“What’s down there?”
Daniel barely looked up. “Storage. Paint cans, old tools, junk. I don’t want the girls getting hurt.”
The answer made sense.
Still, something about the door lingered in my mind.
Sometimes I noticed Grace staring at it quietly from the hallway. Sometimes Emily wandered too close before quickly running away again with the guilty expression children wear when they almost reveal a secret.
One afternoon I found Grace sitting cross-legged in front of the basement door just watching it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
She stood up immediately. “Nothing.”
Then she ran off.
Families develop strange habits after tragedy, I told myself. Maybe this was one of them.
Then came the afternoon that changed everything.
