She set the bag on the laminate kitchen counter with a small clatter.
I opened the plastic handles and looked inside, expecting to find a change of clothes, perhaps some pajamas, or their small blue toothbrushes.
Instead, my eyes fell on three individual bags of potato chips and a half-eaten sleeve of graham crackers.
“Is this everything?” I asked, reaching past the food.
My hand brushed against a small blue plastic emergency inhaler resting at the very bottom of the bag.
“Mommy said we didn’t need much,” Lily whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor. “She said we would be having too much fun to worry about clothes.”
I dug deeper into the bag, but my hand met only empty plastic.
There were no extra socks, no clean underwear, and no jackets for the cold weekend ahead.
“Your mother didn’t leave anything else?” I asked.
“Just the medicine,” Lily said, pointing at the blue plastic dispenser. “In case Noah gets tight.”
I picked up the inhaler, its plastic casing cool against my palm. I looked over at the kitchen window, my heart sinking as I stared out into the empty street.
