Chapter 2: Three Nights in the Cold
By Friday morning, my fingers were so stiff I struggled to open the bottle of water.
I hadn't slept more than an hour at a time. Every time the washing machine kicked on, the vibration traveled through the concrete and into my mattress. Whenever the wind picked up, cold air slipped beneath the garage door and curled around my ankles.
At six-thirty, I heard footsteps approaching the interior door.
I scrambled upright.
“Vanessa?””
The door opened just wide enough for her face to appear.
“Keep your voice down. Brittany is sleeping.””
“Can I come inside for breakfast?””
She glanced at my tangled hair and the blanket around my shoulders.
“There's water in the bottle.””
“I'm hungry.””
“Then you should have thought about that before deciding to be difficult.””
“I didn't decide anything. You put me here.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you want me to tell your father you threatened Brittany last night?””
“I didn't threaten her!””
“Keep shouting. See how that works out for you.””
I lowered my voice immediately.
Vanessa smiled.
“That's what I thought.””
She handed me a bottle of water and closed the door.
I waited until her footsteps faded, then crept to the small window facing the backyard. Through the glass, I could see the kitchen window glowing with warm yellow light.
Brittany sat at the island in her pajamas, eating pancakes.
She looked directly toward the garage.
When our eyes met, she lifted a forkful of pancake and smiled.
Then she raised her phone and took a picture.
A minute later, mine buzzed in her hand through the window's reflection. She was using her own phone to message someone.
I couldn't see the screen, but I imagined the caption.
Look at Cinderella.
I turned away before she could take another picture.
For breakfast, I found half a granola bar in the pocket of my backpack. I ate it slowly, trying to make it last.
At school, I usually ate lunch with my best friend, Kayla. But my phone was gone, and I couldn't tell her what was happening. I couldn't even ask her to pick me up.
When the school bus dropped me off that afternoon, I watched the house from the driveway.
My bedroom window had new pink curtains.
Brittany's favorite music played upstairs.
I went to the garage.
That evening, I tried the interior door again.
“Vanessa? Please. I need my school clothes.””
She opened it with an irritated sigh.
“What now?””
“My uniforms are in my closet.””
“Then wear something else.””
“My school requires a uniform.””
“That's unfortunate.””
She started closing the door.
I shoved my hand against it, desperate to make her listen.
“Dad wouldn't want this!””
Vanessa stopped.
For a moment, something ugly crossed her face.
“Your father trusts me to run this household. He doesn't need a miserable little girl calling him every time she doesn't get her way.””
“Then let me call him.””
“No.””
“Why are you so afraid of me talking to him?””
Her expression changed instantly.
She opened the door wider, stepped into the garage, and grabbed my arm.
“Listen carefully, Emily. Your father is trying to save his company from a financial disaster. He is exhausted. If you call him crying about sleeping arrangements, he will blame you for distracting him.””
I stared at her.
“His company isn't in trouble.””
“You don't know anything about his business.””
“Dad tells me things.””
“Not anymore, apparently.””
She released my arm and pointed toward the mattress.
“Stay here. Don't come inside unless I allow it.””
Then she went back into the house.
I sat down slowly.
Something about her words bothered me more than the cold.
Dad had never mentioned a financial disaster. He'd told me the Dallas project was going well and that he was hoping to take me to Savannah over Thanksgiving break.
Why would Vanessa lie about something like that?
I thought about the calls Dad had made during the previous week. Twice, Vanessa had answered my phone and told him I was busy studying. Once, she'd claimed I was at Kayla's house for a sleepover.
I'd believed she was simply trying to control me.
Now I wondered what else she'd been telling him.
On Saturday morning, I woke with a pounding headache and a cough that scraped my throat raw.
I tried standing, but the garage tilted around me. I caught the edge of the washing machine and waited for the dizziness to pass.
My backpack lay open beside the mattress. Inside was a photograph of my mother and me at the lake, taken the summer before she died.
In it, I was eleven, with crooked bangs and a missing front tooth. Mom had her arm around me, and we were laughing at something outside the frame.
I touched the photograph.
“I miss you,” I whispered.
The words came out as a sob.
For the first time since Vanessa had moved me into the garage, I let myself cry.
I cried for my mother, for my father, and for the terrifying realization that the people inside the house could hear me and still choose to ignore me.
Then I heard the interior door open.
I wiped my face quickly.
Vanessa entered carrying a laundry basket.
She stopped when she saw the photograph in my hand.
“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she said.
“Are you still doing that?””
I held the picture against my chest.
“Doing what?””
“Using your dead mother to make everyone feel sorry for you.””
I stood up, trembling.
“Don't talk about her like that.””
Vanessa dropped the laundry basket.
Clothes spilled across the floor.
“What did you say?””
“You heard me.””
She stepped forward, picked up the photograph, and examined it.
Then she held it over the open washing machine.
“Maybe it's time you stopped living in the past.””
“Vanessa, don't!””
She let the picture fall.
I lunged forward and caught it just before it landed in the water.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Get out of my way.””
“Please,” I whispered, clutching the photograph.
“It's all I have left.””
She brushed past me and picked up the laundry.
“Then learn to take better care of your things.””
The door slammed behind her.
I sank onto the mattress, holding the damp corner of the photograph against my shirt.
That night, I heard Brittany talking loudly on the phone upstairs.
“Yeah, she's still out there,” she said, laughing.
“Mom says she might have to stay longer if Dad doesn't come home.””
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Then Brittany said something that made my blood run cold.
“Honestly, I hope she never comes back inside. Once Dad signs those papers, Mom says everything will finally belong to us.””
I pressed my ear against the door.
“What papers?”” I whispered.
Brittany laughed again.
“I know. It's perfect. Dad won't even realize what happened until it's too late.””
Footsteps approached the door, and I stumbled backward.
The handle rattled.
“Emily?”” Vanessa called from the other side.
“Are you listening?””
I said nothing.
The handle rattled again.
Then Vanessa spoke in a voice so quiet it barely carried through the wood.
“If you tell Michael anything about what you've heard, you'll wish I'd left you outside permanently.””
May you like
I stood frozen in the dark.
And for the first time, I understood that being forced into the garage might not be the worst thing Vanessa had planned for me.
