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Here’s the thing Alan needed pictures of his family, which were hard to come by on Tracy Island.
They didn’t really have anything from the past there.
So, on one of the rare times the family decided to spend a few days out at the ranch, Alan asked,
“Hey, Scott? Do we have any photo albums?”
Scott was curled up in the window chair, reading a book. He looked up slowly, taking a minute to think.
“I think there might be some up in the attic,” he said. “Don’t remember what box, though. You’ll have to look around, buddy.”
Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Take Gordon with you. He can help.”
“Thanks,” Alan said, and ran off to find his brother.
“Hey, Gordon!” he called when he found him.
Gordon looked up from whatever he was messing with. “What’s up?”
“Do you mind helping me find something in the attic?”
“Sure,” Gordon said, already curious. “What’re we looking for?”
“Scott said there’s old photo albums up there. I need some pictures for a school project.”
“Ah,” Gordon nodded. “I wonder if any of my old crap is still up there.”
They went upstairs together. Gordon reached up, pulled the string, and the ladder dropped down with a dusty creak.
The attic smelled like old wood and moth balls. Dust floated through the sunlight from the small circle window. Cobwebs hung everywhere.
“Do we have a light?” Alan asked.
“Yeah, give me a sec.”
Gordon found a single bulb on a string and pulled it. The dim light flickered to life, filling the room just enough for them to see a little better.
They dug through box after box, old tools, broken toys, some of their maternal Grandma’s fabric, a few of Jeff’s old mission notes until finally, they found what they were looking for.
“Here we go,” Gordon said, holding up a weathered box labeled Photos.
They were about to climb down when something else caught their eye.
A small vault safe.
It was wedged under a pile of books and old Christmas decor, the metal dulled with time.
“Huh,” Gordon muttered. “Wonder what’s in there.”
“I wonder too,” Alan said, crouching beside him.
He poked his head through the attic hatch and yelled, “Hey, Scott! There’s a safe up here! What’s in it?”
From downstairs, Scott’s muffled voice answered, “What do you mean, a safe?”
“It’s old, like, really old,” Alan said. “Looks like it’s from the early 2030s or something.”
Scott sighed, setting his book down. “Alright, give me a minute. I’ll come up.”
He climbed the ladder and blinked when he saw it. “Huh. Cool.”
They all stared at it for a moment before Scott said, “Let’s bring it down. Maybe we can find the code.”
It took all three of them to wrestle it down the ladder and into the living room.
By then, the rest of the brothers had drifted in, curious about the noise.
“No way,” Virgil said, stepping closer. “Is that a vintage safe? Where’d you find it?”
“Up in the attic,” Gordon said proudly.
John, from his spot on the couch, looked up from his book. “Pretty sure that was Mom’s or at least her mom's,” he said. “She lost the code years ago, like, before Scott years ago.”
They all looked at the safe in silence.
Then Gordon raised his hand. “We could grab a laser cutter?”
Everyone nodded. but agreed Scott would do it.
Scott came back with his tool kit, and with careful precision, began cutting through the edge. Sparks flew, and finally, with a low creak, the door swung open.
Inside were stacks of old photos and folded paper letters, and what looked to be sheet music.
They froze.
The pictures were of their mother, when she was young, really young, maybe infant to a teen. Pictures they have never seen.
Her golden hair shone softly under the light, her deep brown eyes kind and full of adventure.
“Wow,” Virgil whispered.
“She kind of looks like John,” Gordon said.
John blushed. “No, she doesn’t.”
“She does,” Alan said quietly, holding one up. “But maybe… a little like me and Gordon too.”
“More like you boys look like her,” Scott replied, taking the picture Alan had.
They all smiled softly.
For a long moment, they just looked at the collection of photos of a woman most of them could barely remember. Even Scott, the oldest, had to blink away the fog in his memory of her face.
Alan traced one of the pictures gently. “She was so pretty,” he said in a whisper. “No wonder Dad fell for her.”
That hit everyone. They had all been so young when their mom died. All under the age of 11.
But for Alan these were the only way he'll ever get to see her. Even when they got older their dad took a lot of photos of their mother down. That and they only had a few of her on the island.
Alan sat down, the box of pictures on his lap. “Scott,” he said quietly, “do you have any old stories of Mom you haven’t told us yet?”
Scott thought about it for a minute. Then he smiled faintly. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I’ve got a few.”
Scott told what story he could remember. He told of her dancing in the kitchen with Alan on her hip. how she would pull their dad into dance at the most random time.
Virgil shared how she’d draw with him at the table, even when he would draw on her paper.
John remembered her reading to him under the big oak tree.
Even Gordon, who was so little back then, remembered bits and pieces on how she’d always call him her “little fish.”
Alan listened to every word. Sometimes he felt like he really got to know her. Other times he felt bad for himself because he missed out on an amazing mom.
Scott looked over at Alan “ you ok sprout.”
“Yea, I just wish I could remember her. I wish baby brains would remember stuff.” Alan replied.
Before Scott could console his brother Gordon jumped in. “ I'm in the same boat. My brain was just realizing it was a person. The fish thing is the only thing I really remember.”
Virgil spoke up, “I think dad has some old videos in his office back on the island. Maybe we can find them.”
“Yea, I'd like that,” He said finally after a moment.
They spent the last few hours of their night talking about their parents. They hadn't done that in a long time. I was nice.