Excerpt from Small Fry by Lisa Brennan-Jobs, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"We're in!" she said. I looked through the door: light reflected on wood floors, high ceilings. Cool, vacant spaces. I associated him that day—and later—with pools of reflected light from big windows, shade in the depths of rooms, the musty, sweet smells of mold and incense.

My mother and Elaine held the couch between them, maneuvered it through the door and down the steps. "It doesn't weigh much," my mother said. She asked me to step aside. A thick woven raffia frame held wide-weave linen upholstery. The cushions were a cream color spattered with bright chintz flowers in red, orange, and blue, and for years I would pick at the edges of the petals, trying to dig my fingernails under their painted tips.

Elaine and my mother moved fast and seriously, as if they might be angry, a loop of my mother's hair falling out of its band. After they'd shoved the couch into the back of the van, they went back inside and brought out a matching chair and ottoman.

"Okay, let's go," my mother said.

The back was full, so I sat in the front, on her lap.

My mother and Elaine were giddy. This was the reason for my vigilance and worry: to arrive at this moment, see my mother joyful and content.

Elaine turned out of the driveway and onto a two-lane road. A moment later two cop cars sped past us, going in the opposite direction.

"They might be coming for us!" Elaine said.

"We might have gone to jail!" my mother said, laughing.

I didn't understand her jaunty tone. If we went to jail, we'd be separated. As far as I understood, they didn't keep children and adults in the same cells.

The next day, my father called. "Hey, did you break in and take the couch?" he asked. He laughed. He had a silent alarm, he said. It had rung in the local police station, four cop cars had sped to the house, arriving just after we left.

"Yes, we did," she said, a flaunt in her voice.

For years, I was haunted by the idea of a silent alarm and how close we'd been to danger without knowing it.

Small Fry © 2018 by Lisa Brennan-Jobs. Reprinted with the permission of the publisher, Grove Press, an imprint of Grove Atlantic, Inc. All rights reserved.