TBC Publishing Pride Month Flash Fiction Challenge, 16 of 30
Title: The Secret of Room 217
Author: R. Scott Tyler
Genre: Mystery
Word count (500 max): 500
Julian returned to his coastal hometown after living in the deep south since college. His favorite uncle had passed away and named him as executor of his estate. His family operated and lived in a crumbling Inn that catered to long-term locals or backpackers visiting the area with no agenda and almost no money.
His uncle, Simon, had lived at the hotel, in room 217, for as long as Julian could remember. When he stood in the doorway, he could almost hear and smell his uncle from his last visit. The scratchy record playing Miles Davis, the smell of cigarettes, and whiskey sour, which were his uncle’s two vices. There were many things of interest here, but not much of value. His uncle had always been a simple man with few possessions.
In the room there was a queen-size bed, covered in a handmade quilt, a beautiful early American dresser with a big mirror attached, a comfortable-looking wingback reading chair covered in mohair. Julian still remembered climbing on the dresser to inspect all his uncle’s jewelry and creams when he was a kid. His uncle had fastened it to the wall to keep it, and especially the mirror, from crashing down on him during his visits.
This would be his first task. Pack up the dresser and get it loose from the wall. With the L-brackets gone and the drawers empty, Julian took the huge mirror off the top of the dresser, laid it on the bed, and probably for the first time since it came into room 217, pulled the dresser away from the wall. As he did, he heard something fall from behind the dresser.
He peered under and saw an envelope. When he pulled it out, he realized it was addressed to his uncle Simon in a way that made his eyes open wide in surprise.
“To Simon, the love of my life,” it said.
The envelope was unopened, yellow, and dusty, as if it had been behind the dresser for a long time.
Taking out his penknife he carefully slit the top open and sat down in the reading chair. It was a 3-page letter, handwritten, with several snapshots of Simon and another man on the beach, in front of the hotel (in better days), at a restaurant Julian had not seen before, and in this very room, which held two identical wingback chairs in the picture. The letter was dated nearly 30 years ago.
Julian always figured Simon was gay, but he was met with non-answers to any questions he asked pertaining to the subject.
As he slipped everything back into the envelope and looked up, he realized his mother was in the doorway to 217, watching him. Simon was her brother, and they had been close.
“Mom, there’s this letter,” he started.
His mom put her finger to her lips and looked back into the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk later, Julian,” was all she said, turning around and continuing down the hall.
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