Page 48 of Things We Left Behind

“Look at that,” I said. “Four-­EyedCatLibrarian isn’t taken.”

Meow Meow shot me a disgruntled look, then yawned, baring her teeth.

Likes? That was easy. “Bad tempered cats, books, and comfy pants,” I muttered as I typed.

Looking for? The standard options weren’t very specific. There was a lot of mileage between companionship and marriage. I decided to go with “other” and typed in my best approximation.

“Okay. Now all we need are a couple of pictures, and we’re good to go.”

I scrolled through my camera roll and selected a handful of cute selfies.

“Boom! Done,” I announced, dropping my phone in my lap like it was a microphone.

It had only taken me four minutes, and now I wouldn’t have to lie to my friends. I was starting to impress myself with this comeback.

I glanced around the room for another easy task to cross off and remembered that I’d promised Mom I would gather up any of Dad’s old files. Since I was seeing Lina today, I could give them to her instead of paying a personal visit to Suited Satan.

I marched out of the dining room, looped through the living room—­man, I really needed to dust—­and entered the study. The cabinet behind the desk held a collection of old ballpoint pens, broken pencils, change, and rubber bands.

In the second drawer of the desk, behind a stack of legal pads, I found Dad’s candy stash. Pronounced prediabetic a few years before his first cancer diagnosis, he’d taken it upon himself to ration his candy to one piece per day.

I pocketed a mini Kit Kat that was definitely too old to eat and moved on to the bottom drawer.

It was a deep pullout with tabbed hanging folders. Most of them were empty, though their labels remained.Property Taxes. Gift Ideas. Fantasy Football. Kids Drawings. Recipes.

I paged through them, smiling at the ripped-­out catalog pages filed under gift ideas and the stack of crayon drawings he’d collected over the years of being a father, an uncle, a grandfather, and a neighborhood favorite.

Toward the back of the drawer were a few fat files. These I liberated and piled on top of the desk as the cat pranced into the room. She jumped onto the desk and placed her front paws on the stack of folders.

“Excuse me. Do you mind?”

Meow Meow blinked at me and slowly deflated on top of the paperwork.

I ruffled her ears and then marched into the hallway to grab my coat and tote bag.

Just as I closed the closet door, I heard the frenetic skitter of claws followed by a series of thumps coming from the study. There was a final, louder thud, and then Meow Meow careened into the hall and galloped off in the direction of the staircase.

Back in the office, I discovered my neat stack of folders had exploded everywhere.

“Freaking cat,” I muttered.

I sank to the floor and began gathering the jumble of paperwork. Mr. I Can Be of Assistance to You could put them back in their rightful order, I decided.

A series of now mangled printouts of newspaper stories caught my eye.

Upshaw sentenced to twenty years for drug arrest

Judge makes example of first-­time drug offender

Defendant’s family suggests Upshaw’s sentence too harsh

I skimmed the headlines, but it was the picture of a devastated young man leaving a courthouse that caught my attention. The image was grainy and crumpled by cat feet, but I still recognized him. It was my father’s law student protégé, Allen.

After an interminable amount of time spent suffering in northern Virginia traffic, I slid out from behind the wheel of my Jeep with my phone pinned between my ear and shoulder.

“Yeah, hey, Maeve. I have a question for you. It’s about Dad. Give me a call when you get a chance,” I said to my sister’s voicemail before disconnecting the call. If Dad had been interested in Allen’s mother’s case, he probably would have discussed it at some point with my sister.

I reached back inside to drag my tote across the console.