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As the garage door inched upward, it revealed the collection of a life complete. Boxes, bins, bags. A vignette of time represented by poorly labelled mementoes now piled in a dank, musty storage space. While my heart broke, my brother, standing beside me, let out an anguished moan as the door came to a stop and displayed the full extent of the hoard.

‘I say we call one of those junk services to haul it all away,’ he said. 

‘What? No way! This was Dad’s stuff. Don’t you want to go through it?’

‘Not particularly,’ Tommy said. 

‘Come on! It’ll be fun,’ I said, inching him inside the space neither of us had been inside of for years. I flicked the lights on. It became marginally brighter. ‘I really want to find the old family movies.’ I pushed a few boxes to clear a path. 

‘What do you want those for?’ he asked.

‘It’s been ages. Don’t you think they would be fun to watch?’

Tommy shook his head. ‘I lived it. I don’t need to see it again.’

I pulled a cardboard box down from a shelf and started going through the contents. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Sometimes the past is best left alone,’ he said gravely.  

I turned and let out a laugh. ‘Jesus, Tommy. You make it sound like we were tortured. We had a great childhood.’

He wrinkled his brow. ‘I’m older than you. I think I probably remember things better than you do.’

‘I have a great memory.’

He sighed. ‘Listen, Jen. I really don’t have time to deal with all of this, but I’m happy to pay someone to do it for us.’

‘You’re being serious? You don’t want any of it?’

His face contorted into a pitying look. ‘No. I don’t.’

‘Okay. I’ll do it myself then.’

‘Jen, I –’

‘No. It’s fine. You’re busy. I get it.’

After he left, I continued to search for the old movies. When we were kids, Dad was always filming us, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the footage, if at all. He was a saver of more than just the family memories, as evidenced by the sheer amount of stuff he’d kept. I guess I took after him in that way because I could be sentimental about things. It was going to be hard to part with his things, but having the movies would help ease the emotional attachment to the rest.   

I wasn’t mad or even all that surprised Tommy had cut out. I would have been more shocked had he actually stayed. Since going through rehab, he had been withdrawn and far too serious. He barely showed an ounce of emotion when Dad passed. He’d been even less checked-in when Mom died, but that was right after he’d come out of the program, so I gave him some grace. 

These days, if it wasn’t related to his tech job, Tommy didn’t seem to care about it. That he and I had such extremely different takes on our childhoods shouldn’t have been a huge revelation. We were polar opposites. 

It took me hours, but I finally stumbled upon a hard drive labelled: home movies. I plucked it from the box and called it a day. I couldn’t wait to curl up on the sofa and show my husband. He hardly knew my family. My parents had been hermits. They didn’t love visitors. I was sure it had to do with all the stuff Dad collected. Then his health took a turn, especially after Mom died. We mostly talked on the phone, so Charlie didn’t get to experience what a great guy my dad was. 

The older and more removed from it I get, the blurrier the memories become. But Tommy was wrong. I have strong nostalgia for that time in my life and think back on it fondly. Why wouldn’t I? Or, more to the point, why wouldn’t he?     

 That night on the sofa with my husband, I connected the hard drive to my laptop, ready to project it onto our television. It made a whirring noise before a message appeared on the screen. Error. Unable to retrieve data. 

‘No! What should I do?’ I asked Charlie.

‘Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Tommy to look at it? You and I aren’t the best with technology.’

‘Right.’ I was torn. I really wanted to see the footage, but I also didn’t want to be dealing with my cranky brother again. The movies won out and I stopped to see Tommy a few days later. 

‘I really think you should drop it,’ he said when I handed him the drive. 

‘And I really don’t understand why you are so against reflecting on our past.’

He shrugged. ‘Recovery showed me a new reality, I guess. One I’m not sure you’re ready to see.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ I told him. ‘The only thing I need recovered are these home movies.’ 

‘They’re all dead now. It’s over. Let’s move on.’

‘They’re all dead? Seriously, Tommy? I don’t know what made you become so…melancholy, but I think it would actually do you a world of good to see these movies. We had such a fun childhood. I’m sure it’s mostly video from up at the old cabin. Dad always seemed to have the camera going. Remember romping around with Benny in that creek at the cabin? Dad taking us for long hikes? Picnics with Mom?’

He took the drive while looking at me intensely. ‘Jen, do you remember what happened to our dog Benny?’

‘Um, sure. He got old and had to be put down.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Dad took him out for one of those famously long hikes one day and never brought him back.’

I chuckled. ‘Sure. That’s what parents used to tell kids when their pets get old.’

‘Benny was five when this happened. A healthy and energetic dog.’

‘Huh? No. He…’ I paused to think. ‘Was there an accident?’

‘No.’

‘What then? What are you saying, Tommy?’

‘I’m saying…I’ll recover the data and you can see for yourself if that’s really what you want.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘It is.’ I was certain I knew what was on the tapes. I had recreated the movies in my mind. They were happy times, good wholesome childhood memories. 

I left Tommy’s condo feeling a bit off, but I chalked it up to my brother’s sombre attitude after getting sober. They’re all dead now. What was he even talking about?  

A few days later, my brother emailed me the file. I couldn’t wait for Charlie to get home from work this time for a watch party. I had to take a peek, especially after Tommy’s message with the attachment. 

Sis…I’m sorry. I wish we had lived the life you imagined instead. I didn’t remember it either, until…recently. Call me if you want to talk about it after you watch. Tom.

Whatever. I hit go on the file and sat back in my chair. The black-and-white snippets came into view just like I’d remembered them. At first. Tommy fishing in the creek. There was me in my pink swimsuit and pigtails. I was maybe two. That would have made Tommy four or five at the time. The dog romped ahead, leading us on our hike to the picnic spot. Then, the back of Mom’s giant hat came into focus as she spread out a blanket. I smiled warmly. She spun around to give the camera a slight wave. She tipped her head up for a split second and I caught a glimpse of her face — no longer obscured by the floppy sun hat. 

I paused the movie and scrutinized the frozen frame. 

They’re all dead now.

I re-wound. 

I played it again. 

And again.

Something wasn’t right.

Had Tommy edited the footage? Was that even possible? No. Tommy was being weird, but he would never do something like that. 

As I watched a few more scenes, a tightness wound around my gut, my own memories shifting to reflect reality.  

I hit pause on the movie and dialed up my big brother. ‘Tommy? What’s going on? Who is that woman?’ I glanced at the blurry image on my computer screen.

Softly, he said, ‘That’s our mom.’

‘That…can’t be. But I know her. How do I know her?’

‘That’s not the woman who raised us, but it is our biological mother.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ I shouted at him. ‘Where is she? What happened to her?’

‘It wasn’t long after that movie was taken. They’d been arguing all night. The next morning, while we were asleep in the cabin, Dad took her out for a long hike.’

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Jody Wenner is a Midwestern author with several independently published mystery and suspense novels as well as two works released by The Wild Rose Press. Shorter stories and articles can be found in the pages of Punk Noir, Mystery Magazine Weekly, The Keepthings, Thriller101, and The Motley Writer’s Guild. When not writing, reading, or editing, you can find her walking her dog or obsessively knitting. Visit her at www.jodywenner.com