"I put everything I could find in one of those little rooms, those storage spaces you pay for, when the storm came last year." Her mother drew wheezily on her cigarette. "The garage is just about-Well, you'll see it, it's falling down, sweetie. Like the rest of this place," she sighed.
"What's in the boxes?" Christina asked.
"I have no idea. Your father's stuff."
She said nothing as her mother babbled on, though for a moment she braced herself against the phone booth, feeling a wave of nausea go through her, nausea or dizziness, but also fear and guilt. I never expected this, she told herself again, but then most of what had happened recently she hadn't expected, and she did not resist the knowledge of what was inside of her, for unexpected arrivals sometimes were for the good, even-yes-a matter of startled joy.