After Rachel moved in, I became afraid of two things. The doorbell. And silence. The doorbell meant somebody wanted inside. Silence usually meant Noah was doing something the adults hadn’t discovered yet. He was five. Curious in the relentless, exhausting way only five-year-olds can be. The first day, he asked if we had ice cream. The second, he wanted to know why I never opened the freezer.
“It’s broken.”
“Then why does it make noise?”
“The motor still works.”
“Is it cold inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could open it and see.”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at him. He looked right back. Finally I said: “Because I said so.”
Noah made a face. “Grown-ups always say that.” Then he ran off. I relaxed. Too soon.
* * *
That afternoon, Mara was mopping. I was in the bedroom trying to get Lucy to nap. Rachel had gone downstairs for cigarettes. The apartment stayed quiet for maybe three minutes. Then Noah called: “Uncle Evan!”
I didn’t respond immediately.
“I found it!”
Something inside me dropped. “Found what?”
No answer. I ran out.
The freezer door was open. Noah stood in front of it barefoot. He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t crying. He was simply staring inside with wide-eyed amazement, as if he’d found the greatest hiding place in the world.
My entire body went cold. “Noah!”
I slammed the door shut. He jumped. “Why’d you close it?”
I crouched and grabbed his shoulders. “What did you see?”
“Grandpa.”
For several seconds I couldn’t breathe. Mara stood behind us, pale and horrified.
“You saw wrong.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know Grandpa.”
“Mom showed me pictures.” He pointed toward the refrigerator. “That’s Grandpa.”
There was no reasonable explanation. So I chose the least reasonable one. “He’s playing hide-and-seek.”
Noah’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“With who?”
I swallowed. “Your mom.”
“She hasn’t found him yet?”
“No.”
“Grandpa’s good.”
“Very.”
He thought about it. “But it’s cold.”
“Grandpa doesn’t mind.”
“Why?”
“Old people don’t get cold as easily.”
Mara turned away. I couldn’t tell whether she was trying not to cry or trying not to scream at me. Noah looked toward the hall. “Can I tell Mom?”
“No.” The answer came too sharply. He flinched. I softened my voice. “If you tell her, Grandpa loses.”
“Oh.” That made sense to him immediately. Children might not understand death. But they understand rules. I held a finger to my lips. “This is our secret.”
Noah copied me. “Shh.”
“Especially don’t tell your mom.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t open the refrigerator again.”
“Because Grandpa will get caught?”
“Exactly.”
He nodded solemnly. Then he said: “Grandpa says you’ll never find him.”
Every muscle in my body locked. “What?”
Noah glanced at the refrigerator. “Grandpa.”
“Grandpa said that to you?”
He was quiet. Then he grinned. “I’m just guessing.” He ran away.
I stayed crouched in front of the refrigerator. The compressor gave a soft shudder. Knock.
I stood too fast. Mara looked at me. “Motor.”
I said it immediately. I wasn’t sure whether I was explaining it to her—or myself.
* * *
After that, hide-and-seek became a set of rules. Don’t open the refrigerator. Don’t talk about Grandpa in front of Mom. Don’t ask when he’s coming out. Don’t make Grandpa lose. Meanwhile, Dad’s birthday got closer. Rachel asked more questions.
“When’s he coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Birthday’s next week.”
“I know.”
One afternoon, her voice softened. “He can still hate me.”
I looked over. “I just want him to meet Noah.” For the first time since she’d arrived, the hard shell around her seemed to crack. “Dad would probably be happy he has a grandson.”
I said nothing. Her phone buzzed. Rachel looked at the screen and declined the call. The softness vanished.
I asked: “Do you need money?”
Her hand stopped. “No.”
“Really?”
“When have I ever needed money from you?” The answer was too sharp. I let it go.
* * *
On Dad’s birthday, I bought a few apples, a cheap cupcake and three little birthday candles. I couldn’t put up a memorial. Not without explaining why. So I set everything on top of the refrigerator. I lit the candles.
“Dad.” My voice sounded rough. “I’m sorry.”
One candle went out. I relit it. A few seconds later, it went out again. The other two burned steadily. I stared.
Mara came into the kitchen. “Stop relighting it.”
“Probably a bad wick.”
“Just stop.”
“It’s his birthday.” She looked at the refrigerator. Her face tightened. “I don’t like this.”
From the living room, Rachel called: “After breakfast, let’s go get Dad.”
My hand trembled around the lighter. Something inside me finally snapped.
* * *
Near noon, she asked again. “When are we leaving?”
I sat across from her. “Rachel.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
She looked at my face. Her expression changed. “What happened to Dad?”
I couldn’t answer.
“Say it.”
“He’s not in his hometown.”
Rachel stood. “I knew you were—”
“He’s dead.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
I told her. Her face drained. “Where’s the body?”
I looked toward the refrigerator. Rachel followed my eyes.
“No.” Her voice turned hoarse. “Evan, don’t tell me—”
“We never reported it.”
“Why?”
I had no energy left to lie. “His pension.” I told her everything. The $2,450. Eight months unemployed. Mara’s medication. The mortgage. The first deposit already spent. I waited for Rachel to slap me. Scream. Call the police.
Instead she sat down. Covered her face. Stayed that way for a long time.
Finally Mara said: “If you want to yell, yell.”
Rachel lowered her hands. Her eyes were red. “Did the pension come this month?”
I stared. “Yeah.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-four fifty.”
She was silent. Then: “Can I have half?”
Mara whipped around. I thought I’d misheard.
Rachel looked at us with an expression that was exhausted, stubborn and desperate all at once. “Dad had two kids.”
On the floor, Noah looked up. At his mother. Then at the refrigerator.
And I realized something more frightening than Rachel discovering the truth. She wasn’t going to turn me in. She wanted in.
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