Not dirty laundry this time. Nope. This box was filled to the brim with plastic forks; clean, and still in their original boxes. She marked, sealed, and set it aside. There was something addictive about the activity, and with curiosity running rampant, she grabbed a little box from another pile.
Inside were six smaller boxes labeled Pet Rock. “Pet Rock? I bet the only trick it does is roll over and play dead.” She pulled one of them out to inspect more thoroughly. Nestled in a bed of straw lay a small gray rock attached to a silver chain, and a booklet defining its proper care and feeding. Leafing through the tiny pamphlet, it became clear the whole concept of a pet rock was an attempt at humor.
She might be one of them now, but without doubt, humans were weird.
***
Lydia’s murder was still the topic of conversation during Adriel’s third ever shift at Just Desserts. Today, though, no one was in a big hurry to leave, not even when the cash register coughed and died for the third time.
A pro at it now, Adriel reached down to pull the plug while she chatted with the customer.
Once the tinkling bell quieted, Pam called Adriel into the back where lunch plates waited on the table for them both. “Wiletta, handle the front, please,” she called, and then to Adriel said, “Have you found anything interesting in Craig’s boxes?”
Half in humor and half in disgust, Adriel answered, “Dirty socks, plastic utensils and Pet Rocks.”
“Dirty socks?” Pam shook her head then folded her elbows on the table to cradle her face in her hands.
“Those are the items I found this morning.”
Behind them, Hamlin, who had been quietly icing cupcakes and listening intently to every word, snorted.
“Smelly ones.” Adriel added, with the beginnings of a smirk. The absurdity of collecting stinky undergarments in a box had seemed bizarre to her at first; now it was flat out funny. The smirk turned to a smile and then to a small snort of laughter. “I’m beginning to feel like an archaeologist on a dig, uncovering ancient civilizations and trying to guess why they chose this or that shape for their pots.”
“I wish I could say Uncle Craig only started hoarding when his memory began to fail, but it would be a lie. There are boxes in there with things that probably haven’t seen the light of day in almost thirty years. He always was a bit odd.”
Now Adriel felt bad for laughing about the socks.
“Listen, forget about room and board, the cabin is yours for as long as you want it. I’m going to start paying you hourly for your work here, and I’ll even help you with the cleaning and painting in my spare time.” More than embarrassment over the dirty socks motivated Pam. Spending time with Adriel was starting to feel a bit like having a friend. A thing sadly lacking in her life.
With that settled, Pam’s expression turned uncertain; her eyes met Adriel’s, slid away then back, “May I ask you something personal?”
“You may, and if I can, I will answer.”
There was no way to ask delicately, so Pam just blurted out, “You don’t have any other clothes, do you?”
The question hit Adriel from out of nowhere. She missed how easily she used to change her appearance with nothing more than a thought. Not just hair and eye color, but height, weight, and yes, clothes, too. She had never owned clothing, hence there had been none to leave behind. Nor any to bring along even if she’d gotten advance notice of her change in status.
“I have no possessions.” Adriel confirmed Pam’s suspicions. “Given the way we met, it must be obvious.”
“That’s it then.” Pam’s vehemence flipped Adriel’s stomach like a pancake. Was she going to be fired over a lack of alternate wardrobe? “I’m giving you an advance on your pay, and after your shift is over, we’re going shopping.” Pam was already looking forward to it.
“And the dirty socks? What shall I do with those?”
“I’ll take them.” Hamlin offered, and when Pam gave him a questioning look, said, “I know the homeless shelters don’t accept used underwear, but there’s no reason I can’t drop a box of clean socks down on Canal Street where those who need them will find them. That way they won’t go to waste.”
Pam made a quick phone call to arrange for a trash company to drop off a portable dumpster at the cabin for items like the plastic cutlery no one would ever want to use. Everything else, she decided, could be sorted and donated, or sold.
Adriel spent the rest of the day trying to find an excuse to call off the shopping expedition.
***
“We don’t have to do this. I can just wash these garments each night. It’s been working for me so far. They’re perfectly serviceable.” Okay, maybe the underwear pinched a little when the standard outfit for this persona had gone from being corporeal to physical—there were worse things to endure.
“You can’t come to work in the same clothes every day. People will talk.”
“About my clothes?” Why on earth would anyone care about that? “Surely there are better topics of conversation.”
“You would think.” A wry smile twisted the corners of Pam’s mouth. The shadow passing through her eyes told Adriel the other woman had experience with being the target of gossip. “And yet, they will.”
No matter how hard Adriel tried to fit into her new life, she doubted she would ever understand this particular aspect of humans. The fascination with judging people from the outside-in seemed ridiculous to her. In the past, she had taken on many forms in order to better communicate with her charges. Yet, under each of those various guises, the person inside remained the same. The angel Galmadriel. Nothing more, nothing less. The outer package was nothing more than window dressing for the soul inside.
“Besides,” Pam continued, giving Adriel a head to toe appraisal, “You’re
