Kodachrome

Ian had put it off long enough. His mother, Lillian, had passed two months ago. Lillian’s clothing, fashion jewelry, and vast collection of expensive handbags had been given away or were for sale at St. Paul’s Consignment Shop. His older sister, Sofie, had done that part.

Now Ian stood in the middle of his mother’s study and looked around. Stacks of boxes surrounded him. Tax records and greeting cards with faded writing, financial statements and old photographs, sentimental letters that smelled musty and utility bills… where to start? This was the hard stuff, the items that could not easily be tossed into the “trash” or “keep” piles. After his father’s death when he was only weeks old, Ian and Sofie, had been raised solely by their mother. This was going to be the most time-consuming, gut punching part of this new stage of grief. Ian had always been more sentimental than Sofie.

Sofie had done most of the transactional work after Lillian had died quietly at home. In her sleep. At eighty-two. Even though it felt several years too early, it was the kind of peaceful, pain-free death people hope for. Sofie had done the talking and decision making when they’d met with the funeral home director. She’d handed the priest a printed list of Lillian’s favorite Scripture readings and hymns. She’d made the flower arrangements herself. Ian, still numb, had flown in to Philadelphia to help, but felt like a silent companion to his sister.

They had 30 days to remove Lillian’s belongings from her apartment at Windsor Hills Assisted Living Center. They were on day 15 and Sofie had to fly to St. Louis for a presentation at a medical conference. It was Ian’s turn to step up to the plate.

At dinner the night before, Sofie and Ian ate at their favorite restaurant, which they’d gone to since they were children: Valley Green Inn, a short walk from the Wissahickon walking trails. It was where Lillian took them every year for their birthdays, or when there was really any reason to celebrate. Ian thought how rare it was to think of a place that doesn’t have a single negative memory. Within the simple, colonial dining room, everything was always idyllic. It started out that way last night, their first time there since Lillian had passed.

Sofie, thin and focused, had her bright eyes on Ian from behind her large glasses. She lifted her gin and tonic.

“Cheers to Mom!”

Ian gave a small smile, his mustache rising just a bit. He raised his pint glass of Edmund Fitzgerald porter. “To Mom.”

Each looked at their glasses for a moment, then Sofie cleared her throat.

“So how’s it going in Minneapolis?”

Ian nodded and stroked his beard. “Good, good. I mean, for a city its size, there’re some solid opportunities that were out of reach for me in New York.” He sipped his porter. “And here.”

“But what’s happening? Have you had any gallery showings?”

He gave a light laugh and rolled his eyes. “It’s always about gallery showings to you.”

“Well, how else are you going to sell anything?”

“See, again, it’s not about selling. It’s about creating.”

There was a silence. Sofie gave an audible sigh.

“Okay, you may think of this as tough love, but things are going to change now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ian, you are forty-four years old. And I know Mom was still bailing you out financially almost every other year. I was in charge of managing her finances, you know.”

Ian pushed back in his chair. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”

“No, no, I’m trying to help you.” Sofie leaned in. “Ian, you’ve got to figure this out for yourself. I believe in you, I know you can do it. But as long as you had Mom as a safety net, you never pushed yourself. You’re incredibly talented. You just have to learn how to make that talent support you.”

The waiter arrived with their entrees and the conversation switched to memories of their mother, of shared childhood moments both of them still cherished. But as Ian walked outside, he seethed that Sofie had ruined Valley Green’s prior perfect record of holding nothing but happy moments for him.

Now, in Lillian’s study, it was silent. Ian was surrounded by items his mother had kept, for some reason, for decades. He knew he would have no choice but to toss or shred most of it. He took a deep breath and sat on the floor beside a stack of boxes filled with photos. 

As Ian shuffled through loose photos, he developed a system. If the photo was of no one he knew and there was no name or identifying information written on the back, it went into the large black plastic trash bag. If it was a photo of a deceased neighbor or one of Lillian’s friends, it followed the others into the trash. There had been only a few family photos to be salvaged and Ian was relieved to be done with one box.

It began to feel like a challenge, with each consecutive box having photos that made decisions trickier. A framed photo of Lillian’s aunts from fifty years ago? None of them were still living. Still, they were family. Ian hesitated, then tossed it, frame and all, into the trash bag. In the next few boxes, he was delighted to see photos he’d never seen before of Sofie and him when they were very young. He’d show them to Sofie when she got home.

Afternoon shadows began to fall in the room by the time he reached the last box in one stack. He opened it up and sighed out loud. It was filled with photos of Lillian and their father, Joe Harper, before the children had been born. He had definitely never seen most of them. Ian held each one with care, as if each photo was fragile. It looked like they’d traveled quite a bit: Florida, Mexico, Las Vegas, and Hawaii. They’d been married for almost a decade before Sofie was born in 1977, then Ian in 1980. Ian wondered now why neither of them had ever asked their mother why they’d waited so long to start a family. Maybe it hadn’t been by choice, maybe it had just happened that way.

Ian took a kind of comfort seeing that they’d had such a full and happy life together before Joe had died of a massive heart attack. Their mother never talked about it, and they never pried. Ian held one of the photos closer and smiled at his father’s face. Joe had a warm, engaging face… a good-looking man with a thick head of dark hair that Ian now envied.

Ian could feel the bottom of the cardboard box. Almost done. Once he was through with it, he was going to put all the saved photos back inside so he and Sofie could look through them together that weekend. Ian turned over one of the last photos. He blinked. It didn’t make sense. It was a photo of a man who was clearly their father. But he was heavier, and his thick dark hair was now salt and pepper gray. He was at what looked like a tropical resort, seated by a pool. He had a cocktail in one hand, and he was holding a TV Guide in his other hand like a fan. Ian could feel his heart beat faster. He looked carefully at the cover of the TV Guide. Miami Vice.

He pulled out his phone and quickly googled, “Miami Vice”. He stared at the search result, “Miami Vice was aired on NBC with the first episode premiering on September 16, 1984…”

“What the hell?”

Ian shot up, photo in hand, and paced. He was four years old in 1984. And his father had died of a heart attack in 1980, so how the hell was this even possible? He grabbed another photo of his father and held them against each other. It was definitely the same person.

Ian quickly called Sofie. It went to voice mail. She was probably making her damn presentation. All of a sudden, Ian felt weak and sat in a chair. He realized he’d never seen his father’s obituary or his death certificate. He never thought about it before… why would their mother show it to her children? Ian held his hand to his forehead. What the hell was the story with his dad? Why were they told he was dead… and why would their mother have a photo of him from 1984? Was he even still alive?

Ian looked at the remaining boxes of photos, stacked in piles. He flipped on the light and began rummaging through the boxes in something close to panic. He had to know what the real story was. And he spent the next three hours trying to find it.

When Ian woke up, he was lying on the sofa bed in his mother’s den, the morning light in his eyes. It took him a moment to remember last night’s discovery and he jumped up to look at the photo from 1984 on the desk. He hadn’t dreamt it.

He put his phone in his pocket and went to the kitchen to make coffee and see what there was to eat. Most of the perishables had already been tossed, but he saw a package of bagels in the back of the fridge. And a brick of cream cheese that hadn’t hit its expiration date yet. He was set.

After he ate, Ian walked back into the study with a mixture of dread and eagerness. He wanted to know the truth, but what was it? Why had it been so successfully hidden from them for so long?

Ian looked around the room. Where to start? Then it came to him. He’d never in his life googled his father. Why would he have? He sat on the sofa bed and took out his phone. There were over 200,000 Joseph Harpers. He narrowed the search to “Joseph Harper” “Philadelphia” “Lillian Harper”. Ian saw the photo of his father come up before he had a chance to read the headline.

“Man Runs From Philadelphia County Court…”

Ian’s knees felt weak as he continued scrolling. “Prosecutors say that Joseph Harper fled from a Philadelphia courtroom during sentencing and is wanted for obstructing an officer and four counts of felony bail jumping. Harper was being sentenced for his role in money laundering, racketeering, and falsely claiming to be a financial advisor…”

Ian felt sick. He’d been lied to his entire life. His father had never been who he’d believed him to be. It was now impossible not to wonder what kind of woman his mother had been. It was too much. His grief over her death was still fresh and now Ian felt like he didn’t even know who he was mourning.

He leaned against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. There was a story to be revealed. There was a hidden history to learn. But… did he want to? They say that before someone dies, their life flashes before their eyes. Ian’s did in that moment. And all he saw were happy childhood memories with a loving mother and a protective older sister.

Ian’s ringtone sounded and he jumped. He glanced at his phone. Sofie.

“Hey,” her voice was soft, “how’s everything going?”

“Oh, it’s – it’s going.”

“So, things here are wrapping up sooner than expected. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon instead of on Saturday.”

“Okay.”

“And, Ian, I’m sorry if I was insensitive the other night.” She paused. “I love you. You know that.”

For the first time in a while, Ian smiled. “I love you, Sofie.”

“See you soon!”

“That will be great.”

Ian put his phone back in his pocket. He picked up the photo of their father and stared at it. He turned it over and saw faint red ink stamped on the back: Kodachrome November 1984.

Ian looked around the room for a moment, then tore the photograph into small pieces and put it in the bottom of the large black trash bag.