Chapter 14: The Staff Door

Dad did not ask me to do anything.

He said, "Colin, get the car," and Colin said, "You can't drive, Dad," and they both looked at the keys in Dad's shaking hand.

I took the keys out of it.

"I'm driving," I said. "This is the exception."

"I know," Dad said.

I drove the whole way with the radio off and Mom in the back seat saying the same three words, "Please be empty."

I had labeled pallets at Annex Two for two summers, on the payroll, for eleven dollars an hour.

I knew the loading dock, the freezer corridors and the staff door by the dumpsters, which opened with the code 4417.

I did not tell anyone I knew it.

It did not seem like the time.

Black smoke stood over the roof vent when we pulled in, and two fire trucks sat across the lot with their hoses already out.

Dad's operations manager was at the tape line in a hard hat, waving both arms.

"Everyone's out," he said. "The night crew left at six. The day crew's all accounted for."

"Everyone?" Dad said.

"Everyone but the cleaner. Her car's still in the lot."

Dad started walking toward the building.

Mom caught his sleeve with both hands, and Colin caught Mom around the waist.

They stood there in a line at the tape, three Halvorsons leaning the wrong way, and a firefighter said, "Sir, nobody goes in."

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