Outside, the autumn air was cool and carried the smell of exhaust from the busy street.
A black sedan was idling near the curb, its exhaust pipe sending thin plumes of white vapor into the driveway.
Noah sat in the back seat, his face a pale oval behind the tinted glass.
He was looking straight ahead, his chin tucked into his collar, his shoulders still held in that stiff, military line.
I walked toward the passenger side, my hand reaching out toward the cold metal door handle.
The car began to roll forward before my fingers could touch the glass.
Ellis did not look at me from the driver’s seat; his focus was entirely on the traffic merging onto the main road.
The black sedan accelerated, its tires making a soft, wet sound on the asphalt.
I stood on the edge of the concrete, my canvas bag hanging heavy from my shoulder.
The taillights of Ellis’s sedan disappearing onto the main road.
I walked up the three cracked steps of the Broad Street rental apartment, the key sticking in the old brass lock before the heavy wooden door finally gave way. Inside, the smell of damp plaster and old paint was thick, settling in the back of my throat like dust. I did not turn on the overhead light. The grey light from the streetlamp outside was enough to show the six taped cardboard boxes sitting along the baseboard, their edges already softening in the autumn humidity.
I sat down on the sturdiest box, my knees bent high, and stared at a dark, irregular stain on the beige carpet near the kitchen counter. My hand went to my left ring finger, my thumb rubbing the smooth, pale band of skin where my wedding ring had lived for over a decade. The skin there felt thin, almost raw, though the gold had been gone for five months.
