The Shoebox Read online

  THE SHOEBOX

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Mercado-Fernandez

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN (Hardcover Edition): 978-1-54396-922-1

  ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54396-923-8

  To my father, Ramon Mercado, who taught me to love books and Literature. He inspired me each and every day.

  Contents

  Preface & Acknowledgement

  Part One

  Chapter 1: Commitments

  Chapter 2: Saved

  Chapter 3: Resurface

  Chapter 4: Personal

  Chapter 5: Details

  Chapter 6: Home

  Chapter 7: Consumed

  Chapter 8: Pieces

  Chapter 9: Timing

  Chapter 10: Confirmation

  Chapter 11: Counting

  Chapter 12: Humbled

  Chapter 13: Broken

  Chapter 14: Immersed

  Chapter 15: Reparation

  Chapter 16: Clarity

  Chapter 17: Karma

  Chapter 18: Listing

  Chapter 19: Jolted

  Chapter 20: Lost

  Chapter 21: Regrets

  Chapter 22: Perceptions

  Chapter 23: Butterflies

  Chapter 24: Demolition

  Chapter 25: Confessions

  Chapter 26: Uncle Hero

  Chapter 27: Intentions

  Chapter 28: Solitude

  Chapter 29: Signals

  Chapter 30: Blessings

  Chapter 31: Shattered

  Part Two

  Chapter 32: Christmas

  Chapter 33: Pancakes

  Chapter 34: Balance

  Chapter 35: Honored

  Chapter 36: Shadows

  Chapter 37: Roses

  Chapter 38: Warnings

  Chapter 39: Last Wish

  Chapter 40: Entertaining

  Chapter 41: Photograph

  Chapter 42: Estate

  Chapter 43: Progress

  Chapter 44: Longing

  Chapter 45: Deliverance

  Chapter 46: Passing

  Chapter 47: Surrender

  Preface & Acknowledgement

  I have been writing ever since I can remember. As a child I would write short stories and used to create scripts for my friends to act out from a favorite show. It has always been a passion of mine. Most of the stories I write usually deal with a moment of realization of how the past and future are connected together some how. I love when fate and the universe work together to do something unimaginable. I have always believed in signs. I believe we are connected to those that have gone before us just as we are to those still with us.

  Peter and Maddy have become two visible beings in my mind that evolved rather quickly. I wanted their story to be told because although it is fictional, almost anyone can relate to a passed love, or a lost love left without closure. This has been an incredible journey for me and although there have been obstacles along the way I could not have completed it without the love, help and support of many. I am truly grateful and forever indebted to them.

  So with that being said I wish to thank the following influential and amazing people in my life.

  I wish to thank my Editor Victoria Mixon. I could never put eloquently into words what it has meant to work with you these past few years. Through your insight and wisdom of the art and craft of writing (also the name of your book) you have taught me infinite ways to write and tell a story. Your depth of understanding of characters and novel writing will remain with me as long as I live and I have grown so much as a writer working with you. I know I will never write anything without your expertise and I consider you a life long friend. I have been blessed to have you in my life. Thank you so much. I love you.

  To the greatest friend and Franciscan anyone could ever know and have, Br. John Maganzini. I probably never could have survived these past few years without your friendship, support and prayers. You are a gift from God to so many. You are truly an example of St. Francis and his humble spirit. Mere words could never express my feelings of gratitude and love for you.

  To my favorite high school teacher, Ms. Margaret O’Farrell. Your creative writing class at St. Catherine’s Academy sparked my love for writing. Your class helped me get through the day. Thank you for sharing your gift with so many.

  To my beloved sons, Timothy Ryan and Matthew Peter, I love you both with all my heart and I’m extremely proud of the great God fearing men you both have become. To my daughter-in-law, Elizabeth Russo, for all your support, ideas, inspiration and constant love. You are so talented and amazing and I am so proud to have you and your parents, Karen and Anthony Russo, as part of our family. To my beautiful grandchildren, Lenora Josephine and Alexander “Sasha” Raymond, you are the light and joy in my life.

  To the wonderful friends in my life, I am thankful to God for you and your friendship, support and love. You know who you are.

  To my parish, St. Andrews, and all those wonderful friends whom I have met through my beloved church. I am so thankful to be a part of such a holy and beautiful place.

  I thank God my creator and savior most of all. I know that in my weakness, you alone give me strength. All that I am is because of you and all that I do is for you.

  To my parents who are no longer with me, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss you both terribly. Thank you for always loving me and supporting me and raising me to be the person I am today. I am who I am because of the love and sacrifices they made for me. Thank you for teaching me to be a good person and to love and care for others. You taught me to have faith in God and to put him above all and I will always love you and try to live by your example.

  To my husband and father of my children, Robert Fernandez. You are the greatest person I have ever known and the man of my dreams. You have made all my dreams a reality and have made it possible for me to pursue all I’ve ever wanted to do. You are kind and generous and I see God in all that you do. I am so proud to be your wife and I hope I make you as happy as you have made me these last thirty years together. I will love you forever.

  Part

  One

  Chapter 1

  Commitments

  The wind blew Peter’s windbreaker, whipping his long white hair against his face. He clamped his cigar between his teeth as he made his way slowly across the soft sand to the lifeguard chair that stood silhouetted against the evening sky. He raised one leg at a time to pull himself up the ladder, his feet twisted with arthritis and his knees aching. At the top, he sat heavily in the chair and rested his back against the faded white wood facing the stormy bay. He sighed as he lifted his cigar and inhaled. This was what he longed for: time to himself, time to forget and time to remember.

  The breeze felt different that night. He closed his eyes to the sound of waves hitting the rocks in the distance. The autumn wind blew his white hair, the chill stiffening his bones. Oh, now he could see her, young and beautiful again.

  He let the smoke of his cigar linger as he thought back over his life to discover how he’d come to this place, to this moment in time. And he remembered . . .he remembered everything.

  It had all begun with the shoebox.

  1985

  Peter stared at the architectural blueprints spread across his drafting table and
rubbed his neck. He’d read in the Boston Tribune only the week before about the two types of stress: good and bad. This was supposedly the non-life threatening type. After all, how many new partners get asked to jump in the ring and bid on the city’s most-coveted project?

  He flipped through the papers on his desk to reveal two buried Brides magazines with colored swatches sticking out, the pages folded to photos of china and wedding cakes. He sighed and pushed the magazines aside.

  “Bad stress,” he said quietly. The phone rang as he reached for his cup of stale coffee.

  Peter’s company, Rowland and Michaels Architectural Firm, occupied the top floor of Boston’s old Wentworth Building; a four-story brick edifice abandoned ten years earlier during the worst of the 1970s. Peter’s senior partner had invested in restoring the building, and now their new offices sat in the middle of the open floor enclosed in glass with miniature models lining the windowsills and the industrial ceiling high overhead, its pipes and ducts exposed. Although small, the space exuded a sense of age and grandeur even at this time of evening.

  Peter sat back in his black leather chair, loosening his shoulders as he picked up the phone. “Hey, Jake!” He laughed. “Some of us are busy and don’t have time to be harassing people. What’s up?”

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” Jake said. “I know what you’re doing. You’re walking circles around your desk drinking this morning’s old coffee. You haven’t had anything to eat since last night, and you’re second-guessing everything you worked so hard on, which I’m sure is perfect, brilliant, exactly what the Mayor’s Committee is looking for. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

  “You don’t know everything.” Peter smiled. “The coffee’s not from this morning, for your information. It’s only two hours old.”

  “What are you worried about, man? You know they’re going to hire you. It’s a done deal.”

  “I don’t know.” Peter leaned forward and picked up a drafting pencil, rolling it nervously between his fingers. “What if I’m biting off more than I can chew? This Library Restoration Project is huge. I’m playing with the big dogs now.”

  “Big dogs! Those guys are yesterday’s news. You’re the talented new blood. Famous Rob Rowland picked you up right out of grad school! Partner by the time you were forty! That’s why they approached you in the first place. You have to have a little more faith in yourself—I do.”

  Peter laughed out loud. Jake’s friendship hadn’t changed in twenty years.

  “Hey, Amanda told me you and Tara are listening to some band tonight for the wedding, but I thought we were watching the --”

  “The band thing’s tonight?” Peter pulled uncomfortably on his collar. “When did Tara tell her that?”

  “Last night at the new Michael J. Fox movie, some time-travel chick flick. Where have you been? I know more about your plans than you do.”

  Peter massaged the back of his neck and the knot under his shoulder blade that hadn’t gone away in weeks. “I hate that Tara tells Amanda these things. She’s making sure you’ll remind me.”

  “Sisters, dude. What’re you going to do? So go. I totally understand if you have commitments.”

  “Don’t be bogus, Jake.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  “That can’t be right. I put down when the band thing was.” Peter shoved the blueprints aside and thumbed through his appointment book, but found nothing about a band written in.

  “And before I forget, Amanda ran across one of your boxes when she was cleaning out the basement. She told me to tell you. I’ll drop it by your office tomorrow.”

  “No, don’t.” Peter glanced at the uncovered bridal magazines. “I’m coming over. I can’t deal with the band thing tonight.” He pushed himself back in his leather chair. “Tara can go with their mother or something. I just can’t.”

  He sighed and threw down his pencil as he hung up. He glanced at a small photo on his desk, himself and Tara in 1985 New Year’s Eve party hats at Jake and Amanda’s house, Tara puckering her lips and pointing to her ring finger while Peter stared past the camera with his beer to his mouth.

  Jake’s younger daughter, Janie, insisted on sitting on Peter’s lap, and Hope wore her fairy princess costume all throughout dinner.

  “Mommy, more dessert?”

  “Hope! You’ve had enough. We have to start getting you ready for bed.” Amanda lifted Janie out of Peter’s lap.

  Hope made her way quickly into Janie’s place, where Peter created a chair with his arms, cradling her. “You remembered,” she whispered.

  “I would never forget.”

  They whispered together. “Hope’s special chair.”

  “Uncle Peter, I wish you still lived here. I miss Stuart.”

  “Stuart?” Amanda smiled.

  “Stuart Little. She liked when I did his voice.”

  Hope turned and played with Peter’s hair. “I like when you do his boice, I like when you do it. You do it.” Amanda laughed at how she said voice.

  Peter blushed and, after a moment, began to talk in a tiny high-pitched voice. When Hope touched his lips, he laughed and pulled her close. Her laughter was infectious, Janie turned back toward them, and now both girls were on his lap, giggling and pulling his hair. They screamed, tickling him, when he blew into their bellies.

  “Uncle Peter! How am I ever going to get these girls to settle down?”

  Hope and Janie complained when Amanda pulled them out of Peter’s lap and took their pudgy hands.

  “Love you girls. We’ll play more next time, I promise.” Peter blew kisses, and they blew them back.

  Amanda leaned down swiftly and kissed him on the cheek. “I miss you living here too, you know.” Peter watched as Amanda turned and led the children step-by-step up the carpeted stairs. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m glad Tara’s finally bringing you into this family.”

  The dining room sat in the center of Jake and Amanda’s home, with a view of the living room and the fire that always burned in its old stone fireplace. Amanda’s oversized grandmother’s hutch stood against one wall, towering over the table and filled with china and glasses along with her antique silver tea service. The cherry wood dinner table, now covered with emptied plates and bits of macaroni and cheese on the tablecloth, stood in center of the room with matching chairs and a simple brass pendant lamp hanging above. On either side of the small room nestled deep window seats with matching cushions that Amanda had sewn herself, scattered with stuffed animals and children’s books.

  Not exactly Tara’s trendy style.

  “Pete, you want coffee?” Jake brought a crumb cake with plates and forks from the kitchen.

  “Boy, haven’t you become Mr. Mom. I’m impressed—and slightly disturbed.”

  “Shut up. Next year this time it’ll be you serving us at your place with Tara.”

  Peter’s smile faded. He took a slice of the crumb cake and poured himself coffee. He stirred his cup slowly, adding milk.

  “So, are you excited?” Jake sat beside him on the table.

  “Yeah. Overwhelmed at the same time.”

  “That’s to be expected.”

  “But I only get one shot, right? I can’t mess this up. I really have to work on the details, focus, and do more research. I was thinking of going to the Mayor’s office and requesting a view of the original blueprints. I want to be as historically-correct as I can.”

  “What the heck are you talking about? Your nuptials, man.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—” Peter took a sip of coffee, and Jake peered into his face. “Jake, I have a lot on my plate. I can’t just turn it off. I have stuff to prove to people, and I don’t want to let anyone down.”

  “I’ll buy that. I just am amazed we’re a few weeks from your wedding, and there’s a lot to do for that as well, and we haven’t
discussed it at all. Don’t you find that odd? I do.”

  Peter put down his cup and took huge bites of crumb cake. He wiped his mouth and swallowed. “I know it might not seem like I care about the wedding. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a say in anything about it.”

  “I never said you didn’t care.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m happy, okay? I have a great career, I have a project at hand anyone in my shoes would die for, and I’m about to marry into my best friend’s family. Why wouldn’t I be happy? Why wouldn’t anyone?”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Jake stood and patted him on the back. “That’s all I wanted to hear. I’m good now.” He picked up dishes and went into the kitchen. “I’m going to check on the girls and see if Amanda needs me.” He peeked from the corner. “Help yourself to more coffee. The remote is on the coffee table. Don’t forget that box I told you about.”

  “No problem. Thanks.” Peter stood, taking another sip.

  He ate a last bite of cake and went through the kitchen into a large laundry room, where racks hanging with baby clothes stood everywhere. He picked up one of the baby socks, smelled it, and smiled, then glanced around until he saw the boxes on the floor marked for the Goodwill. On top of an ironing board above them sat a shoebox with ‘PETER’ written on it in a thick black magic marker.

  He opened the shoebox and felt an unexpected rush of blood to his face. There were a few old photographs, a postcard, a pair of ticket stubs, and a silver chain. Peter’s heart beat rapidly as he lifted one of the pictures.

  How could he have left it here? How could he have forgotten?

  He heard Jake’s footsteps on the stairs and without hesitation threw everything back inside and closed the lid. He walked out of the laundry room with the box under his arm.

  “Let’s sit.” Jake feinted with him, boxing his shoulder lightly. “The game’s starting.”

  “Actually, I think I’m going to call it a night. Tell Amanda everything was excellent, as usual.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You’re not going to miss this.” Jake stepped back. “That’s why you came over. Bird and McHale were on fire the last game!”