It wasn’t because it was scary; it was because it was so plain and boring.
The hidden room was small and had room for only a folding chair, a file cabinet, and a single hanging lamp. The shelves were all filled with boxes on the shelves, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.
I pushed the opening wider with my shoulder and crawled through to see what else was in there.
I turned my flashlight on to find that all of the boxes had my father’s handwriting labels.
“Mortgage”
“Bills”
“Tom”
I felt a tight knot form in my stomach as I realized I had no desire to go through any of the boxes.
Opening the first box, I found many letters, most written by Uncle Tom in his careless style.
“Drew, I promise this will be the last time I ask you for anything.”
“Drew, I don’t have anybody else to go to.”
“Drew, Mom would’ve wanted us to support each other.”
Under the letters were copies of checks, handwritten IOUs, payment plans, as well as notes scrawled in my dad’s block handwriting.
“Tom said he would pay March.”
“Tom did not pay March.”
“Mortgage is due Friday.”
“Catherine said no more.”
Then there was an envelope that had my name written on it.
“For Astrid when she is old enough to understand.”
I instantly dropped the envelope as if it was on fire.
For so long I had been living on the one simple belief that my father was irresponsible and weak for losing our house. This belief gave me a sense of stability in my life. Now, with the discovery of this hidden room, that sense of certainty was at stake.
So I called Mom again.
“Mom,” I said.”Come Here.” “Astrid.” “Now.” She came into the room wearing slippers and a cardigan (a very old one). Her hair had obviously been twisted up in a ponytail or bun very haphazardly. When she saw the wall was broken, she covered her mouth in shock. I nearly laughed. Her facial expression when I saw her at the end of that driveway twenty years ago is exactly like this. “Please, tell me these are not what I think they are,” I said while holding up the letters. Her eyes filled with tears. “Your father didn’t want you kids to get hurt because of this.” “I got hurt when strangers put my mattress in the street, Mom.” “Astrid, please calm down.” “No, Mom. I remember you were watching when I was watching.” She slowly sunk down to the floor as though her knees no longer worked. For a short time, she appeared so small it was difficult to be angry with her. Then, with one finger, she stroked one of Tom’s letters as though she had seen it before. “Your uncle was drowning,” she said softly. “He made a lot of bad choices; he had bad luck, and he had too much pride. Your uncle kept coming back to your father for help. Your grandmother begged Drew to help him and told him that family was family. Your father sealed off the room when he saw that the final letter was delivered because he was afraid that the truth would live longer than he will.” “So my father caused the destruction of us to save Tom?” “He hoped every time would be the last time.” “And when it wasn’t the last time?” “He kept trying to convince himself that he could fix everything before you and Asher would know what was taking place.” I laughed once, ugly and cold. “We knew when we were living above the laundromat! Did Uncle Tom tell anyone?”“After all that he has done for Dad, at least he stood up and admitted that he ruined himself due to the financial issues which Dad created ?”
Mom never answered and just stared at the floor, so I knew enough at that point.
“You let me think that Dad wasted our lives away for twenty years just for the sake of gambling.”
“I thought that keeping the peace was worth more than destroying the family,” said Mom.
“No, you trained me that silence does not keep families together. It teaches the wrong person to bear the entire burden of everybody else.”
At that, I picked an envelope with my name on it, put it in my pocket, and said, “I am calling Asher.”
Her eyes went wide and shook her head, “Please do not.”
“True but he lost everything, too.”
The next day at 10:03 AM, when Asher got to the front door he was carrying a fresh intake of donuts, coffee, and the standard family guarded-scowl that our family specializes in.
When I walked him into Dad’s bedroom, Asher stepped into the threshold of the room and frozen when he saw the pictures of Dad on the wall.
“Yeah, well,” has whispered, “that’s Dad.”
I pulled out one of Dad’s letters and showed it to him.
He looked at the letter the same way I had when opening the envelope the first time, as if Dad was sending him a request for financial support.
“So,” he exclaimed, “does that mean that we now know Dad was secretly a saint?”
“Absolutely not. He was just a stubborn, arrogant man who couldn’t ask for help.”
“Now that is exactly how I remember Dad:” Asher said while reading Dad’s letter. When he finished the letter, Asher was on the carpeted floor.He read aloud, his voice cracking, “Tom, If you can’t pay me back this month, I’ve got to stop. Asher’s stuff is totally gone. Astrid won’t even look at me anymore. I can’t save my brother and fail my kids.”
Asher’s throat tightened as he swallowed. “My trophies…my books…”
I opened the next box.
There they were, three little trophies, just dusty but still here.
He reached very cautiously for them like they could disappear again. “I thought they were thrown away.”
“Dad must have saved them before we moved.”
“Then he hid them?”
“He hid everything.”
He looked around the room and back down to the message. “Did mom know?”
I nodded.
His entire demeanor changed in an instant. “So Uncle Tom came to Christmas every year and joked and gave us gift cards and led us to believe dad destroyed everything?”
“Yes.”
He stood up slowly. “What’s your plan?”
“Invite everyone over.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone, including Uncle Tom.”
When the next night came, the kitchen was filled with the noise of folding chairs, takeout containers, and the sound of families using silence as a way to eat dessert before sharing the truth gently.
Mom kept worrying and wiping the counters.
“Don’t make this ugly,” she said softly.
“It already is.”
Uncle Tom entered the house carrying grocery store flowers along with his wide smile. “Look at you, kiddo. Buying back the old house; your daddy would have been proud.”
I gave him a polite smile.
Aunt Marlene and two more cousins arrived behind Uncle Tom. Asher stood beside the sink, arms crossed.
Uncle Tom ran his hand down the cabinets.“Your father had his faults, Astrid, but he loved this house.”
“Did he really?” I inquired.
“Absolutely.”
“Then he lifted his plastic cup toward me and said, “To you, Astrid, finally taking over what Drew couldn’t handle.”
I got up and went into one of the secret rooms, then came back with a bunch of papers [from] an envelope.
Tom’s smile quickly faded when he saw what I was carrying. “What is that?” he asked.
“This is part of the story you neglected to tell me.”
“Astrid,” Tom said cautiously, “just because you found some old letters doesn’t mean that you know everything.”
“No,” I said, “but you had twenty-seven letters that you chose not to read.”
Aunt Marlene started to reach for the first letter.
Tom quickly blocked her from grabbing it. “I think we need to keep the family stuff private tonight.”
Asher entered the conversation. “I suppose you mean the private family business that took our house from us?”
The entire room went quiet.
Mom said in a whisper, “Asher…”
“Asher” replied strongly, “and we left with everything we owned stuffed in garbage bags while he was standing there drinking coffee.”
Tom’s face turned serious. “Your father was always responsible for his own choices.”
I looked directly at him. “And this kitchen table is where Dad was blamed for twenty years.”
I read aloud one line from the letter.
“Tom, I cannot continue to help you if it means hurting my children.”
No one in the room moved.
Tom’s face turned red. “Your father offered to help me, I never made him help me.”
“No,” I replied quietly, “you just always came over without any money and no shame.”
Aunt Marlene looked at him with disbelief.”Is this true, Tom?”
One cousin looked at the flowers Tom had brought in and just moved them aside without a word.
Tom tried to speak, but the words would not come smoothly.
Mom was using a napkin to wipe her eyes when she said “Drew did not lose this house all by himself; I let my children believe this to be true because I was too afraid to speak the truth.”
Tom got up quickly. “You all just want someone to hate.”
“No,” I replied. “I want to understand my father at last.”
Tom left without taking the flowers.
After all had gone home, Asher carefully wrapped his trophies in the dish towel. As he was leaving, he looked back at the wall that had fallen.
“Don’t seal it up again,” he told me.
“I won’t.”
After everything was quiet, I went back into the room. Mom was standing in the doorway looking much smaller than I remembered.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“I thought silence would be mercy.”
“It wasn’t.”
Then I opened Dad’s envelope.
“Astrid,
You always have noticed when something wasn’t right. I’m so sorry that I let you think it was me that was wrong. If you ever come back to this house, don’t seal off this room.”
I read this letter two times over, before I picked up the hammer again.
Mom stepped closer, “What are you doing?”
“I’m opening it for real.”
By the time morning came, the false wall was gone.
For the first time in twenty years, sunlight was shining in this room. I did not turn it into a storage room. I did not hide away the boxes upstairs. I left the door open.
Asher returned with Chinese food and cheesecake. Together we cleaned the shelves, put Up his trophies where they were supposed to be, and framed Dad’s letter.
The house that belonged to my father is back in my family.
But that night I returned something to my father that no auction house will ever give back to him.
His name.
