Chapter 2 - The Box in the Attic
The next morning I found her in the attic — technically her attic, though I'd been staying with her a few weeks while my building dealt with a plumbing problem. She was kneeling beside a stack of boxes. One old wooden box sat open in front of her.
Inside was a tiny blue baby blanket. Faded cotton, a white satin trim. One corner had initials embroidered into it. N.W. Naomi's initials. Except underneath them, stitched smaller, another set. E.W.
I touched the edge. "Who is E.W.?"
Mom shut the box, but it was too late — I already had questions.
"Mom."
Before she could answer, someone pounded on the front door. We both froze. Then Naomi yelled from downstairs. "Mom!"
I went down first. Naomi stood outside alone, no babies, no Coleman. Leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, no makeup, hair tied up wet. Her eyes were red raw.
"Where are the twins?" Mom asked behind me.
"They're with Coleman."
Naomi stepped inside, eyes darting across the room.
"Are they okay?"
"They're safe."
Her eyes landed on the wooden box in Mom's hands, and her whole face changed. "Give me the blanket."
Mom tightened her grip, voice shaking. "No."
"Mom, please."
"Why are you here, Naomi?"
Naomi's voice cracked. "Because I knew you'd do this."
"Do what?"
"Drag it out. Make me stand here and beg for something that was never yours to hide in the first place."
I looked between them. "Would somebody please tell me what's going on?"
Naomi burst into tears, covering her mouth with both hands, bending forward like she was fighting not to be sick. Mom reached for her. Naomi stepped back. The blanket slipped. Something fell out of the folds and hit the hardwood floor — an old, yellowed hospital bracelet.
Mom moved fast for seventy-eight. She bent down, but I got there first.
"Give me that," she said, sharp.
I held it out of her reach. In that exact moment, Naomi turned and locked the front door behind her. The click sounded far louder than it should have.
"Nobody's leaving until she says it," Naomi said.
May you like
Mom stared at her. I looked down at the bracelet. The plastic had gone cloudy with age. A paper strip inside read: EVERETT W. MALE. Then a date — the same date as Naomi's birthday.
I read it twice. My hands went cold. "Who is Everett?"
