The Stacks

Chapter 19: The House

"Harry?" I murmured as we were waking up the next morning.

"Mmmm," he replied, his face buried deep in the pillow.

"Sorry, I thought you were awake," I whispered.

He rolled over and yawned. "I'm getting there," he said and flashed me his irresistible smile. He leaned over and kissed me, then flung his arm over me in a sloppy fashion.

I reached my arm under his and around his back, pulling him close to me. "Why haven't you ever taken me to your house?"

"It's messy," he grumbled. His eyes were closed again, but I could see that he was fighting for consciousness.

I laughed at his answer. "I don't care if it's messy. I just want to see where you live. That seems like a big part of you that I'm missing out on."

"Believe me," he said with a low, rumbling laugh. "You're not missing out. It's not just messy. It's kind of a...disaster."

"It can't be that bad," I argued. "I can help you tidy up."

When we arrived at Harry's house in Rosedale Park later in the morning, I was proven completely wrong. It could be that bad, and it was. No, it was worse than bad.

From the outside, the 1940's Cape Cod looked like it could use a little TLC, but it wasn't terrible. The yard was still full of leaves that hadn't been raked and bagged and the driveway was cracked and uneven, but that was pretty typical for Michigan. The house itself looked like it had a fairly recent paint job, white with navy blue shutters. So I wasn't expecting the complete disaster that awaited us inside.

Harry led me in the side door by the driveway, which opened to a small landing. The landing was part of the stairway to the basement, so we could either go down or go up; we went up the three stairs into the kitchen. I couldn't even see the countertop or the sink at first due to the piles of dishes that hid them. The floor was dirty and the windows were grimy. The stove was piled high with pots and pans, the burners full of scorched food, and the wall behind the stove - what I could see of it over the - was covered in splatters and grease.

"Wow," I said, trying to downplay my first impressions. "It's messy, but all it really needs is a good cleaning."

"You're too kind," he laughed under his breath.

We moved into the dining room where there was a nice oak table surrounded by four ornate oak chairs. More dishes had accumulated in the small space that looked like it was actually used for eating. The rest of the table held boxes of craft supplies, unopened sets of dishes and small appliances, and bags of who knows what. The rest of the furniture was covered in dust and the area rug needed a good vacuuming.

I held my tongue as we walked into the living room. There was one recliner with evidence that it had been recently used, left in the reclined position with a mass of blankets spread over it. An alarm clock and some prescription bottles sat on the end table next to it. The couch had boxes or bags of items stacked on it, mostly new things like towels, drapes, rugs, and a hodgepodge of smaller items. A smaller loveseat held a towering pile of laundry. More boxes marked with a variety of items were stacked in front of the front door, completely blocking the entrance. Things like Cathryn: High School Memories or Cathryn: Childhood Keepsakes, etc. were written on the boxes. It didn't make sense to me as to why those things would be sitting here in the main part of the house.

The part of the living room that I really liked was the floor to ceiling bookshelf on one wall, which was crammed full of books. In front of it, there were piles and piles of more books, waiting to be rescued from dust and disuse.