against the porch.
Hot coffee splashed onto my ankle, but I barely noticed.
All I could see was my yard, filled with open umbrellas.
Forty-seven of them.
They were arranged in neat rows from the mailbox all the way to the maple tree. Beneath every umbrella sat a small white box with a number painted across the lid.
Numbered 1 to 47.
“Mom?” Eli called behind me.
He stepped onto the porch barefoot, his hair sticking up in every direction.
“Watch!” I warned. “I dropped my mug. Don’t step on
