The sound of a car door slamming downstairs made both of us turn.
Thomas looked toward the hallway.
“Did you invite anyone over?”
“No.”
Another car door closed.
I moved toward the window.
A silver sedan was parked behind Thomas's car.
I recognized it immediately.
“It's your parents.”
Thomas's eyebrows pulled together.
“What?”
“Your mom's car.”
He came beside me and looked through the window.
Harold was sitting in the passenger seat.
Eleanor was getting out.
I turned around.
“Why are they back?”
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“I don't know.”
“You didn't call them?”
“I called Mom after you called me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you found something and were upset.”
I stared at him.
“You told her?”
“I thought we needed to ask them what they left behind.”
Before I could answer, the front door opened.
A moment later, Eleanor appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
She was carrying a plastic container covered with a blue lid.
Harold followed behind her.
Eleanor smiled when she saw us.
Then she noticed our faces.
Her smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
Neither Thomas nor I answered.
I stepped aside and pointed toward the guest room.
Eleanor's eyes moved past me.
The color slowly drained from her face.
Harold leaned forward to see.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Eleanor didn't move.
The container in her hands trembled.
Thomas walked toward her.
“Mom, what is this?”
She looked at him.
Then at me.
Then back toward the room.
“I was going to take everything yesterday.”
My throat tightened.
“You left all of this here?”
“I didn't mean to.”
I couldn't stop myself.
“What exactly is it?”
Eleanor swallowed.
“Please don't be angry.”
That sentence made everything worse.
Thomas looked at her.
“Mom.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
Harold cleared his throat.
“Ellie, maybe we should just tell them.”
She shot him a look.
“This is not helping.”
I folded my arms.
“Eleanor, I have been standing in that room wondering whether I need to call the police.”
She looked genuinely horrified.
“The police?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth fell open.
Thomas closed his eyes briefly.
“Mom, what are those bags?”
Eleanor looked toward the floor.
“I didn't want you to find them like this.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She took a slow breath.
“I know.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Harold gave a small cough.
“Maybe show them.”
Eleanor looked at the container in her hands.
She suddenly seemed embarrassed rather than frightened.
That confused me even more.
Thomas noticed it too.
“Mom, what are you hiding?”
“Nothing bad.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because it's embarrassing.”
I stared at her.
“Embarrassing?”
She nodded.
I looked at Thomas.
He looked just as confused as I felt.
I pointed toward the suitcase.
“There are dozens of bags in there.”
“I know.”
“Labeled with codes.”
“I know.”
“Hidden under the mattress.”
“I know.”
“And you're telling us this is embarrassing?”
Eleanor pressed her lips together.
Harold looked down at the floor.
I suddenly remembered his comment from months earlier.
Her little projects.
The humming.
The closed door.
The careful way Eleanor had guarded the room.
My mind began connecting details, but the picture still didn't make sense.
Thomas crouched beside the suitcase again.
“Mom, can I open one?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“Please don't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you making assumptions.”
I laughed once, without humor.
“I think the assumptions have already happened.”
Eleanor looked at me.
“I understand.”
There was something about the way she said it that made me pause.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Almost apologetic.
Thomas stood.
“Mom, tell us what we're looking at.”
She looked at Harold.
He gave her a tiny nod.
Eleanor finally stepped into the room.
She set the container on the dresser.
Then she walked to the suitcase.
She knelt beside it.
For the first time since I had met her, I saw her hands shake.
“These are mine.”
“I figured that out,” I said.
She gave me a weak smile.
“I mean the things inside.”
Thomas crouched beside her.
“What are they?”
Eleanor reached for one bag.
She held it up.
“E-14.”
I looked at the label.
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“Einkorn.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Einkorn flour.”
The room went completely silent.
I looked at Thomas.
He looked at me.
Then at his mother.
“Flour?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Yes.”
I laughed because I didn't know what else to do.
“You're telling us this is flour?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the bag.
It looked exactly like flour.
But my fear had already gotten ahead of reality.
“Then why did you hide it?”
Eleanor's face changed.
“I didn't want anyone asking questions.”
“About flour?”
She nodded.
Harold muttered, “She's obsessed with it.”
Eleanor turned sharply.
“Harold.”
He lifted both hands.
“Sorry.”
I looked from one to the other.
“What exactly have you been doing in that room for six months?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Then she answered quietly.
“Baking.”
I almost smiled.
“Baking?”
“And keeping sourdough starters.”
That explained the humming.
Almost.
“What about the notebook?”
“My feeding schedules.”
“The map?”
“Different mills.”
“The codes?”
“Different grains and batches.”
I sat down slowly.
The fear that had filled my chest began collapsing under the weight of an explanation that was both absurd and strangely believable.
But there was still one thing I didn't understand.
“Why hide all of it?”
Eleanor looked toward Harold.
He sighed.
“She thinks I'm going to make fun of her.”
Eleanor frowned.
“You do make fun of me.”
“Only because you named them.”
I looked at Thomas.
“Named what?”
Harold smiled.
“The starters.”
Eleanor covered her face.
“Oh, please.”
Thomas laughed.
I couldn't help it.
I started laughing too.
Then I stopped.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I haven't actually checked what's inside.”
Eleanor's expression changed again.
“Claire—”
“I need to know.”
“You don't have to.”
“I do.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“Mom, let her.”
Eleanor nodded reluctantly.
I picked up one of the small bags.
E-14.
My hands were still trembling.
I opened the seal.
A faint, earthy scent rose from the bag.
I stared at the pale powder.
Then I looked at Eleanor.
She was watching me with tears gathering in her eyes.
“It really is flour,” she whispered.
I touched a tiny amount between my fingers.
The texture was fine and soft.
I smelled it again.
It reminded me of something warm.
Something from childhood.
Bread.
Fresh bread.
I looked at Thomas.
“I think she's telling the truth.”
His shoulders dropped.
He let out a long breath.
But I wasn't ready to laugh about it yet.
Because one question still bothered me.
If there was nothing wrong with the flour, why had Eleanor hidden it beneath the mattress in the first place?
And when I asked her, she looked away.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Flour Explained the Bags, but Not the Secrecy—Then Eleanor Finally Admitted Why She Had Kept the Door Closed
The Morning Their Room Was Finally Empty, I Expected Relief—Instead, Something Shifted Beneath the Mattress and Changed Everything
Part 2 of 10
