The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a habit of scanning the street as if he expected someone to be watching him.
The woman, who looked a little younger than I was, kept her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Neither of them looked my way.
After that, I mostly noticed signs that someone was living there without actually seeing anyone.
The curtains closed before sunset.
A car left early in the morning and returned after dark.
The back porch light glowed at odd hours.
I had no idea children lived there.
That was why I was so confused the following Tuesday when I went outside to bring my empty trash can back from the curb and realized it felt unusually heavy.
Trash pickup had come before breakfast, and by late morning, the can should have been empty. I grabbed the handle and tilted it toward me.
