"Okay, Janice," my mother says, "today is the day we've got to clean out the attic. The movers will be here in a few days. The garage sale's tomorrow. You need to go up there and decide what's worth keeping for yourself."

"I know, Mom, I'll do it right after breakfast."

"Okay, but today please. Your dad won't be back until Sunday night, so it's up to us to do the sale tomorrow. How about scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast?"

"That sounds good."

Mom and I finish breakfast and I head up to the attic. The attic tops our old Chicago bungalow. I sleep in the back bedroom, it's small, and my twin bed is pushed up against the door to the attic. I pull the bed back, open the door and climb the stairs. A musty smell rolls over me as I step on the old wooden floor black and dusty with age. I sneeze and sneeze again. I gaze into the gloom.

I run my finger along the post at the top of the stairs. I flick it up; two bare bulbs throw their yellow light on cobwebs decorating the rafters like Spanish Moss. Several cardboard boxes, two suitcases and a large trunk are lined up under the slanted roof. I sift through boxes, examining discarded clothes, old school books and National Geographic magazines. I lift the suitcases, they're light. I shake them, assuring myself they're empty. I edge my way to the trunk.

It's an old trunk; I remember Mom calling it her Jenny Lind trunk. She said it was her mother's and it was named for some singer in the 1800's. It looks like a giant loaf of bread. It's leather covered with several iron bands around the hold fastened with large brass studs. The key latch hangs open. I lift the lid; my mother's wedding dress, lays browning with almost thirty years of age. I pull it out, place it against my shoulders and twirl about. I wonder when the time comes if the dress can be cleaned and made ready for my wedding. I lay the dress carefully on top of one the cardboard boxes and go back to the trunk.

The wedding dress covered a 1985 high school year book, and a shoe box. Under them are Mom's old blue and gold twirler outfit along with her baton. I page through the yearbook. There are pictures of her as the featured baton twirler on the pom pom squad. There are also pictures of her as home coming queen, her senior year. Her king was a boy named Jack Cummins, who the quarterback on the football team. There's a note under the picture of the two of them that says, "To the sweetest girl I ever dated, Love always, Jack."

I put the yearbook back and flipped open the shoe box. To my surprise it's full of letters. I notice most of the envelopes are brittle and yellow; however, there is one that looks rather new. I check the postmark, it's less than two months old. I slip my finger under the tab, as I do a photograph falls out. It's an old photograph of my mother hugging a man that I don't recognized, but I wonder. I go back to the yearbook and locate the pictures of the homecoming dance. It's him!

He writes of the wonderful time he had with his sweet girl when he was in town. "It was just like old times," he says, "I should have never let you get away." The letter is signed, "I am still in love with you, Jack." There's a PS that says, "I will be in town next month, please meet me at the Jefferson Hotel. I can't wait to be with my sweet girl again."

I hold the letter and gaze at the photo in disbelief. I hear my mother coming up the stairs.

"How are you doing?" she says as she steps into the attic.

She sees the open trunk then glances down and stares at the letter and photograph in my hand. A crimson rush slathers her face. She turns and runs down the stairs. I follow still holding the picture and the letter. She curls on my bed sobbing.

"Were you with this guy," I say, "when you told Dad and me, you and Molly were spending that Saturday at the Abby spa?"

" Oh, honey," she moans. "Yes, yes, I'm so sorry; I told him I wouldn't see him again. He just laughed and said, I would. He said, he was a real man, not a geek like your father. Seeing Jack again was the biggest mistake of my life. Please forgive me."

Tears run down my cheeks. I go to Mom and hug her. She looks up and says, "I went to confession. The priest said I should tell your father to clear my conscience."

"No, no, Mom, don't do that it will only hurt him. I know you love him, so don't do it. This will be our secret. You told me and that's enough. I love you, both."