From "Homemade"

It had been early enough in the morning that Teresa’s mother could have ran out into the street without making a spectacle of herself, but the front door only opened once that day. Her father left behind a host of foreign smells and objects in his wake that Teresa spent weeks running her hands over, under, on. In the garage, in the far corner of the bedroom. A rotary mower, two pairs of cedar shoe horns, a box of Amaretto flavored cigars, covered in dust.