Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Ryan watched me, his throat moving as he swallowed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his set of keys to the Elm Lane house, the ones I had left on the kitchen table the day before, and laid them quietly beside the folder.
“I’ll have my lawyer call Evelyn on Monday,” he said.
He turned and walked down the hallway, his boots quiet on the old floorboards.
I did not follow him to the door. I stood by the table, my hand resting on the edge of the blue folder, closed now, with the gold ring resting on top.
The morning light that came through the high windows of the nursery the next day was different from the sharp glare of the suburban house. It fell across the floorboards in soft, wide blocks of gold, highlighting the small swirls of dust dancing in the air.
I stood by the first crib, looking down at Bodhi. He had his thumb tucked near his chin, his breathing so light it barely stirred the thin cotton of his sleeper.