Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“The diaper bags are ready,” I said, setting Bodhi down on the porch. “But I cannot find my keyring.”
My mother adjusted her glasses, her eyes shifting to the empty driveway where Ryan’s truck usually sat. “Did you look in your purse?”
“Twice,” I said, lifting the second car seat. “We have waited three weeks for this checkup.”
“We will take my car,” she said, reaching for Soleil’s carrier. “But we are going to have to squeeze three seats into the back of a LeSabre.”
We spent ten minutes in the driveway, sweating under the midday sun as we threaded the seatbelts through the plastic bases. My mother’s hands were steady, but she kept looking back toward the road.
“Did he leave them in the kitchen?” she asked, tugging a strap until it clicked.
“I checked,” I said. “They are not on the counter.”
We drove in silence, the air conditioning in the old Buick blowing a thin stream of cool air. In the back seat, the babies were quiet, lulled by the motion of the heavy sedan.
