Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
I did not answer him, waiting for the catch.
“We could rent a place right on the water,” he continued, his voice bright. “Just think about it, okay? I will call you when I hit the highway tomorrow morning.”
The line went dead before I could ask him about the missing car keys.
By three o’clock, my mother and I were sitting on the front porch steps of the suburban house, watching the mail carrier walk down the opposite side of the street.
“He sounded completely different,” I said, keeping my eyes on the blue mail truck parked at the corner.
My mother adjusted her glasses, pushing them up her nose with her index finger.
“People do not change their character between Tuesday and Thursday, Chloe,” she said.
“He offered to take me to dinner,” I said. “He talked about a family vacation.”
“With what money?” she asked, her voice flat and even.
“He said he had it under control,” I said, looking at the peeling green paint on the porch railing.
