Owls Well That Ends Well(3)
“Oops,” Rob said.
“This is my husband, Claude,” Emma said.
“Are you all right?” I asked. Claude nodded. He was also wearing a Groucho mask. Was this some peculiar Kansas custom?
I noticed that Claude was clutching his trousers closed with one hand. He probably didn’t have elbow room to zip them up, since the bathroom was slightly under three feet wide. I turned away to make polite conversation with Emma while Dad and Rob pried Claude out and exclaimed over his bruises.
“All the way from Kansas,” I said.
“Well, we didn’t come just for the yard sale,” Emma said. “But since we were here …”
“Emma does love a good yard sale,” Claude said, limping over to collapse beside the doughnut box.
“Wonderful,” I said.
“What should I do with this,” Rob said, holding the door toward me.
“For now, shut it behind me,” I said, as I ran in.
“It’s going to be splendid!” I heard Dad say outside.
I looked at the bags under my eyes and my Bride of Frankenstein mane and thought maybe I should borrow Emma’s Groucho disguise.
“But why in October?” I heard her saying outside. “I mean, luckily you have the weather for it this weekend, after all those weeks of rain, but isn’t it rather late in the season?”
The loud flush of the ancient toilet drowned out much of Dad’s reply, but I gathered that he was telling Emma and Claude about Edwina Sprocket’s clutter. I washed my hands without bonking my head for a change and then, after dragging my fingers uselessly through my hair, I gave up.
“But, of course, everyone knows that a multifamily yard sale’s a much bigger draw,” Dad was saying as I heaved the detached door out of my way and set it carefully beside the doorway. “So a few of the family decided to join in and make it a bigger event.”
“I think seventeen is more than a few, Dad,” I said, plunking myself on the floor beside the doughnut boxes.
“You have seventeen other people participating?” Emma exclaimed.
“Seventeen other households,” I corrected. “Heaven knows how many people that means. And that’s just the family. We also have thirteen of Michael’s friends and colleagues from Caerphilly College selling their stuff.”
“Goodness,” Emma exclaimed. “It must be enormous !”
“Two acres’ worth,” I said, gesturing toward the back yard.
“My,” Emma said. “How exciting!”
She went over to the kitchen window and peered out.
“Now, Emma,” Claude said, with a nervous laugh. “You know we can only take so much on the plane.”
“There’s always UPS,” Emma said.
“Go out and take a closer look if you like,” Dad said. “But don’t go inside the fence. The security’s still active.”
“If it’s all right,” Emma said.
She hurried outside, followed by an anxious Claude.
I sighed, and rubbed my aching forehead.
“What’s wrong, Meg?” Dad asked.
“I know I should be happy that she’s so excited,” I said. “The more people who show up with a cheerful, acquisitive attitude, the more stuff we’ll unload.”
“And the more money you’ll make,” Rob said.
“I don’t care about the money,” I said. “I just want all the stuff gone. And I can’t believe anyone would want to buy any of that junk.”
“Junk!” Dad exclaimed. “You have a wonderful collection out there. I can’t understand why you’re selling most of it.”
“No one can,” Rob said. “Just ignore her; she’s been like this for weeks.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Grouchy,” Rob said.
“I prefer to think that I’ve achieved a more enlightened and detached attitude toward material possessions,” I said.
“Grouchy,” Rob repeated, nodding. “You don’t want her coming over to your house right now. First she starts cleaning the place up—”
“And you’re complaining?” I exclaimed.
“But then she starts trying to throw your stuff away or take it for the yard sale. It’s seriously annoying.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I admit I’ve been grouchy. It’s probably just that I’ve been spending too much time dealing with stuff. I’m down on stuff. I’ll get over it after the yard sale.”
“Probably,” Rob said. “I remember one time I had the flu after I’d been eating too much pizza and—”
“Rob,” I said. “No one wants to hear this.”