We look happy in that moment, our grins wide, eyes shut as we hold each other tight, even though I know so much must have been going on for Mom during that time. Does she still wonder what happened to Dad? Did she stay in Monchaville because she thought that would keep her close to him—or did she have no other choice? A single mom, with no money and big dreams of becoming a chef but no way to go about it. Monchaville was a security net so wide, it was impossible to miss.

Impossible to say no to.

There’s another photograph next to it. One of my dad as a young man. He’s wearing a white lab coat, and at his feet is a beautiful German shepherd baku. The silver frame is tarnished in a couple of places—and when I pick it up, I realize it’s browned in exactly the places someone would hold it in their hand. Mom must hold this photograph all the time.

The thought fills me with sadness.

I tear my eyes away from the picture and spot the black garbage bags in the corner of the room. I pick up the first one and grunt at how heavy it is. I immediately drop it back down on the floor.

>>Holy bakus, what has she got in there, a ton of bricks?

Jinx slides in through a small crack in the door, jumping up onto Mom’s bed and not offering to help me at all.

“I knew I should’ve got a stronger baku, then you could have lifted this to the trash chute for me.”

>>I’m your companion, not your slave.

Jinx licks his paw.

“One thing you have right—I have no clue what she has in here that weighs so much.”

I feel awkward about opening the bag. Mom and I have always respected each other’s privacy. She doesn’t poke around inside my basement locker, allowing me to keep all my weird and wacky treasures. As long as I’m not doing anything too illegal, she’s happy to mind her own business. As a result, I almost never go into her room, unless she’s specifically asked me to. If I didn’t want my mom to snoop on me, I wasn’t going to snoop on her.

But this is stuff that she wants to throw away. So there can’t be any harm in looking. Also, I have this aversion to throwing potentially useful things away. Zora says one day I’ll be found buried under a mountain of useless electronic equipment. Maybe there’s something in the bags I can salvage for use in the locker. I’m sure I heard a clink of metal when I put the bag down.

I untie the top of the black bag and peer in. “Wow, this is weird,” I mutter, half to Jinx and half to myself.