Chapter 6: The House

On Sunday morning my key no longer fit my own front door.

I stood on the porch of the house on Maple Street with my brother beside me and two bikers at the bottom of the steps.

The brass lock was new. It had not been there on Friday.

"He changed it," I said.

"Saturday," Alec said. "Look at the scratches on the frame. They did it fast."

I rang the bell anyway.

Across the road, the woman with the garden hose turned the water off and folded her arms to watch.

The door opened a few inches on the chain.

Candace looked out. She was wearing my grey sweatshirt, the one with the university crest, and her hair was loose.

"Betsy," she said. "You can't be here."

"I live here."

"Clint said you aren't to come in. He said it's for your safety."

"Open the door."

"I can't. He's on his way home from church."

I almost laughed.

"Candace, I need my father's things. A box in the garage, my work shoes, my passport and my clothes. Five minutes."

"Clint will be here in ten."

"Then you'd better open the door."

She shut it.

I heard the deadbolt turn.

One of the bikers, a wide man with a white beard, cracked his knuckles and looked at the door.

"No," I said. "Not like that."

"Ma'am, it's a ten-dollar lock."

"If he sees you break it, he has a reason. I don't want to give him one."

I went around to the side of the garage and punched in the code on the keypad, six-two-two-one-nine-four, my father's birthday.

Clint had never changed it. He had never thought I would come back through the side.

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