After Patricia left, I stood in the living room for several minutes.
I kept looking toward the hallway.
The spare bedroom was exactly where I had left it.
The door was closed.
The bed was still neatly made.
The curtains were open.
There was nothing about the room that seemed unusual.
But Patricia's final words had changed the way I looked at it.
Elora had specifically asked her to remind me not to throw anything away.
I walked toward the bedroom.
When I opened the door, the familiar smell of clean laundry greeted me.
The blanket was folded at the end of the bed.
The bedside table stood near the window.
I remembered moving it there after Elora said she wanted more room beside the mattress.
I looked at the drawers.
The first one was empty.
The second contained a spare blanket and a few towels.
The third had been used for Elora's personal belongings.
I opened it.
There was nothing except a small packet of tissues.
I checked the wardrobe.
The hangers were empty.
A few of Elora's clothes had been left behind temporarily, but I had already returned them when I drove her home.
I looked behind the door.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something on the windowsill.
A small mark.
It looked like the outline of a rectangular object that had been sitting there for some time.
I touched the surface.
It was clean around the mark.
I couldn't remember Elora keeping anything on that windowsill.
I stood there thinking.
Then I remembered the table.
She had moved it several times.
I walked over and pulled it slightly away from the wall.
There was a narrow space between the table and the wall.
I looked down.
A small piece of folded paper was lying behind one of the legs.
I picked it up.
It was ordinary white paper.
There was no writing on the outside.
I unfolded it carefully.
Inside was a short handwritten note.
I recognized Elora's handwriting immediately.
It contained only a few words.
Check the lower drawer before making any decisions.
I stared at it.
The lower drawer.
I had already checked the drawers.
Or so I thought.
I pulled the table farther away from the wall.
Then I looked at the small dresser.
The bottom drawer was slightly difficult to open.
I pulled harder.
It moved.
Inside were two old magazines and a small cloth bag.
I took the bag out.
It was light.
I opened it.
There was a key inside.
An ordinary metal key attached to a small plastic tag.
No name.
No address.
Just a number.
I turned it over in my hand.
I didn't know what it opened.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The shoebox was still in the living room.
Now there was a key in the bedroom.
I thought about calling Elora.
I even picked up my phone.
But I stopped.
What would I say?
Why had she left a key behind?
Why had she told Patricia to make sure I found it?
And why had she waited until after leaving to let me know?
I put the key on the bedside table.
Then I called Patricia.
She answered quickly.
"Hello?"
"I found something."
"What?"
"A key."
There was a pause.
"Where?"
"In the lower drawer of the spare bedroom."
Patricia became quiet.
"Did Elora leave it there?"
"I assume so."
"Does it have a number on it?"
I looked at the tag.
"Yes."
I read the number to her.
She didn't recognize it.
"Did she tell you anything about a key?"
"No."
I sighed.
"There's also a note."
"What does it say?"
I told her.
Patricia was silent for several seconds.
Then she spoke.
"Maybe the key is connected to something in the shoebox."
I looked toward the living room.
"That's what I'm thinking."
I ended the call.
Then I returned to the coffee table.
I placed the key beside the notebook.
I examined the remaining contents of the box.
There were three more envelopes.
One contained a few receipts.
Another contained a photograph of Elora with her three children.
The last was sealed.
My name was written on it again.
I hesitated before opening it.
Then I carefully separated the flap.
Inside was a letter.
This one was longer.
Elora began by explaining that she was sorry for involving me in something without telling me the full truth.
She said she had wanted to speak to me several times during her stay.
But she had been afraid that if she explained too early, I might refuse to help.
I stopped reading.
That sentence hurt.
I had offered her a place to stay because I cared about her.
She had known that.
And she had chosen not to tell me everything because she thought I might say no.
I continued.
She wrote that the situation involved her children.
She had discovered something that had made her question whether they were being honest with her.
She had tried to resolve it privately.
But she believed she needed time away from her own home.
She mentioned that her broken leg had made the situation more difficult.
Then she explained why she had asked about my schedule.
She wanted to know when the house would be quiet.
She wanted to make sure she had enough privacy to deal with something she had brought with her.
I stopped again.
So the questions hadn't been about a surprise.
They hadn't been about her embarrassment.
There had been a purpose.
I looked at the note.
Then at the key.
The letter continued.
Elora said she had not wanted to frighten me.
She had also not wanted me to become involved in the arguments between her children.
She promised that she had never intended to put me in danger.
I read that sentence twice.
Never intended to put me in danger.
I felt my fingers tighten around the paper.
Why would she need to say that?
I looked toward the hallway.
For four weeks, she had slept in that room.
For four weeks, I had walked past her door without thinking twice.
And all that time, there had been something hidden in the house.
I read the final part of the letter.
Elora asked me not to judge her before I understood the full situation.
She said the key was important.
She had left it where I would find it.
And she wanted me to keep it safe until she could explain everything herself.
The letter ended with an apology.
I put it down.
I felt tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
I had spent years rebuilding my life after Shane's betrayal.
I had finally reached a point where I trusted my own judgment again.
Now I was looking at another situation where someone I trusted had deliberately withheld information.
I picked up the key.
The small plastic tag felt cold against my fingers.
I turned it over again.
There was still only the number.
I wondered whether it belonged to a storage locker.
A cabinet.
A safe deposit box.
I didn't know.
I placed it back on the table.
Then I noticed something I hadn't examined properly.
At the bottom of the shoebox was a photograph folded in half.
I opened it.
It showed the inside of a small room.
There was a metal cabinet against one wall.
A desk.
And a brown folder sitting on top.
The photograph was old.
On the back, Elora had written a single word.
Mine.
I stared at it.
I didn't know where the room was.
I didn't know what the cabinet contained.
But I was beginning to understand why she had left the key.
And why she had needed those four weeks away from her own house.
I placed the photograph beside the letter.
Then I looked at the number on the key again.
For the first time, I felt that the truth might be somewhere outside my house.
And whatever Elora had been preparing, she had expected me to find it after she was gone.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Number on Elora’s Key Led Me to a Place I Had Never Visited, and I Finally Understood Why She Had Kept It Hidden
I Thought I Was Simply Helping a Woman Who Had Never Stopped Treating Me Like Family, But Something About Her Request Stayed With Me
Part 8 of 20
