Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
The kitchen looked different without the highchairs and the three baby bottles drying on the rack by the sink.
It looked like the house we had bought before the babies arrived, a quiet, sterile space where everything had its place and nothing was ever out of order.
I walked back down the hall, holding the box against my chest, and stepped out onto the porch.
Shaun was waiting by the truck gate, his hand holding the heavy canvas tarp down against the wind.
“Is that the last of it?” he asked.
“That is all of it,” I said, sliding the box into the small gap between the playhouse and the cab.
“The babies are at the Elm Lane house with the neighbor girl,” Martha said, getting into the passenger seat of the truck. “We should get back before they wake up.”
“I will meet you there,” I said. “I just need to make sure the back door is locked.”
“Do not stay long, Chloe,” Shaun said, starting the truck’s engine.
The old motor rumbled, a loud, shaking sound that seemed to vibrate through the quiet suburban driveway.
