Chapter 5 - Mom's Sister's Secret
I didn't sleep after I heard her breathing on the other side of that door.
I sat at the top of the stairs until the house went quiet again, until I heard Dad's door click shut and Mom's soft footsteps disappear into their bedroom. Then I went down to the kitchen and waited. I knew Mom would come back. She always got up before anyone else.
The clock on the microwave said 5:17 when she came in. She was still in the light blouse and dark trousers from last night, just with her hair pulled back now. She stopped dead when she saw me at the table.
She didn't turn on the big light. Just the one over the stove. Her face was pale in that low glow.
"Lily," she said. "You scared me."
"I stayed up," I said.
She went to the coffeemaker like she didn't hear me. Her hands weren't steady. She scooped the grounds and spilled some on the counter and just left it there.
"Mom. I talked to her."
Her hand froze on the coffee scoop. She didn't turn around.
"You didn't," she said, quiet.
"I did. Through the door. I whispered and she whispered back."
That was the part I'd been holding since last night. The girl's voice had been small and hoarse, like she hadn't used it in a while. She'd said her throat hurt. She'd asked if Mom was mad that I'd found her plate. She hadn't told me her name, but she'd said she was seventeen. That was enough.
Mom finally turned. She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms, like she was cold.
"Please tell me you didn't open the door," she said.
"I didn't. You locked it. Dad has the flashlight."
She closed her eyes for a second. I could hear her breathing.
"Mom, who is she?"
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and something in her face gave way. She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down hard.
"Her name is Emma," she said.
The way she said it, I knew before she explained. It wasn't a stranger's name.
"My sister's daughter," she said. "My niece. From Ohio."
I hadn't seen my aunt in years. Mom didn't talk about her much, just that they didn't get along after their mom died, that they'd said things they couldn't take back.
"She's seventeen," Mom went on. Her voice was low and fast, like she'd been rehearsing this and hated every word. "She showed up two nights ago. Just... on the doorstep. With a backpack. It was after midnight. You were already asleep."
I remembered that night. I'd thought I'd heard the doorbell, but Mom had said it was the TV.
"Why didn't you tell us?" I asked. "Why didn't you tell Dad?"
"Because she begged me not to." Mom's eyes filled. She didn't wipe them. "Her stepfather... Lily, she said he grabs her. He shoved her into a wall last week. She showed me a bruise on her shoulder. She said if I called her mom, her mom would just bring her right back and say she was lying."
She swallowed.
"She made me promise. She said 'Aunt Jenna, please, promise you won't call anyone. Just let me stay a couple days until I figure it out.' And I promised my sister a long time ago that if her kids ever needed me, I'd be there. I broke so many promises to my sister already."
The kitchen was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming. Outside the window it was still dark, the streetlights still on.
"So you hid her in the office?" I said.
"I didn't know what else to do. I told her she could stay in there until I figured out how to help her without breaking my promise. I was bringing her food so no one would hear her in the kitchen. I thought if I could just have a few days..."
She reached across the table then, and her hand found mine. Her fingers were cold.
"I'm so scared, Lily. If I call my sister, Emma says she'll run. If I call anyone else, they might send her back. I didn't want you involved."
"But I am involved," I said. "She's in our house. Dad's holding a flashlight waiting to open that door."
Mom nodded, tears spilling now. She didn't look away.
"I know," she whispered. "I know."
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I squeezed her hand. I didn't know what to say that would make it better. I finally knew the name, the face I hadn't seen, the reason Mom had been sliding that white plate under the door like she was doing something shameful. It wasn't shame. It was guilt, and fear, and a promise she'd made to her sister before Emma was even born.
And now it was my secret too.
