The Yard Sale

by Robert Runté

The pre-teen nephew was put in charge of the yard sale table, while inside the adults haggled over the better furniture. The nephew had arranged the collection of worthless vases, knick-knacks, and rusty tools on the table, along with the contents of the kitchen drawer. The ancient ivory figurine was probably worth six figures, but the family had dismissed it as some plastic Halloween trinket.

I was more interested in the metal chest the boy was using as a bench.

"How much for that metal case?" I asked, pointing.

"There's no key for it," he told me. "We're gonna break it open later, to see what's inside."

"Oh, I can tell you that," I lied. "He used it to hold a combination of sand, cat litter, and salt. For the driveway each winter."

The boy nodded. "That's why it's so heavy, then."

"I'll give you a twenty for it."

"Why do you want it?"

"It snows on my driveway too," I said, indicating a random door down the block. "I liked your uncle's idea of having a sandbox out by the driveway. And it will remind me of him."

"You were friends?" the boy asked.

"Neighbors," I said. That should be safe. Close enough to be friendly, but not enough to have come up in conversation with family.

The boy shrugged. "Sure. Why not. Everything has to go somewhere." He stood up.

"My car's just there," I said. "If you could help me carry it that far?"

"Why the car? I could carry it to your house, easily enough." He nodded at the house I had indicated earlier.

"Oh, thanks, but winter's still a month or two off. I'll put it in storage until it actually snows."

"Sure."

Together, we manhandled the chest into the trunk.

"Hey," he said as I started towards the driver's door.

I jumped a little, afraid of what he might ask.

"Yes?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

I looked back at the table. It was tempting to go back for the ivory, but I couldn't risk it. There was a chance someone would mention it to the family, they would realize its value, try to track it down, find me.

"I don't think so. I just wanted the, uh, sandbox."

"My twenty," the boy said.

I laughed. A little too loud, I suspect, given my nerves. Stiffing the kid would have been unnecessarily memorable, almost as bad as buying the ivory.

I reached into my wallet and pulled out a bill.

"I'm sorry. I'm getting forgetful in my old age.

"It's okay. Uncle was like that, too."

Which reminded me, I'd better get gas before heading out for the woods. Running out would be the sort of careless mistake I'd been making lately. God, what else did I need? A shovel from a hardware store.

As I drove off, the lad gave me a friendly wave.

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Robert Runté is Senior Editor with EssentialEdits.ca and freelances at SFeditor.ca. A former professor, he has won four Aurora Awards for his literary criticism and currently reviews for the Ottawa Review of Books. His own fiction has been published over 130 times, with several reprinted in "best of" collections.