“This girl appears many times in her drawings… her name seems to be Little One.” Dr. Davenport slid the notebook in front of me. “Who’s Little One?”
“You girls look so pretty,” Aunt Mary said. She arrived late to the funeral and hid in the back with a long black scarf over her head. “You look just like your daddy,” she told Sage.
“So you’re Little One…that’s what I thought,” Dr. Davenport nodded. “Take a look at the next page…”
“Where’s your mother?” Grandma Betty asked.
Aunt Mary huffed, moving towards the front door. She opened it and we followed behind. She stood in the foyer taking in the smells, the clutter, the destruction.
“They’re out there,” Mother whispered. “I hear them.”
“How did they get in?” I asked, imagining the two statues climbing the front steps, crossing the porch, and then twisting the doorknob with their tiny hands.
“Is the basement door unlocked?” Grandma Betty asked.