While I rummage around the part of the house (the family room) that had previously been used as a rental space, Gary calls me, his voice urgent. Her points to a shelf in the laundry room cupboard, where, next to a box of Miracle Grow, there is a white cardboard box. He tells me to read the printed label on top, bearing the name of a local crematorium. I open it to look inside. There is an open plastic bag filled with ashes. Looking at the label again, I realize that the seller has left her mother's ashes behind. In a cheap cardboard box. On a shelf. In the laundry room. Next to a box of fertilizer.
I am in shock. This is creeping me out. My heart sinks. Did we make a mistake? The accumulation of every aggravation we've experienced with the purchase of this house (which I haven't written about) is too much to bear. Gary says we'll make it work and stick it out for a couple of years and see how we feel about it then.
