Chapter 3 - My Dead Father's Rent
"My father has been dead for twelve years."
The storage manager, a man named Pete, cleared his throat.
"Then someone has been paying in his name."
"How?"
"Money orders. Cash sometimes. No online account."
"Can we access the unit?"
"If you've got the key and proof you're next of kin, I can call the owner."
I looked at the evidence bag on the kitchen counter.
The police had returned the key because it wasn't illegal property and Marlene denied it belonged to her.
That denial made me want the unit open even more.
Noah and I stood in front of a dented green metal door at the back of a storage facility twenty minutes outside town.
117.
The key turned.
Inside sat three plastic bins, an old rocking chair, two banker boxes, and a locked steel case.
Noah exhaled. "This is what she was scared of?"
I opened the first box.
Baby clothes.
Not Sofia's.
Mine.
Tiny hospital bracelets.
My childhood vaccination records.
Then a second folder.
EMILY HARPER.
Noah looked at me.
"Who is Emily?"
"My sister."
"You don't have a sister."
"I did."
"She died when she was six months old. Before I was born."
Marlene rarely spoke about her. She said Emily died after a seizure in her crib.
I opened the file.
There were hospital discharge papers, handwritten notes from my father, and photographs of a baby with my eyes.
Across one medical page, my father had written in red ink:
Marlene lied about the medication.
Noah read it over my shoulder.
"What medication?"
There were dates. Dosages. Emergency room visits. Symptoms that appeared only when my mother was alone with Emily.
Then a letter addressed to me.
CLAIRE - IF YOU FIND THIS, I FAILED TO TELL YOU IN TIME.
My hands went numb.
Before I could open it, a car door slammed outside.
Footsteps approached the unit.
Noah stepped in front of me.
A shadow crossed the entrance.
May you like
Then my mother's voice came from the other side of the metal wall.
"Claire, put the letter down."
