That night Nora slept next to me, one foot against my leg. Twice I descended to open the drawer. Twice I glanced at the tablet under the menus and batteries and hoped to turn it off.
Both times I shut the drawer. Afterward, I headed back upstairs and lay awake beside her.
At 5:15 Tuesday, Grant kissed us farewell. His truck departed on schedule. I must have slept briefly, because when I opened my eyes again, the clock read 5:39.
Downstairs, someone turned a handle.
It clicked against its lock, paused, then rattled violently. The Hendersons’ beagle barked next door.
Grabbing my phone and Nora, I hurried into the windowless hallway bathroom. I locked us in and placed her in the tub.
“Mommy?”
I covered her with a towel. “It’s like hide-and-seek, Nora-bug. Stay here and don’t make a sound.”
Afterward, I sat with my back against the door and called 911. I whispered our address and Shelton’s name.
