Moving quick, I take the trash outside, where it’s grown considerably colder—and darker—since my last trip to the shed. A motion sensitive light comes alive as I near the trashcans, which are sitting a little ways from the side of the shed and the bench my father made, the weatherproofing still drying. My bags go into the cans, even though there’s nothing edible in them. Animals will tear them apart regardless. Then I hurry back to the house, where warm light spills from the windows like the heat from the oven that Aunt Bobbie has open as I step into the kitchen. “Where’d they go?” I ask, meaning Penny and Mom. They’re gone.
“Penny’s a little upset,” Aunt Bobbie explains. She pulls a cookie sheet covered with pumpkin seeds out of the oven. When I reach for one, she slaps my hand away. “Watch it, Mike! They’re hot.”