She took a bite of her breakfast burrito; it was the size of a small country and absolutely delicious. Maybe she and Katie should adopt a dog. Maybe Sherri should join Tinder. Was she too old for Tinder? Probably she was. Were people on Tinder looking for a slightly worn single mother with a secret past? Probably they weren’t. She sighed.

“I think we should do some updating,” Katie was saying as she worked her way through her pancakes. “To the house? Don’t you think it would be fun to do that, Mom? Maybe we could get a rug for the kitchen floor, like Morgan has. Something really bright. And some throw pillows for your bed! Wouldn’t you like to have some pretty throw pillows on your bed? They have them at Homegoods, do you think we should go to Homegoods?”

“Maybe,” said Sherri, turning her attention back to Katie. “Sure, we can go to Homegoods.”

“Today?”

“Why not?” Sherri was feeling flush, with the new job and all. “We’ll go today, after breakfast.” Bobby would never have wanted Sherri shopping in a Homegoods. He loathed discount shopping—he called it “shopping for other people’s castoffs.” She’d liked that he hadn’t wanted her to have other people’s castoffs.

“When’s your first day at work?” asked Katie.

“July sixth. In the evening.”

“The evening?” Katie looked stricken. “What will I do? Will I stay alone?”

“Will you be okay if you do?” Sherri asked.

“Yes,” said Katie’s voice—but her eyes told a different story.

“We’ll figure something out,” said Sherri. “I promise: we’ll figure something out.”

While they were waiting for the bill she pulled out her phone and texted Rebecca. I forgot to get Alexa’s number from you 😬 (she added the slightly chagrined emoji, to convey that it was probably her own fault). RE: Babysitting.

The first time Sherri found something was an accident. She was in Bobby’s office, looking for a stapler, and she dropped the papers she was holding. They slipped right out of her hands, almost like they wanted to lead her to something. When she bent to pick them up, she saw that the floor vent register under his desk chair was slightly askew. In her attempt to straighten it—Bobby was fastidious, she knew he wouldn’t want anything out of place in the house—she pulled at it, thinking she had to take it all the way off to put it back on straight. After she removed the register, she saw that four of the large floor tiles slid out of place too.

And underneath was not the place where forced hot air came out in the winter. Underneath was a hiding place, sort of a tunnel.