The book

The house only had a few snippets of life left in it. It had been a tough job but we were nearly finished clearing out my father’s house of all his belongings. Yes, tough, both physically and mentally, my dad had died only the three weeks ago and this was us just getting round to clearing the house out.
It brought back floods of memories for me, I mean it was only me and him growing up. My mum had died when I was young and it meant leaving my dad to take care of me. He did an amazing job of it as well, even with all the female stuff that fathers usually run away from.
"Is this the last box that you’re taking then Lucy?" My husband, David, had just walked back in to the room. The day had involved a lot of heavy lifting. Luckily for me I didn't have to get involved, David had enlisted the help of one his friends, Harold, to give him a hand with the heavy lifting.
"Yeh, that's the last of it, can you pop that book in it before taping it shut," I pointed loosely in the direction of where I had left the book. The adventures of Huckleberry Finn, it had been my dad's favourite book ever since he was a child, actually he had had that copy since he was a child. I often wondered what was keeping it together, 'sheer love' was usually the answer that he gave me. The thought of that mad the lump grow a little bigger in the back of my throat.
"What book are you talking about? There's nothing over here," David called over to me, snapping me out of my trance.
"What are you talking about? I left the book on top of a pile stuff over here before we had lunch. It can't have just got up and walked off," I stopped short as I was walking over. There was no pile of stuff, and no book. No, I needed this book, it was my last connection to my dad.
"Where did all the stuff go that was piled in this corner?" I asked turning to David, my eyes filling up.
"I'm pretty sure that I gave it to Harold for the charity shop."
"What? Why? How could you just send some of my father’s possessions to the charity shop without asking me first? There could have been family treasures in it, hell what am I saying there was!" I was getting worked up now I could feel it.
David was taken aback, "I did ask you, I remember saying 'What's to happen to this stuff in the corner?' You just waved your hand at it and said it could go to the charity shop. Give someone else a chance of enjoying it"
My heart sank, I did remember saying that to him. Maybe I didn't put it on top of that pile then maybe I had put it on top of some other pile in the room. But I looked round, there was nothing left but the box sitting in the middle of the room. I ran over to it, knowing that it wouldn't be there, but I had to hope.
"Help me look through this then, maybe it's already been packed away," I called over to David.
"Honey it's not there, you know it's not," he had a sympathetic look on his face.
I couldn't take it anymore, I just sat in the middle of the floor and broke down in tears.
"Phone Harold see if he's been-" I stopped short, David had already got his phone out and was talking to Harold.
"No, no that's no problem. Thanks. The British Heart Foundation, on Main street. No problem I'll give them a shout. Thanks again for the help the day, I owe you a beer or five." He hung up the phone and looked at me, "Sorry honey but he went straight in on the way home."

"First thing this morning?" I was staring at the old women in the charity shop, my mouth hanging open. I had got there first thing this morning hoping that they hadn't been through the boxes, turned out they had a bunch of volunteers go through them the night before. The major problem was that someone had already bought it.
"He seemed very keen on it, said that there might have been some value in it what with it being so old and that."
"Yeh it had value. Massive sentimental value to me." I lowered my head in defeat. There was nothing else to do but go home and remember his life in our ways. I knew he would always be with me. But somehow it didn't feel quite as strong without the physical bond of the book.

Another week had passed since I lost out on the book. I would still look through his stuff, in the book shelves, anywhere, just in the hopes that it would suddenly show up. I knew it wouldn't but maybe.
Ding Dong
"Package for Ms Lucy Anderson," The DHL driver seem cheery, too cheery for a delivery driver, "If you would just sign here thanks"
I looked at it puzzled, I hadn't ordered anything and it was still a long way off from my birthday. I waited until I was at the kitchen table to open it, getting a knife from the kitchen drawer.
I almost lost my balance when I saw what it was that fell out. The adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Not just any copy of it though, his copy. My dad's copy, I knew it was I could still smell him on it. My heart lifted, a smile spread on my face. But how, how had it managed to find me again? There wasn't anything in the book that said it was owned to me.
Then I looked inside the parcel box and saw a handwritten note, "to my munchkin, Dad x"