Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Mrs. Gable was standing by her mailbox, a bundle of flyers in her hand, her eyes locked on the cardboard boxes.
“Are you going on vacation, Chloe?” she called out, her voice carrying across the quiet asphalt.
“Just doing some cleaning, Mrs. Gable,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as I handed a small box of kitchen spices to my mother.
“Ryan’s car isn’t in the drive,” Mrs. Gable said, taking a slow step toward our property line. “Did he leave already?”
“He is away for the week,” I said, my hand instinctively reaching for my ring and twirling it.
“He must be busy,” Mrs. Gable said, her eyes shifting to the blue plastic slide peeping out from under the tarp on the truck. “That looks like a lot of cleaning.”
“We are making some room,” Martha said, stepping between me and the neighbor, her soft voice polite but final. “Have a nice evening, Clara.”
Mrs. Gable stood there for another moment, her fingers tapping against her flyers, before she slowly turned back toward her porch.
