Chapter 13: Unpacking the Suitcase
Daniel parked in the driveway instead of the garage. That was new. The afternoon light was still warm on the brick street when we got out, and the house looked the same from the outside, but the front door was locked and none of Victoria's heels were by the mat.
Daniel unlocked it and held it open for us. I could smell the cleaner I'd used that morning, lemon and something else, too sharp because no one had aired the house out.
Inside, the entryway was too tidy. Her mail was stacked in a straight pile on the console, her coat gone but the hanger still swaying a little like someone had pulled it fast.
Milo ran ahead to the living room and stopped short, like he was checking if she was still there. Lucas stayed close to my leg, his hand finding the hem of my jumpsuit.
"She's not here," Daniel said quietly. He set his keys down. "Sheriff said she won't come until tomorrow at noon. Just us tonight."
I nodded and pulled my worn brown suitcase over the threshold myself this time. The wheels caught once on the rug. That scuff had been there for three years.
I carried it back to the small bedroom off the laundry that had been mine for eight months. The boys followed without being asked. The closet door was still half open where I'd left it. The hangers were empty except for two that had fallen to the floor.
I lifted the suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. The sound was loud in the quiet house.
"Can we help?" Lucas asked.
"You can fold," I said.
He and Milo climbed onto the bed on their knees. I handed them shirts one by one. They weren't folded well, the way I'd packed in a hurry that morning, sleeves tangled. Milo tried to match the corners and gave up and just smoothed the fabric with his palms. Lucas held each shirt up like he was checking it was still the same one.
I put them back in the dresser drawer, one stack at a time. My navy jumpsuits, my t-shirts, the sweater with the loose thread at the cuff. Nothing fancy. When the bottom of the suitcase showed, there was just the lint and a bobby pin I'd lost months ago.
From the bathroom I took my yellow glove. I'd thrown it in the side pocket that morning without thinking. I rinsed it under warm water in the small sink, turned it inside out, washed it with soap until the suds ran clear. The boys watched. I shook it out and hung it over the closet doorknob to dry, the way I always did. The bright yellow looked right again against the white door.
Daniel appeared in the doorway. He held a small silver lockbox, the kind with a combination.
"I want you both to see this," he said to the boys, then looked at me. "So there's no question."
He opened it and took out a single brass house key with a pink leather tag that said V. M. He held it up, then dropped it into his own pocket. He shut the box.
"Garage code too," he said. He walked to the keypad by the laundry door and pressed the buttons where we could all see. Old code, clear, new code. He didn't say the numbers out loud, just let us watch his fingers move, then tested it once. The light blinked green.
Milo stared at the blinking light. "Does that mean she can't come in at night?"
"That's what it means," Daniel said. "Only people who live here have the code now. That’s us."
He didn't touch me, didn't make it a moment. He just left his hand on the doorframe for a second and then let go.
When the dresser was full, Lucas sat back on his heels on the bed. The empty suitcase was still open behind him. He looked at it, then at me, and his face did that small, tight thing it did before he asked something he was afraid to ask.
"Miss Emily, are you still going to leave?" he said. His voice was very small.
Milo went still beside him. I could hear the dryer ticking in the next room even though it wasn't on.
I sat on the edge of the bed so we were at the same height. I took a breath. For a second I didn't answer, because I wanted to give them a true answer, not an easy one. The court had said my firing was retaliatory, that I could stay, but Daniel and I hadn't signed anything yet. I hadn't decided in the way that mattered.
"I'm not packing that suitcase again without telling you first," I said. "Honestly. If I ever need to go somewhere, I will tell you before I zip it. I won't just be gone when you wake up. Okay?"
Lucas swallowed and nodded. Milo nodded too, harder.
"Okay," Lucas whispered. He reached out and zipped the empty suitcase shut himself. The zipper caught halfway and he had to pull it again. I didn't help him. He got it.
We left the suitcase standing empty in the closet, unlatched but empty. That felt more honest than hiding it.
A little after six, Daniel brought in two white plastic bags from the diner on Route 9. No one had wanted to cook. He set them on the kitchen island and pulled out the styrofoam boxes.
Pancakes for Milo, grilled cheese and tomato soup for Lucas, a chicken sandwich for me, fries for the table. Victoria had never let the boys eat at the island. She said it made the stools greasy and that dinner was at the table with placemats or not at all.
Daniel handed out forks without counting them. We climbed onto the stools, the three of us on one side, him on the other, knees bumping the cabinets. The soup steamed. Lucas dipped his sandwich and got soup on his chin and didn't wipe it right away.
For the first time in months, no one told him to use a napkin correctly. He wiped it with the back of his hand when he remembered, and Daniel just smiled a tired, real smile.
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"We should eat here more often," Daniel said quietly.
We ate until the boxes were empty and the kitchen smelled like salt and syrup instead of lemon cleaner. Outside, the streetlights on the brick road came on one by one.
