The next morning, I deleted the voicemail from Dad’s phone. Deleting it didn’t make the problem disappear. I put the phone on silent and shoved it into a drawer. Mara watched me from the sink.
“You’re not calling them back?”
“Not yet.”
“What if they call again?”
“We’ll deal with it.”
She gave me a tired look. Since Dad went into the refrigerator, we’ll deal with it had become my answer to almost everything. Mortgage. Medication. Dad. The police. Maybe that was how desperate people survived. If tomorrow couldn’t be fixed, you tried to survive today.
Around eleven, my phone buzzed. Motion alert from the door camera. My stomach clenched. For one horrible second, I thought it was someone connected to Dad’s pension plan. It wasn’t.
Diane stood outside. Dad’s former home health aide.
Mara looked over my shoulder. “What does she want?”
“No idea.”
The doorbell rang again. Before opening it, I whispered: “Take Lucy into the bedroom.”
“What about Dad?”
I looked toward the refrigerator. “Don’t let anyone near the kitchen.”
I opened the door a few inches. “Diane.”
“Where’s Walter?”
“Not here.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Back to his hometown.” The lie came out before I’d finished thinking.
She frowned. “He’s that sick and you took him on a trip?”
“He wanted to go.”
“I need to see him.”
“He’s not here.” I tried to close the door.
She blocked it with her foot. “Wait.” Her voice hardened. “Your father owes me money.”
“I paid everything we owed you.”
“Not wages.”
“What, then?”
Her eyes reddened. “Something personal.”
I stared at her. “How much?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“For what?”
“Ask your father.”
“Do you have anything in writing?”
“You think people put that kind of agreement in writing?”
I understood about half of what she meant. The other half I didn’t want to understand. “No proof, no money.”
Her face flushed with anger and humiliation. “You’re going to cheat me because he’s sick?” Her voice rose. Across the hall, a neighbor’s door cracked open. My pulse spiked.
“Come inside.”
It was a mistake. The moment Diane stepped through the door, she sniffed. “What is that smell?”
Every muscle in my body tightened. “What smell?”
“Something’s off.”
Mara came out. “Probably food.”
Diane looked toward the kitchen. Toward the refrigerator. I stepped between them. “You want fifteen hundred?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Then I’ll wait for Walter.”
“He might not be back for days.”
“I can wait.” She reached for a chair.
Then the doorbell rang again.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Another camera alert. This time, I felt the blood drain from my face.
Rachel.
My older sister stood outside with a large black rolling suitcase. She looked directly into the camera. Then tapped the lens.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A chill ran down my back. For no logical reason, I thought about the refrigerator the night before.
“Open up,” Rachel called. “I know you’re home.”
I closed my eyes. I hadn’t even gotten rid of one problem. The next one had brought luggage.
* * *
Rachel came through the door like bad weather. “I’ve called Dad twenty times. What, are you two playing dead in here?”
I almost choked. “What kind of thing is that to say?”
Then she spotted Diane. “We have company?”
“I’m here to see your father.”
“Why?”
“He owes me money.”
Rachel dropped her suitcase. “Our father owes you money?”
Diane explained. The longer she talked, the colder Rachel’s expression became. When Diane got to the part about a “private arrangement,” Rachel gave a short laugh. “You’re saying Dad slept with you?”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Then explain it cleanly.”
“Rachel,” I said. “Stay out of it.”
She pulled out her phone. “There are two possibilities.”
Diane stiffened. “Either you’re lying to extort money from an old man.”
Rachel unlocked her screen. “In which case we can let the police decide.”
Diane’s face changed. “Or you’re telling the truth.”
Rachel smiled without warmth. “Then we can still go to the police and explain exactly what the fifteen hundred dollars was for.”
Diane stared at her. I stared at Rachel. Same sister as always. When we were kids, if someone bullied me, Rachel never bothered figuring out who started it. She handled that after the fight.
Diane picked up her purse. “This whole family is rotten.”
Rachel shrugged. “Can’t argue with you there.”
At the door, Diane turned back. “Fine.” Her voice was bitter. “I’m done coming here.” Then she looked at me. “But when somebody else comes asking where Walter is, you can explain it to them.”
The door shut. My relief vanished almost immediately.
* * *
Rachel kicked her suitcase against the wall. “Where’s Dad?”
“His hometown.”
“You are such a bad liar.”
“I’m serious.”
“He’s barely able to walk and he traveled three hours?”
“He insisted.”
Rachel stared at my face. When I was a kid, my right eyelid twitched when I lied. She always noticed. I looked away. “Why are you here?”
“Dad’s birthday is next week.” She took off her coat. “Thought I’d show up.”
I froze. Dad’s birthday. I’d forgotten. Suddenly the lie had a deadline.
Rachel headed toward the kitchen. “You got anything cold to drink?”
“No.”
“Ice?”
“No.”
She stopped at the refrigerator. I moved too quickly.
She looked at me. “What are you doing?”
“Fridge is broken.”
“Then why is it running?”
“The freezer sticks.”
“Move.” She reached for the handle.
I grabbed her wrist. For one terrible second we stood there.
Then—rattle.
Her suitcase moved.
Mara and I turned. The zipper slowly opened from the inside. A small head appeared. Then a five-year-old boy crawled out, hair flattened, cheeks flushed. He sucked in a dramatic breath.
“Mom.”
I stared. Rachel looked back. “Oh. Right.”
My brain seemed to stop working. “Whose kid is that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Mine.”
I looked at the boy. Then Rachel. Then back at the boy. She’d been gone for years. No one in the family knew she had a son.
The boy noticed the refrigerator. “I heard somebody say ice.” He smiled at me. “Do you have ice cream?”
I stepped in front of the refrigerator.
* * *
I found out later Rachel hadn’t kept Noah inside that suitcase for the whole trip. She had only put him in there between the car and my apartment. She was afraid a hallway camera—or someone watching the building—might record the two of them arriving together.
At the time, I didn’t know any of that. I only knew the whole thing felt wrong.
Rachel’s phone buzzed. She looked down. Her face changed immediately. She declined the call. Then she crossed to the window and pulled the curtains shut.
“Who are you hiding from?” I asked.
“No one.” Too fast.
She turned toward my security monitor. “How much can your hallway camera see?”
“Whole hall.”
“What about the street?”
“No.”
Something in her shoulders relaxed. Barely. But I saw it.
I looked at the suitcase. At Noah. At my sister. I still didn’t know what Rachel had brought home with her. I only knew that from the moment she walked through my door—the thing inside my refrigerator was no longer the only dangerous secret in the apartment.
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