The Trip Across The City
Their first stop was a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.
Weston filled an entire shopping cart.
Infant formula—the gentle kind designed for sensitive stomachs. Packages of diapers. Baby food jars. Infant medicine. Soft blankets patterned with small golden stars.
Then he added groceries for an adult kitchen.
Fresh fruit, bread, milk, pasta, and warm soup containers that would still be hot by the time they arrived.
The driver looked mildly surprised but said nothing.
A little later the car pulled onto a quiet street in Philadelphia where the buildings were older and the sidewalks showed years of winter salt.
The apartment building on Willow Avenue smelled faintly of damp concrete. The elevator had a handwritten sign taped across its door.
Out of order.
Weston carried two bags while climbing the stairs.
Somewhere inside the building, he heard the soft cry of a baby.
He knocked gently.
From inside, a cautious voice asked,
