“You can’t do that. Those were my boxes.” Mallory stood facing Jag, hands on her waist.
Jag looked up from his lunch. “It’s my room, my things,” he answered smoothly. “If you wanted them, you should have moved them last month like you said you would.”
“I’ve been busy, and there’s really nowhere else. The attic already if already filled with Codee’s things.”
“That’s not my problem.” Jag took another bite of his sandwich.
“Not your problem? Of course it’s your problem. You got rid of something that wasn’t yours. What did you do with them?”
“I took them to the dump.”
“You WHAT?” Mallory roared. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her voice and said through gritted teeth, “Get them back.”
“Can’t.” Jag stood up. “There’s been several storms since I dumped them. They’re trash now.” Leaving his plate and glass on the table, he headed for his room. “You’re better off without them, anyway. Trust me.”
Mallory stared at the forgotten plate, trying to grasp the loss of her childhood memories. Among the contents of those boxes had been photographs, cherished toys, favorite books, her grandmother’s quilt, and yearbooks dating all the way back to elementary school. None of it could be replaced.
The tickle of tears on her cheeks woke her from her nostalgia. Wiping them away, she took a deep breath. Maybe it was all for the best. She hadn’t opened those boxes in years. If they had been as important to her as she thought, wouldn’t she have done something with them by now? Jag was probably right. She was better off without the clutter. All she really needed were her memories.
“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.