Chip’s place.
The old woman knocked on the sliding glass patio door, then listened.
“He’s still at Aspen’s,” Margaret said. “But he’ll be back soon.”
She slid the glass door open and grabbed Kiersten’s hand.
“This way.” She tugged Kiersten into the basement level of her son’s home, her grip insistent, urgent.
Someone with money and good taste had recently remodeled this basement. It smelled fresh and clean, with a sleek, modern look. Gray porcelain tile covered the floor, a pool table commanded the center of the room, and a giant TV dominated the far wall. A well-equipped home gym with a Peloton and a bench press took up the rest of the space in the open main room.
“Thisis our original house,” Margaret said. “The house where Chip was born. Chip wanted this one when he got married because it’s bigger and has better views of the river. So we bought the house next door and gave him this house as a wedding gift. And we bought the house on the other side and gave that to Aspen and Trey when they got married.”
The old woman gazed up at Kiersten, but she couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.
“So where is—” Kiersten began.
“The fallout shelter.” The old woman beckoned with her hand. “I wouldn’t let them touch it. This way.”
Margaret took her hand and led her through the exercise room to a bolted door on the far side of the room.
“This?” Kiersten asked.
The old woman nodded, and Kiersten slid the bolt open and turned the dead bolt lock. Then she tried to open the door, but it stuck. Kiersten pushed against it with her shoulder, and it finally opened with a loud creak.
A dry, earthen smell filled her nostrils as she stepped inside the shelter. Once again, she raised her hand above her head and felt for the string. Her fingers grasped it, and she pulled.
Light flooded the room as she gazed around in wonder. It felt like entering a time machine and stepping into the past.
Two cots. A table and chairs. A rough shelf held ancient cardboard boxes, canned goods, board games, first aid supplies, everything covered in dust.
Nailed to the wooden shelves, a yellowing calendar displayed the month of October in the year 1965. And across the bottom ran the wordsDon’t forget your next oil change! Thank you for being an Anderson Motors customer!
“She was smart,” Margaret said. “Smart as a whip. She left something behind.”
“In the floor?” Kiersten asked.
The old woman shook her head.
“Where?”
Margaret pointed to a stack of board games on a shelf in the corner. “Yahtzee.”
Yahtzee?
Kiersten frowned, then knelt by the shelf and unstacked the neat pile of ancient cardboard boxes. Scrabble. Monopoly. Checkers. Then she removed the cover from the board game at the bottom of the pile.
Memories flooded her mind at the sight of the dice, the black plastic cup lined with green felt in which to shake them, the pad of white scorecards, and little pencils. She’d played this game at her grandparents’ house countless times, after Thanksgiving dinner or on Christmas Eve.
Then she paused.Scorecards. Pencils.
She pulled a pad of blank scorecards out of the box and turned them over.
Dottie’s handwriting covered the backside of the pages.
Chapter Ninety-Three
Dottie
