Not yet. She stood slowly and brushed hay off her knees, trying to slow her breathing. Tomorrow. She’d open it tomorrow. That night, she didn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling again, the same way she had the night after the funeral—except this time, her thoughts spun faster.
What was down there? Why had her father never mentioned it? Was it just storage? Some old root cellar? An old storm shelter he never got around to using? She could still hear Sam’s voice in her head—“Look around, maybe you’ll find something shiny.”