Chapter Sixteen #2
She moved a few packages aside, sending dust flying—although wasn’t dust just dead skin, so didn’t that mean the dead meat was seeping into her nostrils?
The scent wasn’t bad, but it didn’t smell like nothing either.
It smelled like time and confinement, distinct enough to make Imani drop the package to cover her nose and mouth with her other hand.
With her right hand, which felt soiled inside the glove now, she moved more old meat packages aside, stacking them while she burrowed down. How much meat was hidden here?
The freezer didn’t have shelves. She didn’t keep digging beyond six layers, but she saw no bottom to it.
As far as Imani could see, the entire space was packed with meat.
Maybe fifty packages, she guessed—nearly one package for every year the meat had been undiscovered.
The packages were as cold as the garage.
During the summers, the old locked freezer must have baked in the heat.
Imani didn’t want to guess about the dark moldy spots spattered across the freezer’s inner lid, but she couldn’t help it. Ugh.
Imani hurriedly replaced the packages she’d moved so she could slam the freezer lid back down.
It rested slightly askew now because she had disturbed the order within, and she didn’t like the sight of the dark gap where the ancient meat dust might be floating out.
The heaviest thing she saw to weigh it down with was the red gas can.
Dad might not like her moving it, but she’d rather face his irritation than leave the freezer lid askew.
With the gas can on top of the freezer, the gap was almost gone, the lid’s shrunken seal like pursed lips. Imani still had her gloves on, but her skin tingled. When she was younger, she used to wash her hands over and over, and she wanted to do that again for the first time in years.
She backed away from the freezer and flung open the door to run into the house.
As it turned out, Imani didn’t want to be alone after all.
The faucet in the kitchen’s narrow sink took forever to heat the water, so Imani washed her hands for a long time, rubbing antibacterial dish detergent that smelled like overripe oranges between her fingers, while Sharise helped Mom grill burgers.
The orange smell was disgusting, but it was the only soap nearby.
Imani had been wearing gloves when she touched the old meat packages—and why had she touched them, exactly?
—but her palms were tingling the way they used to in elementary school, as if they were vibrating with cooties.
She noticed Mom and Sharise exchanging knowing looks, so she finally turned off the faucet, which whined like it was begging her to finish cleansing herself.
She grabbed a dish towel to dry her hands, sure to reach the webby skin between each finger.
The old freezer felt like the beating heart of something important. And dangerous.
Her old therapist, Dr. Kim, had helped her see that she washed her hands because it helped her feel in control.
So what if her great-grandmother had a lot of meat?
This had been a lodge with rich guests, and maybe rich guests really liked steaks—like, a lot.
And then they got sick of eating steak every day and— The packages sat in the freezer for fifty years?
With a padlock? It didn’t make sense, just like the white Jeep outside, parked as if the driver had expected to come right back.
The deer head made sense in a law-of-the-jungle kind of way, but when Imani clustered the three strange discoveries together, they added up to something that scared her.
She didn’t want to freak Sharise out even more by telling her about the meat, so she had collected her second big secret of the day.
Secrets sat close to lies, and Dr. Kim had helped her break her lying habit.
Imani didn’t want to go back to lying to her family with ease.
Sharise made a face while she flipped the ground beef patties, and for the first time Imani understood her sister’s distaste for meat. Imani was hungry, but the blood bubbling around the browning burgers in the old-fashioned frying pan wasn’t appetizing.
“Imani?” Mom prompted gently. Damn. Imani had been drying her hands on the towel longer than she’d meant to. She dropped the towel on the counter as if to say, See? No OCD. “Unless you want to help Sharise grill, can you put those good plates on the table?”
A stack of fancy dinner plates with zebra stripes waited on the counter.
“For burgers?”
“Yes, for burgers,” Mom said. “Silverware too, please. It’s a special occasion.”
Why hadn’t she noticed before that Mom was wearing the red robe that had been hanging on the mannequin that fooled her in the window?
Imani had never seen Mom wear any kind of fur, and it looked wrong on her.
But Mom kept rubbing the fur collar against her cheek like she was snuggling a pet.
Imani remembered the deer’s head and how its frozen fur had stood askew.
“Why’s it so special?” Imani asked.
“Imani.” Dad’s voice was more tired than angry, but the extra spice in his voice stung. He softened his face with a small smile. “Just do it. Okay? Your mom hasn’t been feeling well.”