Mom kept frozen vegetables, soup, meat, and enough bread to survive a minor apocalypse.
I said, “Why?”
“If nobody wants it, I’ll take it.”
“Okay.”
That seemed simple enough. Then she asked again that afternoon. And the next morning.
Then Thursday night she texted, “Please don’t let anyone take the freezer.”
I replied: “Nobody wants the freezer, Vanessa.”
A minute later: “And don’t unplug it.”
That was when I became suspicious.
I called.
She didn’t answer.
I texted, “Why does it need to stay plugged in?”
Nothing.
Friday was Mom’s funeral. Vanessa barely spoke to me.
Ryan gave the eulogy.
He cried. I cried.
We all went back to Mom’s house afterward and ate casseroles people had brought.
At one point I saw Vanessa standing alone near the basement door.
Ryan walked up behind her. She immediately stepped away.
I noticed. I didn’t understand it yet.
Saturday morning, I went back to the house alone.
At least, I thought I was alone.
The freezer hummed in the basement.
I opened it.
Frozen beans. Ground beef. Soup containers.
A turkey Mom had probably bought on sale eight months earlier.
Nothing worth guarding.
Then I noticed the inside dimensions.
Mom’s freezer had always seemed unusually shallow.
