Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“She said she would be here by noon,” I said. “She had to stop at the bank first.”
“To check on her own account?” Shaun asked.
“To see if she could get a small personal loan,” I said. “Six hundred dollars is more than she has in her checking right now.”
“I have eighty,” Shaun said, pulling a green plastic dinosaur out of the sandbox. “And my truck has a full tank.”
“We will find the rest,” I said, though the thought of my empty bank account made me feel like I was walking on thin ice.
“The movers will not unload the truck at Elm Lane without the cash,” Shaun said.
“They will get their cash,” I said, lifting the last plastic chair and stacking it on top of the other two.
The stack was unsteady, wobbling as I carried it toward the back porch where the empty cardboard boxes were waiting.
“We worked five years to buy this house, and now I am packing it into cardboard boxes,” I said, looking at the brick chimney and the neat white trim.
