Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
I did not pick it up.
I just stood there, watching the glowing screen of my phone displaying Ryan’s smiling face on a sunny beach.
I turned the phone face down on the laminate counter, the image of Ryan’s face disappearing into the black glass. By nine the next morning, I was sitting in the reception area of a small brick office building three blocks from the county courthouse, holding the blue paper folder tightly against my knees.
The gold lettering on the glass door read Evelyn Vance, Family Law, but the paint was chipping on the lower curve of the letter V. A small black desk fan hummed on top of a green filing cabinet, blowing a stack of white intake forms back and forth in a slow, dry rhythm.
The room smelled of old carpets and cold coffee. I sat on a vinyl chair that stuck to the back of my legs, my eyes fixed on a framed print of an old harbor that hung crookedly on the wall opposite the desk.
