A/N: Another second attempt at this… though the first attempt only had the Author's note so far. XD –plays "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls over and over while writing this and watching Cubs game- I can totally multi-task.
Chapter 2
After that first day, things fell into a rhythm. Emma came over after lunch, and they went up to the attic to sort through all the boxes. Paul hadn't realized just how big a project it was going to be until they started. Then he was grateful for Emma's help—he could just imagine how long it would have taken if he'd been by himself.
Sometimes they would talk while they worked, other times they sat in comfortable silence. Though the times that they did talk, Paul quickly discovered that she wasn't terribly forthcoming with personal information.
On the second day, Paul asked her how she'd met his grandfather. She'd just smiled as she bent over the notebook she'd been looking through, and all she said was "Sheer dumb luck."
And that was the extent of what she had to say on the subject.
It was about midway through the first week when they found the photo albums.
"Ohhh!" Emma suddenly exclaimed, reaching into the box she had just opened. She straightened, looking a little triumphant, as if she had just found some great treasure that she'd been searching for, and not just a bunch of dusty old albums. "Pictures!" She plopped down in the window—it wasn't quite wide enough to really call it a "window seat"—and started flipping through it.
Paul sent an amused look over his shoulder from where he stood on the other side of the room. They had soon realized that everything in the attic had been separated—work related things on one side, family and other personal things on the other side. "They're not really that interesting."
"Oh, of course they are." She bent over the photo album in her lap. "I never took Dr. Slaski as the sentimental type."
Paul had been surprised the first time she'd called his grandfather "Dr. Slaski." Most everyone he knew—well, except for Suze and Jesse—called him "Mr. Slater." But he'd shrugged it off, figuring it didn't really mean anything.
"He wasn't." Paul shrugged. "My grandmother probably did most of it when she was still alive."
"Hmm," she murmured. She was silent for a few moments, flipping slowly through the pictures. "Ohhh,"—Paul was starting to think that was her favorite sound to make—"it's their wedding picture." She leaned forward to look more closely at the picture. "He was rather handsome back then." She poked the picture, looking a little amused. "Even with the paunch."
Paul stared at her. "Grandpa Gork?" He didn't think about saying it. Habit. He didn't even realize he'd said it until Emma sent him a reproachful look. He winced. "Sorry."
A few minutes later, he heard her say, "Oh, how precious!" She turned the photo album so he could see it. "That can't be you, can it?" she asked, pointing to a picture of a little boy in his high chair.
Paul smiled wryly. "No, it's probably my dad."
"Babies are so adorable." Paul had the feeling that nothing phased this girl. She'd probably think the ugliest child in the world was adorable.
Some time after that they completely gave up trying to sort through the boxes and ended up in the window, pouring over the photo albums, laughing at some of the stranger ones, and wondering aloud what had been happening when the pictures had been taken.
"How do you think he managed to get that in there?" Paul asked, pointing to a picture of his father as a toddler, his face covered in tomato sauce and pieces of spaghetti hanging out of every conceivable place on his head—his hair, his mouth, even his ears and nose, for God's sake.
Emma covered her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. "I don't think we want to know."
Too soon, Emma glanced out the window at the setting sun. "I should be getting home," she said reluctantly, standing up. "It'll be dark by the time I get there."
Paul stood, too, feeling just as reluctant to end this. "I could give you a lift."
She shot him a strange look, one he couldn't read—or at least, what he thought he read there didn't make any sense to him. "That's okay." She set the photo album they'd been looking at back in its box. "Can I come back tomorrow?" she asked without looking up at him. She asked that every time she left.
Paul grinned. "Do you really have to ask that after today?" When she didn't answer right away, he sighed. "Of course you can come back tomorrow." He waved a hand around the attic. "God knows how I'd get through this without you."
He'd finally managed to coax another smile from her. "You're right. You'd never be able to get through it all without me around."
Paul saw her out, and then made his way back up to the attic. He pulled out the album they'd been looking at and sat in the window again. He could still picture her sitting there with him, turning the pages. And then, just as easily, he could still see the look on her face when he'd offered her a ride home.
He didn't understand it. Not at all.
A/N: There was going to be more to that last thought. But it didn't quite fit. :-P maybe next chapter.
