could hold. I thought we would return to our home and begin
planning a way to save Meg, but Gram had other ideas.
"I don't trust my daughter. We should gather your things from
the cottage," Gram said.
Couldn't Eliza start a fire at our house, too? I wondered.
As if reading my mind, Gram replied, "Eliza is not strong enough to burn down our home. We’ll be safe there."
"Why don't I take this load back to your place, Mae? It sounds like we’ll need room in the truck," Elliot offered.
"You are right," Gram agreed.
Cole and I headed for the cottage behind the main house. As Gram gave my
father instructions on where she wanted everything, we entered the small home
where my boyfriend lived. The structure was warm, and it always smelled like pinecones mixed with vanilla. It was very welcoming.
The great room was an open area, defined only by the furniture. The basic kitchen consisted of a stove, refrigerator, sink, a yellow table, and large sturdy wooden chairs. The living room took up most of the space with pale blue
couches, featuring white throw pillows, and accent tables.
I had been in this part of the cottage many times, but never further. I stared at
the lavender door that led to a master bedroom. I imagined it to be overflowing
in Sarah's favorite pastel colors.
When Gram joined us, I realized how we must have looked. My eyes fell on
Cole, and I chuckled. “Before we pack anything else, we should clean up,” I remarked. “We look like a bunch of wet dogs, left out in the rain to play in the
mud.”
I was relieved when Gram and Cole laughed. After the intensity of the
evening, we all needed a light moment to ease our stress. It didn’t take long before we had cleaned off most of the ash and mud that covered us. Cole brought
us dry clothes from behind a secret door. It felt nice to change into them.
Renewed, we began to box the items Cole thought were important. Since it
was Sarah's space, his choices were based more on it being his mother's rather than being needed. I couldn’t blame him.
While Cole sorted through kitchen utensils, Gram began looking around the
cottage. “Where did you keep your mother's things, Cole?" Gram asked. " I know your stepmother wouldn't have allowed any signs of Sarah to remain in the
house.”
“Rosalind had tried to throw out all of her stuff, but I was able to save a few
things. They’re here, inside my bedroom. I keep them in a wooden trunk.” Cole's
voice weighed heavy with sadness. He put a spatula into the box. "I think this is all I want from here."
Gram ran her aged hands along the light wood walls as if searching for
something. “Cole, did Sarah spend much time here?”
“She would come over to be alone and draw, sometimes." Cole eyed my
grandmother with curiosity. "Why the questions, Gram?"
Gram's brow furrowed as she went towards him. "This is important. Are
there any hidden spaces that you remember playing in as a child? Do you recall
spending time with your mother in this cottage?”
Cole shook his head. “No, I never really came here as a child.”
Gram's eyes locked with mine. It felt like she was trying to get me to
understand what she was seeking. I knew my grandmother was looking for
