The first umbrella was dark blue. A tag was tied to the box beneath it.

“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 gave a small nod.

I crouched and lifted the lid.

Then I screamed.

Inside sat a tight bundle wrapped in blue fabric.

For one terrible second, it looked foreign and frightening.

Then I spotted the wooden handle, the silver button, and Eli’s name written in my husband’s handwriting.

Eli dropped down beside me. “That’s Dad’s,” he whispered.

“It is.”

“How did it get here?”

He glanced at the boxes, then toward the neighbors. His face lost its color.

“Mom, we need to call someone. Maybe the police. This is scary.”

“I know. We’re not touching anything else until I know who did this.”

“Wait! There’s a note,” Eli said.

I looked again. A folded sheet of paper had been slipped beneath the umbrella strap.

“Read it,” he whispered.

My hands trembled as I unfolded it.

“Eli,

I promised I would return this. I didn’t know it would come home with a crowd.

Thank you for covering me when I felt invisible.

Jenelle.”

“That’s the lady,” Eli said. “She said her name was Jenelle.”

Before I could respond, a silver car pulled up along the curb. A pregnant woman slowly stepped out, one hand resting beneath her belly.

“That’s her, Mom.”

I walked toward her with Darren’s umbrella pressed against my chest.

“Are you Jenelle?”

She nodded. “Carina, I’m so sorry.”

My stomach tightened again. “How do you know my name?”

“Someone commented it under my post on Facebook. They said they were a neighbor.”