Petra’s Cache

Petra slid her hand along the wooden banister, letting the rough wood bite into her skin. When she was ten, the wood had been smooth, silk sliding along her flesh, worn and polished by the run of thousands of young hands along its length. Neglected and exposed, it had aged, the banister wrinkling and drying like an old crone.

Today Petra welcomed the sharp pricks of the splinters. They rooted her here on the stairs, pulling her from the past into the present and her task. She focused on the stairs, watching the soft soles of her shoes meet the warped planks of wood, listening for snaps and cracks that would warn her of impending gravity. The wood remained as silent as her shoes, taking her weight as she slowly stepped up into the attic.

The holes in the roof that had let in water to warp and twist her old home also let in streams of golden light. The space Petra remembered as a dark cavern was bright and warm, welcoming her as she turned at the last stair and stepped onto the floor. She stopped, let the sun fall on the bare skin of her arms and burn away the prickles of gooseflesh.

Two tidy rows of wooden slat bed frames stretched in front of her, pushed against the north and south walls. The wood had grayed, turned, and split under the weather of the years. Her imagination straighted the planks, pushing it back in time to its original yellowed glow. Thin mattresses draped across the frames, scratchy linen sheets stretched across, dark wool finishing the layers.

Petra moved down the center aisle, her fingertips tapping each bed as she passed. Paul. Lisa. Jacob. Elise. Geoff. Julie. She named the occupants of each bed, boys to the left, girls to the right. There wasn’t enough space in the home to give them separate rooms. There was never enough space. There was never enough anything.

The closer Petra got to the far wall, the faster her breath moved, compensating for her feet which got slower. She stopped an arm’s length away and took a deep breath before sinking to her knees. She slipped her hand into her back pocket to pull out the knife she had tucked there. Her thumb found the button and pressed, releasing the blade. Sunlight caught the clean metal, blinding Petra for a moment. She blinked and shifted, dropped her hand to the floor and the blade between two planks in front of her.

Sun dazzled, Petra blindly twisted, forcing the wedge of metal against one plank and then the other. While other parts of the house were falling apart, this spot tucked under the eaves had knitted more tightly together, as if the house was conspiring with her, trying to hold Petra’s secret tight.

One final groaning twist popped the boards and freed the knife, the release sending the blade up and into the meat of her left hand just below her thumb.

“Shit.”

That word had been uttered in this nook once before, when Petra had struggled fifteen years ago to press the boards into place.

She wiped the stained blade on her jeans and returned the knife to her pocket, swapping for the bandana tucked into her front pocket. Petra wrapped the black fabric around her hand, pressing against the cut, pushing the pain into her hand and up her arm. Another distraction from the past that waited under the now loose boards.

With nothing else in her way, Petra was forced to face what waited beneath the floor. She lifted the looser of the two boards, revealing her hiding space below. Formerly cream linen, now dulled and streaked with the years, sat where she had left it. The hand not bandaged and pulled to her chest reached out and lifted the bundle, bringing it up and onto her thighs.

Petra unfolded the fabric, resisting the urge to stop and wipe the damp and grit onto her jeans. As the layers peeled back, sunlight caught the treasures inside, shooting up flickers of golden light. This was Petra’s stash of trinkets, bits and baubles she had sneaked and snatched through the years she lived here. Most of them were pilfered from unobservant women in the streets around the home. But her favorites were the ones she had really worked for, the bits of jewelry she had taken from the women who came her looking to take home a child and overlooked her. Their blindness made it possible, but not easy, to slip off with their brooches and watches.

This treasure was going to fund her next project. It was her investment, jewelry that would turn into cash and then multiply into even more if things worked as she had planned.

Petra refolded the fabric, ready to flee the attic and her younger self.

Another flash of silver in the hole in the floor stopped her. There was something else in her hidey-hole. Something she had not left there.

It was a can. An old Java Mocha coffee can, the logo worn down and partially missing. Definitely not hers. She had never been able to stand the taste of coffee, or even the smell.

Geoff.

He was the one who loved coffee. The one who smuggled cans from the kitchen below, when they had it. The one who stole it from the corner store when the kitchen cupboard lacked his favorite beverage.

How had he known about this hole in the floor? Maybe he lay in his bed, pretending sleep while Petra slunk down the aisle to her hiding spot. Maybe he had secretly watched her every time she hid a new prize. Maybe he only saw her once. It didn’t matter. He found it. He moved her stash. To hide a can.

Did he leave it here for her?

Petra set her bundle off to the side and pulled out the can. The yellow plastic lid had become brittle, crumbling under her fingers as she worked the edge loose. There was no going back, no closing it up, returning the can, and pretending she had never touched it.

She tipped the can toward the light filtering through the broken roof. Something dark and square was tucked inside. Petra turned the can, tipping the object out into her hand.

A black, velvet-covered, jewelers box.

Time yanked hard on Petra, pulling her back to the last time she stood in this room. It was time for her to move out, move on, go out into the world on her own. Geoff stood in front of her, a carved piece of wood held in his hand, asking her to make a space in her life outside this home for him. He wanted to join her in two months. He wanted them to be together.

Petra had hugged him, wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks, then turned and walked away, leaving Geoff still standing with the wood in his hand.

Petra pushed the lid of the jewelers box up, expecting to find the wooden ring he had carved for her in lieu of a fancy one.

Geoff had replaced his token with something real. When had he purchased this and tucked it away here? It would have taken forever for him to save up enough. Maybe he stole it, like he had the coffee he was so addicted to.

It was beautiful. A slim silver band. One round blue stone in the middle, clusters of small diamonds at each side. This was a proper ring, a proper promise.

Petra slid the ring free of the base of the box and slipped it on her finger. A perfect fit. She tipped her hand, letting the sunlight play across the stones, dazzling herself again. She closed her eyes and slid the ring off, reached to the side and tucked it into her bundle of treasure.