Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys

The blue diaper bag sat empty on the kitchen counter while Ryan zipped a brown leather duffel bag. I measured three scoops of powder into a plastic bottle, careful not to spill a single grain. A single can of infant formula cost thirty-six dollars now, and we went through four of them a week.

“You never mentioned a beach trip until last night,” I said, keeping my voice deliberate.

Ryan adjusted the brass buckle on his duffel. He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand, his thumb catching on his collar.

“It was a last-minute thing with the guys from the office,” he said.

He did not look at me. He looked at his phone screen, his thumb scrolling rapidly.

“I cannot do this alone for five days, Ryan.”

“You have my mother down the road,” he said, lifting the bag. “And your brother Shaun is always looking for something to do.”

“Shaun works sixty hours a week at the lumber yard,” I said.

“Then you’ll manage,” Ryan said. He checked his watch. “The traffic on Route 8 is already backed up.”

“We only have twenty dollars in the jar,” I said, setting the bottle down.

“I’ll transfer some money tonight,” he said.

He walked out of the kitchen without waiting for me to answer.

By three o’clock, the summer heat in the living room was thick. I sat on the slipcovered sofa holding Luna, who was wrapped in her faded pink blanket. The flannel was soft, printed with little blue lambs that had nearly washed away over thirty years of use. Her tiny fingers curled against my collarbone, warm and damp.

Ryan stood in the doorway with his sunglasses already on. He pulled out his phone and pointed the camera at us.

“Hold still for a second,” he said, tapping the screen.

“She has a slight cough,” I said, shifting Luna to my other shoulder. “I wanted you to look at her chest before you left.”

“She looks fine to me,” he said.

The flash blinked once, leaving a small green spot in my eyes.

“The pediatrician checkup is this week,” I said. “We need grocery money before you go.”