A snap of her wrist . . . and she has yanked back our kitchen curtains. Her eyes dart over the yard. That is, what we call a yard — a few square meters of gravel and grass that our neighbor's house now shadows from the morning sun.
She searches the tight corner by our shed. She leans to see the crawl space under the planking of our "porch." She checks the ground behind our bushes.
And from the window, she sighs.