Before I left for the funeral home, Mara caught my hand. Her fingers were weak and cold.
“You have to help Rachel.”
“I know.”
“But this time…” She looked at me with exhausted, frightened eyes. “…don’t bring another lie home.”
I couldn’t promise.
* * *
At two in the afternoon, the same gray sedan sat across from the funeral home. My phone rang.
“You here?”
“Yes.”
“Got the ledger?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t. I didn’t even know where it was. But lying had become reflex. The only difference was that now I didn’t know how much longer I could keep doing it.
* * *
Behind the funeral home, Rachel stood between the two men. Her wrists were tied. One side of her face was swollen. The moment she saw me, she yelled: “What are you doing here?”
Hoodie jerked her arm. “Quiet.”
I stopped several yards away. “Let her go.”
“Where’s the ledger?”
“Let her go.”
“Give us what we came for.”
Rachel looked at my hands. Then at my face. “You don’t have it.”
I said nothing.
“You don’t have the ledger.”
Hoodie turned toward her. “Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He slapped her.
I stepped forward. The big man blocked me. “Stay there.”
“Don’t touch her.”
“Bring the book.”
“I did.”
“Where?”
I pointed toward the funeral home. “On my father’s body.”
Nobody spoke. Rachel stared at me. Hoodie’s eyes narrowed. “You hid it on the corpse?”
“Not me.” I looked at Rachel. “She did.”
Rachel opened her mouth. Then saw my face. She stopped.
Hoodie squeezed her arm. “That true?”
Rachel held my eyes for a long moment. Then: “Yes.”
She was playing along. One last lie.
“Go get it.”
“I go alone.”
“Why?”
“You think a funeral home is going to let three strangers search a body?”
The men exchanged a look. Hoodie shoved Rachel against the wall. “Go.” Then: “Don’t make us wait.”
I turned toward the building.
* * *
The funeral home was freezing compared with the hot afternoon outside. A staff member led me into the holding area. Dad’s drawer was opened. For the third time in less than a week, I saw him somewhere cold. My refrigerator. The abandoned ice cream shop. Now a funeral home. Maybe this was the only place he should have been from the beginning.
The employee left me alone. The door closed. Just Dad and me.
“I told them you had the ledger.” A dry laugh escaped me. “You think that’s funny?”
Dad said nothing. Of course.
I stared at his face. No anger. No judgment. Nothing. That silence hurt more than most of the things he had said when he was alive.
“You never went looking for us.”
I remembered Rachel and me hiding as kids. One time I’d gotten scared and started to crawl out. Rachel covered my mouth. I almost cried. So she crawled out first. Dad laughed because she had lost. I never told him—Rachel had done it so I could win.
Now she was outside. In danger. And I was hiding again.
Behind Dad’s body. Behind a ledger I didn’t have. Behind the lie that Dad had gone home. Behind the lie about when I found him there. Behind $2,450.
I bowed my head. “I never saved you.” My throat tightened. “I used you to save myself.”
* * *
Knock. I looked up. Knock. Knock. Three sounds from the hall. Then a metal cart rolled past the door. Probably that. Just that.
I looked back at Dad. The one hiding loses before the one looking ever finds them.
And suddenly I understood something. I had spent all this time believing that if I hid well enough, nobody would find me. The pension plan. Police. Rachel. Neighbors. But maybe Dad had been right. The person hiding didn’t have to be found to lose. Living your whole life inside the hiding place was enough.
I took out my phone. I could still walk back outside. Tell the men I couldn’t find the ledger. Invent somewhere else. Buy another hour. Another day. That’s what I’d done since Dad died. Every lie bought me time. And cost me a person. First Mara. Then Noah. Then Rachel.
I looked at my father. “Enough.”
I dialed 911. The dispatcher answered. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“My sister is being held by two men behind a funeral home.” The words came out shaky but clear. “They’re threatening her.”
“Are there weapons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you somewhere safe?”
“I’m inside.”
“Stay inside. Officers are being sent.”
I closed my eyes. “There is something else.”
“Sir?”
“My father is dead.” A pause. “His body is here.”
“Okay.”
“I hid his death.” My chest tightened so hard it hurt. “I kept taking his pension after he died. And I lied about when I brought him here.”
The dispatcher pulled me back to the immediate danger and told me to remain inside until officers made contact. For the first time since Dad died, I wasn’t asking someone to help preserve my secret. I was destroying it myself.
* * *
I don’t know how long I stayed in that cold room. My phone vibrated. I didn’t answer. Eventually I heard shouting outside. Running footsteps. Sirens. I stepped into the hallway. An employee hurried past. “There are police outside.”
“I know.”
By the time I reached the back lot, the big man was facedown on the ground. Two officers had Hoodie against the gray sedan. Rachel stood near the wall with her hands free. She saw me and rushed over.
For one stupid second, I thought she was going to hug me. She slapped me. Hard.
“I told you not to come.”
I held my cheek. “I didn’t have another choice.”
Her hand came up again. Then stopped. “Don’t.”
I stared at her. Her eyes were red with anger and pain. “Don’t say that anymore.” Her voice broke. “We’ve both said it enough.”
I couldn’t answer.
An officer approached. “Are you the caller?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll need a statement.”
I looked back toward the funeral home. Dad was still inside. For the first time, I didn’t think about money. Didn’t think about where to move him. Didn’t think about the next lie.
“I have something else to report.”
The officer waited.
“I concealed my father’s death.”
Rachel closed my eyes—no, closed her eyes.
“I kept receiving pension payments after he died. And I gave false information about when I found him.” I took a trembling breath. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Hot wind moved across the parking lot. No knocking. No refrigerator. No voice coming from somewhere cold.
I’d been hiding since the morning Dad died. Finally—I stepped out.
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