Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“I can help with that,” I said. “And Shaun can handle the repairs.”
“Ryan is going to be furious when he finds out you came here,” my mother said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looked at the babies.
“He does not have his phone on,” I said. “He is on a beach three hundred miles away, thinking I am trapped in his kitchen because he took my keys.”
“Let him stay there,” Shaun said, his foot tapping against the floorboards as he stared out the front window.
We walked up the narrow staircase to the second floor, the wooden steps creaking under our weight. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, its windows overlooking the deep green of the backyard.
The old floral wallpaper was peeling away from the plaster in long, dry ribbons near the closet door. I reached out and touched the rough, dusty paper, watching a small piece crumble between my fingers.
The plaster crumbled onto the floorboards, leaving a pale dust on my shoes. I wiped my fingers on my jeans and walked back down the stairs to join Shaun, who was already waiting by the front door with his keys in his hand.
