Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
He stopped mid-sentence. His arm slowly lowered until the phone was pointing at the yellow linoleum floor. The silence of the empty kitchen seemed to press against him, heavier than the humid summer air that leaked through the window screen. He looked at the blank spot where the refrigerator had been, then at the square of dark dust where the dining hutch had stood for five years.
He took three slow steps toward the pantry, his hand reaching out to pull the latch. The door swung open easily, revealing five tiers of completely bare white wire shelves. Not a single box of cereal, not a salt shaker, not even a box of matches remained in the corner.
“Chloe?” he called out again, his voice cracking slightly on the second syllable. He walked back to the center of the kitchen, his phone still gripped tightly in his palm. “This isn’t funny. If you’re trying to make a point about the car keys, I already told you on the phone that it was an accident.”
He looked toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, his boots squealing slightly on the fresh wax of the floor.
