Just then, Mrs. Hunter stepped out of the next unit wearing her bathrobe, her slippers smacking against the concrete. She had lived beside me for six years and had never once stayed out of anyone’s business, which, that night, turned out to be a blessing.
Patricia had brought the triplets over twice that summer, and Mrs. Hunter had sat outside fussing over them while their mother proudly listed their names and birth weights like a commander giving a report.
—
“Noah? What in the world?!”
“Where is he?!”
“Gone.”
She read the note, looked back at me, then pressed one hand flat to her chest.
“Honey, you can’t raise three babies alone!”
“I know!”
“You don’t even know how to warm a bottle.”
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