Her gardening gloves remained near the flower bed.
I picked them up and put them in my coat pocket.
Inside, the house smelled exactly like her.
Lavender.
Coffee.
Soup.
I stood in the hallway for a moment before walking downstairs.
The freezer hummed beneath the basement light.
I pulled open the sticky lid.
Cold mist rose around me.
Inside were rows upon rows of plastic containers.
Chicken noodle.
Beef barley.
Split pea.
Minestrone.
Green beans.
Pork chops.
Popsicles for the grandchildren.
I found one labeled:
CHICKEN NOODLE – FOR BETH.
I held it for a moment.
Then something caught my attention.
The freezer looked too shallow.
I had reached into that freezer hundreds of times.
Normally, I could almost put my whole arm inside before touching the bottom.
Now my hand reached it easily.
The floor of the freezer appeared six inches higher.
I began taking everything out.
Soup.
Vegetables.
Meat.
