Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“You have your mother,” he said. “Let her drive you if you are so desperate to run errands.”
The line went dead before I could reply, leaving only the soft static of the connection.
I set the phone on the counter, my hand still resting on the cold glass screen.
The afternoon heat settled over the living room by three o’clock, making the air feel heavy and still. I sat on the carpet, folding a basket of small white onesies while the babies napped in their cribs.
The plastic rattle shaped like a yellow duck sat on the rug near my foot, its blue beads silent inside. I picked it up and placed it in the toy bin, trying to make as little noise as possible.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, a sharp vibration that made me jump.
It was a text message from Ryan, containing no words, only an image.
The picture showed him standing on a wide stretch of white sand, his arm draped over the shoulders of his high school friend, Dave. Both of them were holding frosted plastic cups, their faces tanned and creased with laughter under the bright blue sky.
