He led me to the far side of the lot, past the weeds and rusted tools, right to the edge of the old shed. It hadn’t been used for years. The door hung crooked on one hinge.
The door hung crooked
on one hinge.
After about ten minutes, Baxter finally stopped in the doorway, motionless. Then he looked back at me with the same eyes that had stared at me through the storm door, sweater in his mouth.
My heart was thudding hard.
“Okay,” I whispered, stepping inside.
The shed smelled of old, damp wood and dust. Strips of sunlight filtered through the warped boards, casting pale beams across the floor. I could hear my own breathing — shallow and shaky — as I stepped farther inside.
My heart was thudding hard.
That’s when I saw it.
In the far back corner, tucked behind a cracked flowerpot and an old rake, was what looked like a nest. It was not made of twigs or garbage, but of clothing. Soft, familiar clothing.
I crept closer, my heart climbing into my throat.
There, neatly arranged in a pile, were Lily’s things! Her purple scarf, her blue hoodie, the soft white cardigan she hadn’t worn since second grade — and nestled into them, as if swaddled by her memory, was a thin calico cat. Her belly rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic purr. Curled up against her were three tiny kittens, no bigger than teacups.
Her belly rose
and fell in a slow,
rhythmic purr.
I stared completely frozen!
Then Baxter dropped the yellow sweater by the cat, and her kittens instantly moved toward it, seeking its warmth. That’s when it dawned on me that the sweater had come from here!
It wasn’t the one from the crash — it was the second one!
