Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“I do not recognize the car,” she said. “Maybe one of the Gables’ visitors.”
“They do not usually park that far down,” I said.
“Do not worry about the street,” Martha said, turning back to the room. “We have enough to do in here.”
I packed my shoes, the simple leather flats I wore to the grocery store and the old sneakers I used for gardening.
In the corner of the closet, Ryan’s golf clubs sat in their heavy leather bag, the polished metal heads shining in the dim light.
I looked at them for a long moment, remembering the three hundred dollars he had spent on the new driver last winter while we were still struggling to buy the first infant car seats.
“Leave them,” I said to myself, closing the closet door on the clubs and the wedding dress.
By five o’clock, the driveway was filled with the shadow of Shaun’s truck, the long black bed loaded with boxes and the red plastic playhouse tied down with blue nylon straps.
The neighbors were out now, pretending to water their lawns or check their mailboxes as we carried the last items down the front steps.
