Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Shaun was already inside the kitchen, stacking three yellow cans of baby formula on the laminate counter next to the sink. He had a screwdriver in his back pocket and a wooden ruler sticking out of his shirt drawer.
“The kitchen is small,” Shaun said, sliding the utensil drawer open to check the wooden runners. “But the pipes under the sink are completely dry now. I replaced the copper trap this morning.”
I lifted a heavy ceramic mixing bowl from the cardboard box on the floor and placed it on the bottom shelf of the pantry. The wood smelled of old pine and vinegar, a sharp contrast to the clean drywall scent of the suburban house we had left behind.
“We only have five cans of the good formula left,” I said, pointing to the shelf where they stood in a neat row. “That is thirty-six dollars a can if we have to buy more next week.”
Shaun stopped adjusting the cabinet door and looked at me. He tapped his heel against the worn linoleum floor, a quick, rhythmic beat that meant he was calculating numbers in his head.
