Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Downstairs, the floorboards did not protest as I walked toward the kitchen. The damp, musty smell that had hung in the hallways when we first arrived was gone, replaced by the clean scent of the pine soap Shaun had used to scrub the pantry shelves.
My mother was already standing at the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. She turned as I entered, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose before she pushed them back with her knuckle.
“They are still sleeping,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“The air in here is good for them,” Martha said, stirring the pot of vegetable soup. “They slept five hours straight last night.”
“Six,” I corrected, reaching into the cupboard for the loaf of fresh bread Shaun had brought from the bakery. “Soleil didn’t wake up until five.”
Martha set the spoon on a small ceramic dish and turned to face me. She looked at my bare left hand, then up at my eyes, her expression soft but steady.
“Shaun is checking the backyard fence,” she said, nodding toward the window. “He wanted to make sure the gate latch was tight before the babies went out.”
