A few people looked embarrassed. A few lowered their phones slowly.
“What’s on Facebook?”
I walked onto the wet grass, robe dragging at my ankles. Eli stayed close beside me.
The first umbrella was dark blue. The box beneath it had a tag tied to the lid.
“For Eli.”
“Stay back, bud,” I told him.
“Mom, it has my name on it.”
“I know. But we don’t know who put it here. So I’m going to open it first.”
He nodded.
I knelt and lifted the lid.
Then I screamed.
The first umbrella was dark blue.
Inside was a tight bundle wrapped in blue fabric.
For one awful second, it looked strange and wrong.
Then I saw the wooden handle, the silver button, and Eli’s name in my husband’s handwriting.
Eli dropped beside me. “That’s Dad’s,” he whispered.
“It is.”
“How did it get here?”
He looked at the boxes, then at the neighbors. His face went pale.
“Mom, we need to call someone. Maybe the police. This is scary.”
“How did it get here?”
