Susan lowered the phone.
Then she pointed at his truck.
“That vehicle shouldn’t be parked here.”
“My vehicle is legally parked in my driveway.”
“It lowers the appearance of the street.”
Marcus looked at the Ford.
James’s tools had repaired that truck.
Linda had laughed in that truck.
Marcus had cried alone in that truck after leaving the hospital the night his father died.
He spoke quietly.
“That truck belongs wherever I legally park it.”
“You think stubbornness makes you right?”
“No.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Facts do.”
A sprinkler clicked somewhere across the street.
A dog barked once.
Marcus lifted another box.
The words FAMILY. DO NOT BEND were written across the side.
He adjusted the carton carefully.
Susan noticed.
He started toward the house.
“You can ignore me all you want,” she called.
Marcus kept walking.
“I am not finished with you.”
He stopped.
Something in her voice was different now.
Less controlling.
More desperate.
Marcus turned.
Susan’s hands were clenched.
Her face had that brittle look people wore when the argument they intended to dominate had begun slipping away.
Then her eyes moved toward the garden hose near her steps.
Marcus saw it.
Daniel did too.
Susan crossed back onto her own property.
For a second, Marcus thought she was finally leaving.
Then she grabbed the hose.
“Susan,” Daniel warned.
She opened the spigot.
The hose stiffened.
Marcus still held the family box.
Susan dragged the nozzle toward the property line.
“Move the truck.”
“No.”
Water struck the concrete.
Spray hit Marcus’s boots.
“Move it.”
“My truck is legally parked.”
Susan lifted the nozzle.
The stream hit him.
The entire street seemed to stop.
Marcus stared at her.
Water ran from his sleeve.
“Stop.”
She sprayed him again.
This time across the neck and chest.
Marcus turned his face.
The edge of the stream caught the box.
Dark water stains spread across the cardboard.
“No.”
The word came sharper.
Marcus twisted away.
Susan aimed directly at the carton.
The water hit the word FAMILY.
Daniel shouted:
“That’s enough!”
Helen covered her mouth.
Thomas finally stepped fully outside.
Marcus carried the box toward the house.
The bottom had begun softening.
Something shifted inside.
He entered quickly.
Inside, silence replaced the street.
Water dripped from his clothing onto the hardwood.
Marcus placed the box on the kitchen counter.
The cardboard tore beneath his fingers as he peeled the tape away.
Albums.
Framed pictures.
Envelopes.
Loose photographs wrapped in tissue.
Water had gotten through.
Marcus removed the first album.
Damp cover.
Dry pages.
He exhaled.
Then he saw the photograph beneath it.
Marcus at twenty-four.
James Reed beside him.
One hand on his shoulder.
The corner was wet.