Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
We moved into the pantry to organize the dry goods, setting the three cans of formula on the lower shelf. Each can cost thirty-six dollars, and the receipt from Tuesday was still sitting on the counter, a reminder of how quickly our grocery money was disappearing.
“Ryan did not think about the pediatrician,” I said, folding the paper receipt into a small square. “He only thought about his weekend on the coast.”
“He does not think about anyone but himself,” Shaun said.
Shaun helped me carry the empty plastic bottles to the sink, his hands moving quickly through the soapy water. He did not ask any more questions about Ryan, but the muscle in his jaw remained tight as he worked.
“My mother is waiting in her Buick,” I said, looking out the kitchen window at the grey sedan parked near our mailbox. “She came over as soon as I called her about the keys.”
We walked out onto the back porch to escape the heavy heat of the kitchen, letting the screen door click softly behind us. The afternoon air was thick with the scent of cut grass from the neighbor’s yard, though our own lawn remained tall and ragged.
