"Morning, Gert." She looked him over and smiled broadly.
"Good morning. I've a job for you, if you've a mind to do it."
"Well, I was going to work on the Unified Field Theory, but . . . " The
Big Bang Theory. He started to smile and found himself turning red.
"Aren't we in a good mood," Gert said.
"What needs doing?"
"The attic. I've been cleaning, and I need some boxes brought down to the shed. They're too heavy for me." She led him up two flights of stairs and pointed out a group of boxes. "Fred is coming to haul them away some time next week. It's time to get rid of things."
"No problem. Is that where you keep your gold?" Patrick pointed at a small iron bound chest secured by a black lock. "Right out of Treasure Island," he said.
"Other treasures," Gert said. "Could you move it over there by those books? Good. Just cover it with the same sheet. Thank you." Patrick made ten trips to the shed, feeling better with each trip. Entering the attic was like going back in time; emerging in the sunlight and walking across the lawn was a return to the present, a promise of future.
"I'll cut the grass before it gets hot," he said.
"Now Patrick, I want you to keep track of your time."