Mission

"What am I supposed to be doing again?" Maximillian Skeet asked, looking around at all the dusty articles that had been shoved into the McKnight attic.

Zoey turned to her classmate with a slight huff of impatience and said, "Help me sort through all this stuff. I'm trying to compile all the stories my father used to tell me and my siblings when we were younger."

"Are you sure you're up for this? I mean, your dad did just die only a few days ago. Don't you think it's too... soon?"

"Max, do you have any idea how much more grievous it is knowing that your siblings may not remember your parents in three or four years?"

Max thought for a moment, then released a chuckle. "Hey," he said. "I may be the best student in this entire county, but you don't have to speak differently to me. Just talk natural. I know slang too."

"Max!"

"Right. Sorry. I guess I can't exactly relate, to tell you the truth."

"How come?"

Max sighed and looked away, clearly uncomfortable to expand on the subject. Confused for a moment, Zoey watched him. Then she recalled his home life, and her face flushed with the embarrassment of asking.

"Oh... my bad..."

"You're fine. Either way though, remind me again the benefits of helping you."

Zoey scoffed in disbelief at Max. He chuckled again and immediately set out to the job she had unofficially hired him for. At first, Zoey was too annoyed to do anything besides work alongside him. But she thought about his question. Why would he help her? Especially when she had never specified what he could possibly get out of it. Sure, maybe a look into the McKnight family history, but what use was that to him? She hadn't promised him any kind of payment, except maybe a thanks and a glass of lemonade. What made him willing to spend his summer break hanging out in a dusty attic sorting through junk?

"Zoey," Max stated, starting the girl from her reverie. "I'm doing this for practice, okay? I don't know exactly what I plan to do in the future, but I feel like this will help me. Call it a hunch, I guess."

"But... I can't pay you for this..."

"So? I'm not doing it for any reward. Just a thank you—verbally would be preferred—and maybe a glass of lemonade."

"Are you sure?"

Max set down the stack of papers he had been sifting through and turned towards his classmate. "If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't say it, Zoey. I'm not the class president because I'm smart and have the skills. I'm the class president because I'm a man of my word and never ask or promise more than I can expect. So don't even think about paying me."

Zoey wanted to press the matter. She felt bad assuming so much of Max's free time. However, she could sense that he was set in his decision. Unable to find a reasonable argument to combat his, she remained quiet. Besides, even if they weren't best friends, Zoey knew Max well enough to know that he stated the truth. He never promised any outcome, only his best efforts to achieve a goal.

Well, she thought. At least I'll still be gleaning a lot of information about Dad and Ma and Uncle Denver...

The attic was incredibly cluttered, so Max and Zoey spent the first several days scanning through all the boxes. Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of junk, and with Mae's permission—and pleased gratitude—they were able to throw away or donate most of the old toys and comic books and memorabilia that meant little to the remaining McKnight family.

"I still can't believe," Max noted one time as they packed the boxes into Mae's trunk, "that you can just give this stuff away so easily."

"What do you mean?" Zoey asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"You don't know what all is in here. Maybe there's a real treasure amid all this junk, something that might be worth a couple hundred or so. And it's all going to Goodwill like last year's fashion."

Mae touched the decaying head of a china doll that sat at the top of a box. "Sometimes, it's best to just let it go rather than hold on hoping it might be something more."

"I suppose you're right," Max shrugged. "And this isn't my stuff, either, so I can't say I fully understand what you guys are doing here."

After clearing out the junk, the room became more manageable. Max began to display mild signs of OCD as he drew out maps of what things went where and why. At first, Zoey felt he was being a bit excessive but soon appreciated his efforts. The unscalable Mt. Everest of an attic they had started with quickly turned into a walk in the park. One corner belonged solely to Denver, another to Ed, and the third held the rest of the articles that belonged to neither brother but still seemed too important to get rid of just yet.

The fourth corner, however, was strange. Every time Max would place something, anything, into that corner, the next day it was moved towards the center of the room. The boy would frown and stare at the object for a while before putting it back into the corner, only to find it misplaced again near the center. The circumstance thoroughly disturbed Zoey, and when she asked Mae about it, the woman just smiled lightly and said nothing. Max, however, refused to let it bother him, and he simply worked around the corner, keeping it empty of everything he didn't want to end up in the center.

Once the room was organized, Zoey took over the project. She spent the most time reading through everything her father and uncle had written, while Max often just jotted down quick notes of what he found so that he could go through everything more quickly. While he focused on the sorting aspect of the project, Zoey spent almost all her time sitting amid a pile of papers, laughing, crying, and reminiscing on the things she read. Her work area was cluttered, leaving her to often go through the same set of papers twice.

At this point of the project, Max began to spend less time at the McKnight house. He felt that his part of the job was complete, so he didn't want to interfere with anything else. He would come in the mornings just after breakfast and leave before lunch. Sometimes, Zoey saw him out. Most of the time, she was far too absorbed in her work to even realize it was time to go to bed. Her presence at the dinner table became scarce, and she hardly seemed to even have time to bathe and sleep.

Jack seemed to worry about her, as he began to carry meals up to her. He opened or closed the attic window, depending on the weather, so that Zoey could still get some fresh air. Occasionally he would ask his sister about what she found, trying to pull her into a conversation, but she usually didn't say much.

After a couple weeks, Max called Zoey asking for a break. "I need to spend a couple days with my best friend," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I love helping you with your goal, but Tim is about to have a hey-day if I don't give him some time too."

"Yeah, that's fine," Zoey answered, feigning peace with the matter. "Just lemme know when you're ready to resume."

"Cool, thanks. You should get take a break too. It's a really nice summer this year. Anyways, I'll talk to you later, Zoey!"

He hung up, leaving her to stare blankly at the attic before her. How could he abandon her in the midst of their project? There was so much more they still needed to do. Finally pulling her phone away from her ear, Zoey decided to follow Max's advice and came down to eat dinner with her family.

"Oh, you're still alive!" Mati teased as she and Jack finished setting the table. "I thought the attic had swallowed you up."

"Not yet," Zoey smiled back. Even though Mati said it as a joke, the elder sister sensed bitterness from the younger girl.

Mae also picked up on Mati's unspoken animosity, so she quickly changed the subject. "We're thinking about going to the pound tomorrow, Zoey."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Jack inputted as he began to bounce excitedly in his seat. "Aunt Mae said we can get a dog!"

"I said, maybe we can get a dog," Mae added, smiling at her nephew's apparent pleasure. She was happy to see him recovering rather well from the loss of his father. Her eldest niece, however, seemed to be getting worse with each passing day. "I think a dog would help lift our spirits and keep us preoccupied."

"I still want a cat," Mati stated defiantly.

"But dogs are better," Jack argued.

"How would you know? You've never had a dog."

"Well, you've never had a cat!"

"They're both overrated," Zoey declared. "Guinea pigs are where it's all at."

For a moment, her siblings stared in disbelief at their eldest sister. Then the three started to laugh. Zoey didn't mind cats or dogs and truly had a preference for neither, but Jack and Mati knew better than anyone that she absolutely despised rodents of all sizes.

As her siblings went on to argue about the finer points of cats vs. dogs, Mae leaned over and asked Zoey how progress on the attic was going. A sour expression entering her face, the girl told her aunt how Max wouldn't be coming for a couple days.

"Oh, what a shame," Mae declared solemnly. "But... I suppose this is your chance to tell us some of what you two have found."

Zoey nodded slowly. She wasn't entirely sure where to start. What she and Max had discovered was mere pieces, and neither had a clear idea of what the entire picture was supposed to look like. She studied her plate of food as she contemplated what to say next. Mati and Jack studied their sister, waiting for her to say something. They wanted to know what consumed her interest so much that she didn't even have the time to watch TV with them.

"Adela..." she suddenly whispered.

"Hm?" Mae asked, an eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

"Max and I found that name often. Adela. I wonder who she was. Uncle and Dad mentioned her quite frequently. Like, in one of Dad's journal entries, he wrote 'I visited Adela last week. Things were pretty quiet, but I have a feeling he might come back.' That was as far as I got in that section. But Max said that he too came across the name every now and then. I wonder who she was..."

"Does Dad have any sisters?" Jack asked.

"No, it's just Denver and Ed," Mae answered. "No other siblings."

"What's Ma's name?" questioned Mati.

"Victoria," Zoey replied.

The table fell silent. "So who's Adela?" Jack wondered.

"Maybe she's a friend," Mati suggested.

"But, wouldn't we know her too then?" Zoey pointed out. "I don't have an exact date on most of the entries, but I do know a few were written after you were born, Mati."

The siblings fell silent. Then Jack said, "Zoey, will you come with us to the pound?"

"I don't know. I still have a lot of work to do."

"But you said Max won't be coming over for a while. Maybe you should take some time off too?"

Zoey frowned. "Why?"

"You've just... been cooped up in that attic all summer. I want you to enjoy your summer too?"

"And just forget about Dad and everything he's left for us?"

Jack started at Zoey's snap. He couldn't say anything as she continued. "Why is it so difficult for you to understand that this is how I mourn? I'm doing this for you guys, so you will remember Dad the way I do. Why can't you just let me do, let me hold on to the only thing I have left—"

"That's enough, Zoey." Mae glared softly at her niece. "Jack was just trying to be a good brother, and he's worried about you. We all are."

"I don't know why," Zoey retorted, her mood clearly soured. "You guys all moved on as if nothing happened. You never even cared, did you? It never even bothers you that he's gone and he won't be coming back." She shoved her chair back from the table and raced up the stairs. The others felt the entire house shudder when she slammed the door to their bedroom, and even from where they sat, they could hear the soft click of the lock sliding into place.

"What was that all about?" Mati asked, fear and worry entering her voice.

Mae sighed. "I know what it is you want, Zoey," she muttered to herself. "But I can't give it to you. Not yet."

They continued to eat in silence.