Chapter 4

"That's a lie!"

Every scrap of the composure I'd been so proud of shattered in that instant.

My mother couldn't even remember where our home was. How could she have locked the car on purpose?

She was smearing my mother on purpose.

I raised my hand and slapped her.

The crack of it rang out, and the room went dead silent.

Hildegarde cupped her cheek, the tears coming faster now.

Charles pushed her behind him, his chest heaving with fury, and roared at me.

"You dare put a hand on her?"

"Didn't you hear her frame my mother? My mother is so sick she doesn't even recognize me. What gives her the right to smear her?"

Charles cut me off, his voice sharp.

"She wasn't wrong!"

"I've seen the footage from that day. Before your mother locked the car, she really did look back!"

"Hildegarde let it go because she's an invalid, and here you are, pushing your luck!"

He pointed at the door of the cold-storage room, his voice cold as ice.

"Since you can't manage your mother, I'll do it for you."

"Where are the guards? Take her in and lock her up for two hours!"

"When she knows she's in the wrong and is willing to apologize to Hildegarde, then we open the door!"

"Charles, are you insane? Two hours will freeze her to death!"

I rushed forward to stop them, but the guards pinned me down.

"She won't die."

"I'll have them put two down jackets in with her. That's plenty of warmth. Two hours of cold, nothing more. Nothing's going to happen."

I screamed at him, my eyes burning red.

"But what if it does? Can you take the responsibility for that? That's my mother!"

"I can."

His eyes were ice, without a shred of give.

"Ethel, I'm warning you for the last time. The twenty-plus thousand a month for your mother's medication and her caregiver, every cent of that comes from me."

"Keep making trouble, and starting tomorrow, I won't give you a single cent of it. Your choice."

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

The shards cracked open somewhere in my chest, and the ache of it went bone-deep.

He was right.

I had no job, no savings.

I couldn't hold this family up, and I couldn't save my mother.

Every bit of standing I had, he'd given me.

If he wanted to take it back, it would cost him a single sentence.

I looked at my mother, held fast by the guards, and the tears finally fell.

"Charles, I was wrong. I shouldn't have run my mouth, I shouldn't have hit Miss Pruitt. Please don't lock her in there, all right?"

He let go and turned his face away, cold.

"I gave you the chance a moment ago and you didn't take it. Now it's too late."

Hildegarde tugged at his arm.

"Mr. Gilbert, maybe just let it go... Ethel already apologized..."

Charles patted her hand, his tone going soft.

"No. Some people never learn the rules until they're taught a lesson."

The iron door was hauled open, and the cold poured out.

I watched them shove my mother inside.

The door shut in my face again.

I pounded on it, shouting.

Pounded until my palms ached.

From inside came only the broken, hitching sobs of an old woman.

Charles stood behind me, his voice flat.

"Two hours. You stand here and think about what you've done."

With that, he turned and left, Hildegarde with him.

Only the two guards stayed, posted at the door.

I leaned against the freezing door and counted the time, second by second.

The second hand circled round and round.

Every second was its own slow cut.

I pictured my mother curled into a ball in there, and my heart hurt like it would burst.

Two hours finally passed.

I spun to the guards at once.

"Time's up. Open the door!"

The two of them stood ramrod straight, not moving an inch.

"Without Mr. Gilbert's order, we can't open it."

"Charles said it himself. Two hours, then open the door!"

The guards were expressionless.

"We only take orders from Mr. Gilbert. If he didn't say open it, it stays shut."

A chill shot up from the soles of my feet.

"What is he playing at? Going back on his word?"

I lunged forward to open it myself, but a guard's arm blocked me.

"Mrs. Fox, please cooperate."

I was shaking all over, pointing at them, too furious to get a word out.

Just then the radio at a guard's waist crackled.

I couldn't make out what was said.

The two guards exchanged a glance and walked off without a backward look.

Something dropped in my chest, and all at once panic took me.

"Don't go, open the door!"

But no one paid me any mind.

The footsteps grew fainter and finally vanished altogether.

The empty cold-storage warehouse held only me.

And, behind the iron door, my mother, whether alive or dead I didn't know.

I searched everywhere for a key like a madwoman.

I tore through the drawers at the duty desk until they were a wreck.

At last, in an iron box shoved to the very back, my fingers found a spare key.

My hands shook so badly it took three tries to line it up with the lock.

A click, and it opened.

I wrenched the door back.

The biting cold hit me full in the face, and I shuddered.

My mother sat against the far corner wall, on the floor.

Her head tilted to one side, eyes closed.

She still wore the sun jacket she'd left the house in, and a thin layer of white frost had settled over her shoulders.

Set neatly by her feet were the two down jackets.

The clear plastic packaging was intact, the seal never even broken.

In her sickness and confusion she'd had no idea they were for her to wear, no memory of how to tear the packaging open.

She'd just hugged her knees and huddled into the corner, holding out to the very end.

I stumbled over, crouched down, and touched her face.

Cold.

Like a stone with no warmth in it.

"Mom?"

I called out, testing, my voice trembling.

No answer.

I reached for her neck.

My fingertips met only cold.

No breath, no heartbeat.

She just sat there quietly, as if she were asleep.

Never again to call me her little girl, never again to take my hand and tell me she was cold.

I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound would come.

The tears struck her frozen clothes and went cold in an instant.

Behind me, all at once, came Charles's impatient voice.

"Are you done making a scene? If you know you were wrong then—"