That did not help.
I tried the knob. Locked.
Grace said, “It’s okay. Mommy is there.”
I should have waited. I know that now.
A sharp smell hit me first.
Instead, I pulled two hairpins from my bun and knelt by the lock with shaking hands.
Emily stood beside me, sniffling. Grace bounced on her toes.
The lock clicked.
I froze.
Grace whispered, “See?”
I opened the door.
The basement was dim, but I could see enough.
A sharp smell hit me first. Sour. Damp.
I took one step down, then another.
The basement was dim, but I could see enough.
And then my fear changed.
It wasn’t a body.
It wasn’t some hidden nightmare.
I just stood there.
It was a shrine.
There was an old couch with a blanket folded over one arm. Shelves lined with albums. Framed pictures of Daniel’s wife everywhere. Children’s drawings. Boxes labeled in black marker. A little tea set on a child-sized table. A cardigan hanging over a chair. A pair of women’s rain boots by the wall. An old TV beside stacks of DVDs.
The smell was mildew. A pipe was leaking into a bucket. Water had stained part of the wall.
I just stood there.
