She thought for a while.
“I want to understand what I found.”
“Then we start there.”
The next morning, Marcy was discharged with instructions to rest and follow up with her doctor.
She came home with us.
I did not ask her about Dustin during the drive.
Neither did Ellen.
Some silences are uncomfortable because nobody knows what to say.
Others are protective.
This was the second kind.
At home, Ellen made tea.
Marcy settled on the couch with a blanket.
I went into the garage.
The red toolbox stood beneath my workbench exactly where it had been for twelve years.
I opened the bottom drawer.
Sockets.
Sandpaper.
An old level.
No envelope.
I moved everything.
Nothing.
My first reaction was alarm.
My second was suspicion.
My third was more useful.
I called Marcy.
She came to the garage doorway.
“It’s gone.”
She stared at the drawer.
“That’s impossible.”
