Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“But the plumbing is still old,” I said.
“The plumbing is fine,” Shaun said, tapping his pocket where his wrench sat. “I fixed the leak under the kitchen sink this morning.”
“Did you use the new pipe?” I asked.
“I used the copper one from the garage,” Shaun said. “It will last another twenty years.”
“That is one less thing,” I said, wrapping the hospital photo in a sheet of gray paper.
The box was filling up, the silver frames clinking together as I laid them side by side.
“What about the big mirror in the hall?” Shaun asked.
“Leave it,” I said. “It belonged to his mother.”
“It is worth some money,” Shaun said.
“I do not want anything of hers,” I said. “She always looked at me like I was a temporary guest in this house.”
“She was wrong too,” Shaun said.
I did not answer, focusing instead on the last photo, a picture of Ryan holding Bodhi on the day we brought him home from the clinic.
Ryan was looking at the camera, not the baby, his smile wide and perfect for the lens.
