In the 1920’s Walter Cannon was the first to describe the psychological reaction of the acute stress response, better known today as the “fight or flight” reaction. If Mr. Cannon was still around to study my current case, I would bet that he would reconsider the term “acute stress” when naming his discovery. I now believe that we as humans can get to a point where the stress in our lives is so high that the sense of “fight” becomes all we know, a part of our everyday. That is the stage in which I was currently operating.

My trip to Mimi’s was quick, but did not come without questions. Fortunately, I was able to provide general answers that would forgo any suspicions they were having about my “errands.” This coupled with the promise to be back in 90 minutes or less made for an easier transition out the door, keys in hand.

Stoneridge Plaza was just around the corner from Mimi’s, and a place I had spent a good amount of my childhood in. My father was always there fixing something, helping a tenant, checking the parking lot for any damages. I have one memory of him becoming very angry with a female driver because she drove into the stop sign and cracked the large cement base that held it together. He just couldn’t understand how you hit a sign that was supposed to indicate stopping.  Another memory was when he took me up as a child on the scissor lift, you know just a typical Saturday afternoon outing. But in this case we were not going to fix a roof. My Dad took me up as high as that lift would allow just so that I could pet the face of Jeffrey the Giraffe, the cartoon character that was hanging on the face of the Toys R Us sign. I thought that was just the most amazing thing ever, and I still do. My father would go to great lengths, or heights, to make me happy; something that started when I was very young.

I had practically grown up on the roof of that plaza, and knew every inch of it inside and out. This is why it was so easy for me to locate the back doors of the plaza that would lead me down the to storage units that I was currently seeking. As I pulled the car around the back of the local coffee shop, I saw the double steel doors come into view. I parked along the side of the door (for easy escape should that become necessary) and climbed out of the car. A smile spread across my lips as I saw the left door to the unit had been left slightly ajar; accidentally of course. There was no need to come with a flashlight, this was my father we were talking about. He had wired the basement of this place with electricity for lighting and even installed a basic bathroom, there was nothing that man couldn’t do.

I flipped the switch and ascended the stairs slowly. The alcohol from last night was still fervently searching for escape from my body and I was careful not to become lightheaded. At the bottom I stopped to take a quick visual inventory. Although I knew that my father had used part of this storage for personal items, a large portion was still devoted to building materials necessary to the job. And this was no small space to be searching through, we were talking about 35,000 feet of endless mountains of lumber, toilets, bathroom fixtures, paint, electrical materials, plumbing pipes etc. If I was going to be successful, I had to work fast and effectively. I started to do a lap of the perimeter to get a better look at how things might be organized. Yes there was a lot of stuff to inventory, but because I knew my father, I knew there was some meaning behind this organized chaos.

In the back left corner, out of sight from the door, my eyes fell on a dismantled bike and some cardboard boxes. That had to be it, those must be the personal items together in that pile. I carefully maneuvered my way through the other materials toward the Mecca I was so desperately seeking. I didn’t much recognize the bike, but the golf clubs I did. A complete set of Callaway clubs held securely in their red and black bag. I recognized these from the few times my father took me golfing. Or I guess I should probably say the times he took me to the golf course to find and wash golf balls from the surrounding woods. I picked them up and set them in the aisle as if to start a new pile that was coming with me. I started opening boxes and found his collection of beer steins that were the contents of two of the boxes. They had no monetary value, and were not even all very pretty. But as I stoked my fingers across the cold metal tops I remembered the times when Dad would hide my Easter Eggs in them, making them nearly impossible to find without some of his clues. My insides felt warm with these thoughts and I moved these boxes to the “coming with me” pile as well. There were things I didn’t recognize, and various sports equipment that was part of his “try everything once” mantra. I left these things in their current place because I had no connection to them.

As I surveyed the rest of the pile, I became fixated on what appeared to be frames that were leaning against the back wall behind the boxes. There was a picture I had in mind that was this beautiful green painting that had hung in my father’s room; I coveted this painting and placed it on my list of desired items from my father. If it was one of these frames leaning against the wall I wouldn’t have to want any longer. I also wouldn’t have to fight that bitch McCrabben in court for a fucking painting. At this point I knew that anything and everything I expressed interest in was going to result in a battle in court. I held my breath and turned back the paintings to display their front images. I dusted off the fronts for better visuals. I found a beautiful picture of a woman in a garden. The brush strokes were small, but vibrant in color, and reminded me almost of a later dated Monet. Of course this was not a painting done by the infamous Monet, but rather famous in its own right. This was a painting I recognized from the living room, and previously the dining room I believe. I moved it to the pile that was going to be removed. The second frame I pulled back was a blueprint of the inside of an old ship, another picture I can recall from his home. I turned back the third frame to face me, desperately hoping that it was the green painting that had once adorned the walls of the bedroom. Unfortunately, what I found was a four season photography piece showing Letchworth State Park in all of its beauty for an entire year. Although not exactly what I was hoping for, I had some great pictures from Letchworth and thought this would be a perfect addition to my collection; I moved it to the center pile.

As I surveyed the area one last time it dawned on me that I had not been keeping track of the time. I glanced at my watch and saw that my 90 minutes was nearly up. I had but 15 minutes to get out of this place and definitely more than one trip up the steep stairs to the car. I grabbed what I cold carry in the first load and started to the door. No way was I going to get caught down here and risk getting Phil into any sort of trouble. Phil was such a wonderful man, so very easygoing. My Dad would always say “Phil is going to live forever, nothing bothers that guy.”

I closed the truck with a loud snap, locking in all my treasures I had recently secured. I glanced back at the steel doors, wishing I had some more time to go through the contents of that building. There was still a small part of me that was expecting to come across a note, or a poem, some sort of explanation. I thought if I turned over every rock in his life I would eventually discover the answers. Well, I hadn’t found them today, not here at least. I left the door ajar as I had found it, just in case someone noticed something missing. We could always blame it on an “unexpected robbery.”

As I pulled away from the storage unit and out of the plaza I took an extra minute at the final stop sign. I lingered here not only because it was the sign that told me to stop, but also because I had a great view of Jeffrey the Giraffe in my rear view mirror. That same smile spread across my lips again and I pointed the car in the direction of Mimi’s house. I felt good about the items I had secured, that they all had a meaning to a part of my life that  I treasured most. As I made the short drive to Mimi’s I thought about all of the wonderful things I had to remember about my Dad. I was lost in thought when I turned onto Laura Drive and suddenly hit the breaks hard. How the fuck was I going to explain golf clubs, boxes of beer steins and large canvas paintings? I thought for a moment and then crawled the car forward down the street. I would offer two rationals: the truth, which could make you an accomplice, or plausible deniability; which is exactly what I was going with these days.

I awoke to the feeling of the sun’s rays bouncing off the lake and pouring into the beautiful  bay window of my friends home. My mouth was so dry I feared that I would blow dust from it at any moment and my head felt as if someone was tapping out their new drum solo on my temples. One day I would become wise to the idea of drinking alcohol that contained less sugar, but until then I was stuck with the grueling pain that accompanied my current morning rise.

I leaned to my side to reach for my phone. In my alcohol induced state last night I had also forgotten to put my phone on the charger. The black screen starred back at me with every push of a button. I wandered to the kitchen, half balanced, searching for the cord that would bring my device to life. I plugged in my phone and poured a glass of water while I waited. I returned to the kitchen table to attempt the buttons once again. I was rocking the Blackberry in those days and I was waiting like an addict for the little red light at the top to start blinking, denoting that someone had made an attempt to contact me. It was several minutes before I was able to satisfy my addiction and there it was, the red blinking light. I had some text messages from various people, well wishes and condolences and a few missed calls from Mimi’s land line. I checked my voicemail to find that there was one from my mom, “Dana it’s me, call me when you get this.” The time stamp showed that she had left this about an hour ago. I knew I needed to call her soon, but I opted for a few more moments of silence to breathe. I sipped my water and let my fingers run across the floral arrangement on the kitchen table. Last night I had insisted that my friend bring home an arrangement from the viewing, and here it sat. It was truly beautiful and I didn’t even know who it was from. It was an all white mixed bouquet of lilies, roses and some small budding white variety of which I was not familiar. I starred for a minute more taking in it’s beauty and then, giving up, I reached for my phone. It was no use, I now fucking loathed flowers.

My mom answered in two short rings. “Hey Mom, what’s up?” I made a valiant effort to sound much better than I felt, or probably looked.   “Nothing much here,” she replied. “But I do need you to stop at Mimi’s before you go off today. We need to discuss your legal counsel and prepare for what is left to come. I have a few names, but if you know anyone we can look those over too.” It took me a minute to formulate words, I had not thought about how the rest of this was going to play out. Here I was thinking my work last night as Nancy Drew was going to result in answers, legal counsel had not even crossed my mind. “Mom, are you sure that I have to do this? I mean Kim and I can probably make McCrabben go away on our own don’t you think?” I could hear my mom swallow hard through the phone, giving me the sensation that she was struggling with her own words. “Kim has already retained an attorney” my Mom began slowly, “and it’s not because she wants to go against you in any way, it is just what we have to do in order to get through this. She was the one who called me this morning, she felt that I would be best to try and make you understand.” I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak a word. My mind started swirling with ideas and my heart filling again with emotion. How could it all have come to this overnight? How could we have just said a goodbye to him 12 hours ago and now all be talking lawyers, retainers and who was on each side? “Fib,” my Mom started again, “Don’t be scared, and please don’t be mad. This is not what anyone wanted, but we have to act on it now that we know the play McCrabben is making; she wants everything your father had and then some.” It took me a few minutes to find my words, and when I did they came out a few octaves higher than I anticipated. “She isn’t getting shit, I won’t let her. I’ll be there soon, and I will get some more names on the way. I love you Mom.” We disconnected and I sat there starring at the little red light that continued to blink. What had just moments ago made me happy to see, was now a threatening image that seemed to bring nothing but bad news and pain.

I scrolled through my list of contacts searching all of the names to see if anything jogged a memory of a friend having spoke of an attorney before. Finally my finger stopped on the M list and I saw “Martin” written across my screen. He was an old friend of mine, who had also known my Dad. We ad played beach volleyball together a few times and he always seemed to be a decent person. To top it all off, he had recently started a company and last I had spoken to him he was working with an attorney to get all of his corporation elements together. I started a quick message and in the subject line typed “soliciting advice.” I started the message with a quick hello and apologies for having not reached out recently. Then I jumped right into it. I typed a few lines about his business and asked what he thought of his attorney. I let him know I was seeking legal counsel for my father’s estate and was hopeful to find someone who came recommended. I asked him to contact me if he had anyone in mind.

I set my phone on the table and started a pot of coffee. If I had to wake my friend from her own alcohol induced sleep, I might as well come armed with some coffee to take off the edge. I poured a fresh cup and started up the stairs to her room. As much as I had enjoyed my few minutes of peace, I had opened Pandora’s box yet again today and I was going to need a whole lot more than a little hope to cure the evils that had recently been released.

It wasn’t long before we were on the road to Mimi’s. I had received an answer from Martin expressing his condolences and providing the name and phone number of his attorney with whom he had been very satisfied, Dave Tratta. I saved the message for easy access and began a new one to my Dad’s former colleges. My Dad had this tendency to maintain a lot of his personal belongings locked inside the storage units belonging to the commercial real estate company he ran in Rochester. Being as I was not allowed to enter the house, I figured I could at least check out the units without repercussions. My Dad’s colleagues, friends really, had worked with him and for him for many years. They were like a second family to us, surely they would let me in the units to look around. Or at least they would “accidentally” leave them open on their way to lunch, whichever. I made that call first. I figured it was best to get things out of the way that might be seen as borderline illegal before I retained an attorney. I didn’t really want to hear what I “should” be doing anyways. As it was, I had followed the rules this far and all it did was get me exiled from his house and office. This time I was going to try a different approach.

I got one of the guys, Phil, on the phone. He told me that he was hopeful I would call and that McCrabben had means to obtain the keys to these units as she was part of the office staff. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she had not tried to get in them yet. I asked him to lunch and he kindly thanked me but explained he had an appointment he had to take care of on his lunch hour. He said he would be leaving from the Stoneridge Plaza around noon and would probably be gone about an hour and a half. I could pick through his words and hear what he was really telling me; he was leaving for 90 minutes and there would be no accountability for the storage units in Stoneridge at that time. I thanked Phil for his kindness and told him we would have to get lunch another day.

As I clicked off my speaker I smiled to myself. I had a bit of satisfaction knowing I was going to have an opportunity to rummage on my own for a while. The clock on the dash of my friends car read 10:18. I had just enough time to get to Mimi’s, scrub the booze from my pours and excuse myself on an errand, one I would insist to do alone. I would call Mr. Tratta when I was finished, plausible deniability was definitely going to save my ass this time.