October 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I found a parking space half a block away and followed the sidewalk to a grey single-storied ranch house. A sign on the front door said “Enter,” so I walked inside. The place was packed with middle-aged women and camo-clad men searching through boxes of dish towels, old books, winter hats and gloves. I could hardly turn around. A gruff voice behind me said, “There’s more in the basement and upstairs, and tools and more furniture in the garage.”
I turned around and found myself standing nose to nose with her—the estate sale coordinator who had sold me the old photos.
I opened my mouth, but realized I didn’t know what to say to her. I mean, I couldn’t very well tell her that some saint’s holy card told me to find her so she could tell me how to change a dead Catholic woman’s past. My mouth hung open for several seconds while she looked expectantly at me.