A promise to speak to his grandmother later.
I stepped farther inside.
“Is your grandmother home?”
“She was when I left for school.”
“Does she usually meet you outside?”
“Sometimes.”
He closed the door behind us and lowered his voice.
“But this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”
His words made me stop.
On the wall beside the kitchen hung a calendar from the previous year. Every square had been crossed out in blue ink except October 14.
That date had been circled three times.
Beneath the calendar sat a small table covered with unopened mail. Several envelopes had red notices printed across them. Others appeared to be birthday cards that had never been mailed.
Silas walked past them.
“Back here.”
He led me through the kitchen, stepping sideways between a chair piled with blankets and a stack of empty canning jars. The refrigerator hummed. A kettle sat on the stove, and two clean cups rested beside it.
That detail caught my attention.
Two cups.
One had dried tea at the bottom.
The other still held a little warmth when I touched it.
“Did your grandmother have company this morning?”
Silas shook his head.
“She says nobody comes here.”
At the rear of the kitchen stood a tall pantry cabinet. It looked ordinary until Silas reached behind a hanging apron and pulled a small brass key from a hook.
He inserted it into a lock I had not noticed.
