“Downstairs where?” I asked.
Grace grabbed my hand. “The basement. Come on.”
Every bad thought hit me at once.
The locked door. The secrecy. The way the girls looked at it. A dead wife. A basement Daniel never opened around me.
Grace pulled me down the hall like she was showing me a birthday surprise.
At the door, she looked up at me and said, “You just have to open it.”
I should have waited. I know that now.
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My mouth went dry. “Does Daddy take you down there?”
She nodded. “Sometimes. When he misses her.”
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.
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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.
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The smell was mildew. A pipe was leaking into a bucket. Water had stained part of the wall.
I just stood there.
“And Daddy talks to her.”
Grace smiled. “This is where Mom lives.”
I looked at her. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
She pointed around the room. “Daddy brings us here so we can be with her.”
Emily hugged her rabbit tighter. “We watch Mommy on TV.”
