Four shirts.

My good pair of jeans.

Two sleepers, the bag of bottles, the little can of formula.

Toby grabbed the strap of my shirt in his fist and hung on, and I let him, standing in the half dark with nowhere I had to be for another thirty minutes.

Then I walked down the hall to the linen closet.

There’s a shelf above the towels that nobody except me has ever reached for.

Tucked behind the folded beach towels was the blue plastic accordion folder.