Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“We didn’t have thirty-six dollars for a can of formula on Wednesday morning,” I said. “My mother had to buy it for us.”
“I would have put the money back,” he said, his voice thin now, the defensive volume completely gone. “My quarterly bonus is coming in September. You know how the cash flow works in the summer. It’s always tight.”
“It is not tight for you,” I said.
From the kitchen, the sharp sound of Shaun’s hammer struck the door frame twice, the wood dulling the impact but vibrating through the floorboards beneath our feet. Ryan flinched at the sound, his eyes darting toward the hallway.
“Who paid for the movers?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp again as he looked around the empty room. “Where did you get six hundred dollars to move all this stuff? Did your mother give you that, too?”
“I sold the silver tea service my grandmother left me,” I said. “And the antique sewing machine from the attic. I had enough to pay the deposit and the first month’s utilities on Elm Lane.”
