Then I heard it.
It came through the back door. At first, I ignored it. Our dog, Baxter, had always preferred the yard where he had a warm, insulated doghouse on the porch. He’d been Lily’s loyal sidekick since she was five — a golden retriever mix with eyes too smart for his own good.
Normally, he barked when he wanted to come in, or barked once or twice to let me know he wanted food or attention, but this wasn’t barking; it was clawing. It sounded frantic, desperate, and high-pitched.
It came through the back door.
So, I stood up slowly, heart ticking faster than usual. My nerves had been raw since the accident. I tiptoed toward the door, unease rising in my throat.
“Baxter?” I called softly.
The scratching stopped, but only for a second. Then he let out a single sharp bark — the kind he only used when something was wrong. I remembered it from the time he had found an injured rabbit. And again, when Lily fell from her bike and scraped her knees.
The scratching stopped,
but only for a second.
I unlocked the door and opened it.
Baxter stood there, wide-eyed, panting, ears up. His tail was stiff, not wagging.
And in his mouth was something yellow.
I blinked hard. My brain couldn’t catch up with what my eyes were seeing.
“Baxter… is that…?” My voice trailed off.
He stepped forward, carefully set the soft, yellow fabric bundle at my feet, and looked straight up at me.
It was Lily’s sweater!
The same one I hadn’t seen since the police took it.
The same one she had been wearing when she died!
It was Lily’s sweater!
My legs nearly gave out! I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself, breath caught in my chest.
“This… this isn’t possible,” I whispered.
I reached down with shaking hands to pick it up, but Baxter grabbed it again.
“Hey?! Where did you get this? Give that to me,” I said, tears burning behind my eyes.
Baxter didn’t bark or move for a few seconds. He just stared at me with those intelligent, urgent eyes, then turned his head sharply toward the backyard.
Then he took off!
My legs nearly gave out!
“Baxter!” I yelled, fumbling to throw on a pair of clogs as I chased after him. I didn’t even stop to put on a jacket.
He slipped through a gap in the wooden fence at the back of the yard — the one Lily used to squeeze through during summer to play in the empty lot next door. I hadn’t thought about that lot in months. We always said we’d put up a real barrier, but we never got around to it.
I followed, breathless, sweater clenched in one hand. The air smelled of wet leaves and distant rain. I hadn’t been beyond that fence in years.
I didn’t even stop
to put on a jacket.
“Where are you taking me?” I called after him, my voice cracking.
Baxter stopped every few yards, looking over his shoulder to make sure I was still coming. And I was. Something told me I had to. It was like he wanted to show me something connected to Lily.
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!
I’d forgotten about the backup I had bought when Lily insisted she couldn’t live without two pairs. She wore the first one so often, I figured it would fall apart. I never noticed the second one was missing.
