The lock clicked beneath my hand.
I remember that sound more clearly than anything else from that afternoon.
Not the mower ticking as it cooled behind us.
Not the traffic at the end of Clara’s street.
Not even Jesse breathing hard over my shoulder.
Just the click.
I pushed the door open several inches.
“Hello?” I called.
Nothing answered.
The house smelled the way it always did: lemon cleaner, coffee, and the faint lavender scent Clara used in the hallway.
But the silence inside felt wrong.
I opened the door farther.
“Anybody in here?”
A soft scrape came from the back of the house.
Then a child’s voice said one word.
“Grandpa?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Liam?”
I was through the doorway before Jesse could say anything.
“Liam, where are you?”
“Here.”
The voice came from the short hallway beside Clara’s laundry room.
I found him crouched on the floor inside the small linen closet, his knees pulled against his chest.
The door had been almost completely closed.
His face was wet with tears, and one of his sneakers was missing.
He was frightened, but he was conscious and able to speak.
I dropped beside him.
“Buddy.
Look at me.”
He threw both arms around my neck.
I held him tightly.
Behind me, Jesse stopped at the hallway entrance.
“Oh, man,” he whispered.
I turned toward him.
“Call for help.
Tell them we found a child alone inside the house.”
Jesse immediately pulled out his phone.
I stayed on the floor with Liam.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Did you fall?”
Another shake.
“Were you here by yourself?”
His face pressed into my shoulder.
I felt him nod.
I wanted to ask ten questions at once.
I forced myself to slow down.
“Who brought you here?”
Liam pulled back.
His eyes moved toward the front of the house.
“Dad.”
The word landed like a stone.
Evan.
I looked at Jesse.
He had heard it too.
“When?” I asked Liam.
