I stood by the front door, my hand reaching out automatically toward the wooden peg where the keys usually hung.
The brass hook was empty.
A shadow fell across the porch floor as a low, quiet sedan turned into the driveway. It was a cream-colored vehicle with the dealer stickers still clinging to the rear window, its engine purring like a cat in the morning cool.
Mara, my sister-in-law, stepped out of the driver’s side and smoothed her yellow knit skirt. She carried a bakery box tied with red string, her fingers twitching against the cardboard as she walked toward the steps.
“I brought those lemon rolls you like from the bakery by the highway,” she said, keeping her eyes on the screen door.
“Where is Arthur?” I asked, rubbing my thumb against my silver wedding band.
“He went straight to the nursery with his mother,” Mara said, setting the box on the wicker table. “They had some paperwork to clear up before the weekend.”
“Did he say anything about my car?”
Mara sat in the green rocker, shifting her seat slightly to the left, away from where the morning dew still clung to the floorboards.
“He said the transmission was slipping,” she said, her voice dropping into a fast, nervous rhythm. “It is down at the shop on Highway Twelve. They have to wait on a part from Atlanta, so he told me to come by and see if you needed a lift anywhere.”
“He did not tell me it was the transmission,” I said.
“Well, you know how Arthur is about car details,” she said, her fingers tracing the red string on the box. “He likes to handle things himself so you do not have to worry.”
The bakery box sat between us, the scent of sugar rising through the cardboard, but my hands stayed in my pockets.
By noon, the clouds had turned the color of wet slate, and the air held the heavy, flat smell of the nearby highway. I walked the half-mile to the local grocery on the corner of the county road, my sneakers crunching on the gravel shoulder.
George, my uncle, was standing by the display of Georgia apples near the front window, holding his wooden ruler against his palm. He tapped the wood twice against his thigh when he saw me approach.
