“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Barbara—”
“No questions.”
She glanced sideways at me.
“You have a terrible poker face.”
“My what?”
“Your face. You’ll give everything away.”
I was too tired to argue.
Twenty minutes later, we turned onto Eric’s street.
Barbara parked a short distance from his house.
Then she opened the trunk.
It was completely full.
Boxes.
Clothes.
Photographs.
A guitar.
Childhood trophies.
College belongings.
Things Eric had apparently left at his mother’s home for years.
“What are we doing?”
Barbara handed me a box.
“Returning property.”
Together, we carried everything to Eric’s porch.
Barbara arranged the boxes neatly.
Then she placed a handwritten note on top.
YOU WANTED YOUR OWN LIFE. NOW YOU HAVE ALL OF IT.
I stared at her.
“This is the plan?”
She shut the trunk.
“This is the first part.”
“There are more parts?”
“Oh, yes.”
We parked nearby and waited.
