Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
I laid the photo face down in the box and closed the cardboard flaps, sealing them with a long strip of clear tape.
Upstairs, the master bedroom smelled of Ryan’s cologne, a heavy woodsy scent that always lingered in the carpet long after he left.
I opened the closet door, my hand brushing against the soft satin of my wedding dress, which hung in a blue zippered bag at the far end.
The dress had cost twelve hundred dollars, a gift from my grandmother who had saved for three years to buy it for me.
I unzipped the bag a few inches, looking at the delicate lace along the collar and the small pearl buttons down the back.
“Are you taking that?” my mother asked from the doorway, her glasses sliding down her nose as she carried a stack of clean towels.
“I do not know,” I said, looking at the white satin. “What would I do with it?”
“Keep it for Soleil,” Martha said, setting the towels on the bare mattress. “She might want the lace someday.”
