The Flour Girl
Not gone-for-good back-in-Richmond, but here, in my driveway, less than a day after we had waved them off, at the precise moment I had discovered their hidden suitcase and spread its contents across the guest room floor and photographed it and texted it to my sister and very nearly called the police.
I spun around to face my husband, and a cold and specific suspicion bloomed in me.
“What did you just do?” I demanded.
Zachary’s hands flew up defensively.
“I did not mean to cause a scene!” he stammered.
“When you called all frantic, I, I thought maybe they’d forgotten something, so before I came upstairs I texted my mom and said hey, Brenda found some of your stuff, can you swing back and grab it.
I honestly thought you meant, like, a sweater!