Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“We need to get these screens washed before the babies sleep here,” my mother said, adjusting her glasses with her wrist. “The dust in these old houses settles in the corners.”
“The air feels better already,” I said, kneeling on the bare floorboards next to the cardboard box containing the first crib. “Shaun says the water will be working in an hour.”
My mother stepped down from the stool, her knees cracking slightly in the quiet room. She walked over to her canvas tote bag sitting near the closet and reached inside.
“I found this in the cedar chest at my place,” she said, holding out a soft, faded piece of flannel.
It was a pink blanket with white satin binding, the edges slightly frayed from years of washing. I took it from her, the fabric feeling thin and familiar between my fingers.
“You slept under this when you were six months old,” my mother said, adjusting her glasses again. “I washed it twice. It still smells like lavender.”
“I remember this,” I whispered, holding the corner of the satin trim.
