For the next five hours, we worked steadily removing everything we could carry. She called and rented a large storage unit and came back with a moving truck after the first load. I was overwhelmed by her initiative but asked no questions. The expensive furniture went first, cabinets and trunks. Then we carefully stacked Mom's china, wrapped it in clothes and blankets and put them on board. I broke down the beds and she carried the pieces out; mattresses were tossed from windows and I was proud to say that at five forty-five, we had done a professional job of looting the house, including all of the sentimental items.
Alisa wheeled the truck away with me following in her Suburban just as I saw my brother's car rounding the far corner, his purple neon running lights giving him away. I kept my speed steady, pretending not to be shaking as hard as I was and only started breathing normally when we pulled into the storage space. It took another four hours of steady work to empty the truck and we took it straight back to the yard afterwards. A final trip to pick up my car at the storage place and we decided to head back to Alisa's apartment.
We hadn't spoken much the entire time we'd worked, just efficiently handled the work as a team. Now, exhausted and spent, we worked to find the strength to speak.
"Thank you."
