My brother locked me and my grandmother in the wine cellar on her birthday and told us to “stay there and think” — but the second she whispered, “Quiet… they don’t know what’s behind that cabinet,” I knew the people upstairs were about to go pale.
When the lock clicked behind us, the sound was so clean and final that for a second my brain refused to understand it. I still had one hand on the brass knob of the wine cellar door. My grandmother was two steps ahead of me, standing beside a rack of old cabernets my grandfather used…
