by Sharon Olds
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She first heard the sound when she was somewhere in the house—before her son arrived. It sounded like a lightweight wooden door, left open, which the wind had banged shut.
The second time, they were sitting in the kitchen—they both heard it. On the far side of the house. They went and looked.
The third time, she was in the living room, lying on the couch, reading. The sound was in the living room.