Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“She is going to call him,” Shaun muttered, lifting a heavy box of books into the back of the cab.
“She does not have his number,” I said. “He always ignored her when she tried to talk to him about the lawn.”
“She will find a way to let him know something is happening,” Shaun said.
“It does not matter,” I said. “By the time he gets her message, we will be gone.”
“We have two more boxes of dishes in the kitchen,” Martha said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
“I will get them,” I said, walking back up the concrete steps.
The front door of the suburban house was heavy, painted a dark green that Ryan had spent three days choosing from the paint store.
I walked into the empty hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the bare hardwood floors.
The walls were striped with lighter patches where the family photos had hung for five years, leaving clean square shapes on the dusty beige paint.
I picked up the last box of dishes from the kitchen counter, the plates rattling slightly inside the newspaper wrapping.
