13

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6
8:35 P.M.
MARTHA WELLS RESIDENCE
LYNNHURST NEIGHBORHOOD, MINNEAPOLIS

Martha Wells stood in her living room with the lights out, watching through a crack in the shades as Katie Grainger’s car finally drove away. The taillights were disappearing from view when she turned the inside lights back on and faced the boxes behind her.

Urgency gripped her. It wasn’t the hour. It was the strange sense that her world was dripping away, as though a tiny leak were draining her pool of awareness. Instinctively she knew she soon would be incapable of what she needed to do.

She forced herself to walk among the boxes. They all looked so similar, and already she couldn’t quite recall what she was looking for. A particular shape. Weight. Perhaps a color . . .

She was nearing the hallway off the kitchen when one the size of a shoe box drew her attention. Red masking tape made an X near a top corner. She brought it into the kitchen, retrieved a pair of scissors from a drawer, and cut the tape holding it shut.

A sheet of yellowed newspaper lay on top of its contents. She set that aside. Beneath was a pile of random objects. She stared at them for a moment. She could no longer reason why, but she knew this was it. She put the lid back on the box.

But wasn’t there another?

Yes. But she’d dealt with that . . . though she couldn’t recall how.

What had she planned to do with this one?

Oh. Of course.

Beside the refrigerator was the cupboard with the shelves Martha knew her family had always thought too high for her. She opened the door and stood on her tiptoes. With her fingers she could nudge the coffee cup that had MOM stenciled on its side, making the car keys inside jingle. With her fingertips she could just grasp the edge of the key chain inside and lift it out.

Placing the marked box under one arm, she headed out the back door and onto the concrete stoop leading to the detached garage.