Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“You worked five years,” Shaun said, picking up the heavy base of the sandbox. “Ryan just signed his name.”
“He was proud of the neighborhood,” I said. “He liked telling people we lived in the estate section.”
“People do not care where you live, Chloe,” Shaun said.
“The neighbors do,” I said, looking back at Mrs. Gable’s window, where the white lace curtain shifted slightly and then went still.
“They will care more when they see the moving truck,” Shaun said.
“Let them,” I said, taking a deep breath of the humid morning air.
We finished the yard in twenty minutes, leaving nothing but three yellow patches on the lawn where the plastic toys had blocked the sun.
Inside, the house felt larger and colder than it had when I woke up.
The living room walls were painted a neutral beige that Ryan had chosen because the builder said it helped the resale value.
I stood in front of the fireplace, looking at the mantle where five years of our lives were arranged in silver frames.
The center photo was from our wedding day, taken in the garden behind the country club.
