes lately, if you want to let him know.”
Cutlery? Guitar?
“Um. Okay. I’ll mention it to him.” I swallow. “Which cutlery set, exactly?”
“Ah, you know. This vintage one.” He walks around the counter and ushers me toward another case, where he pulls out an old wooden box. When he opens it, I’m greeted with a set of silverware—lightly tarnished spoons and forks and a row of steak knives strapped to the bottom of the lid. There are some serving pieces, too—a ladle and one of those huge forks used for carving meat. I reach out and run my finger along the handle of one of the spoons, engraved with a motif of grapes.
I know this silverware.
“You okay?”
I snap my attention up to Clark. “Yeah. Yes. I just … didn’t realize my parents were selling this off. This was my great-grandma’s. We put it out every Thanksgiving.”
I can’t tell if his frown means he’s worried for me, or that my sentimentality could keep him from making a sale. “You’d be surprised how many people are off-loading this sort of thing,” he says, and I think he’s trying to ease my mind. “Silverware like this? It’s almost more valuable being melted down for the silver. Not a big market. It’s pretty, but kind of a pain compared with stainless steel. People just don’t know how to care for these things like they used to or they don’t have the time or just don’t feel like it. Can’t hardly blame them.”
I nod, but I’m barely listening.
My parents are selling off their stuff.
I know money has been tight. I know they’ve been worried about paying their rent at the record store. But I had no idea it had come to this—pawning their possessions to make ends meet.
Why didn’t they tell us?
“Anything else I can do for you?” Clark asks.
I look down at the envelope in my hand.