“Pretty nice neighbor. You think she’s still around?”
“Oh, I doubt it. Seemed like she was pretty old back then. She’d probably be about a hundred by now.”
“Are wealmostthere?”
Wendy poked him in the shoulder.
“Sorry, Mom. It’s just that I’m so excited to see the cottage. It feels kinda like Christmas, you know?”
“I do know.” She also knew they’d be home by Christmas. Hopefully Jackson would be over it by then.
“Don’t tell me when you see it, Mom. I want to guess. Okay?”
“Sure.” She’d already shown him an old photo of the shingle-covered two-story house, with herself as a scrawny preadolescent, standing in her swimsuit on the sagging front porch. But it wasn’t much different than a lot of these summer cottages. When she spotted the house, she was pleasantly surprised—it didn’t look quite as ramshackle as she’d imagined. Even the porch looked straighter and sturdier than she remembered.
“That’s it,” Jackson declared, pointing at the grayed structure with white trim.
“You got it right.” She turned into the driveway.
“What’s that white stuff on the driveway?” he asked.
“Crushed oyster shells,” she explained. “It’s Maine gravel.”
“Cool.”
“Looks like someone fixed the front porch,” she observed as she parked.
“Look, Mom, there’s a light inside. And smoke from the chimney. Think it’s a ghost?”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” Wendy stared at the structure. Was this the wrong house?
“Maybe your grandma’s neighbor is still around.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She felt uneasy as she turned off the engine. What if someone had snuck in and was squatting? She’d heard of vacation cabin break-ins. Was it unsafe to take her son inside? “Hold on,” she told Jackson as he opened the door.
“Why?” He already had one foot out. “This isourhouse, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but ... I don’t understand what’s going on.” She reached for her phone. “I spoke to Poppa’s attorney last week, telling him we were coming. He told me where the key was hidden, but I wonder if someone found—”
“Who’s that?” Jackson pointed to an elderly woman who had come out of her house and was shuffling toward them in her bedroom slippers and waving with enthusiasm.
“Mrs. Campbell!” Wendy got out of the car and hurried over to greet the old woman. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”
“Wendy!” Mrs. Campbell opened her arms, hugging her warmly. “I’m so happy to see you.” She turned to Jackson. “This must be your son, Jackson. Your grandpa showed me pictures of him, but land sakes, he’s bigger than you.” She patted Jackson on the shoulder. “Almost a full-grown man.”
“I’ll be thirteen in April,” he told her.
“Must be tall for your age.”
“Takes after his dad,” Wendy said.
“Can I go see the beach now?” Jackson begged. “Before it’s too dark?”
“Yes, of course.” Wendy looked out over the dusky dune that dropped down to the surf. “Just don’t wander far. I don’t want you getting lost on your first day here.”
“And there’s no moon tonight,” Mrs. Campbell warned. “It’ll be pitch-black soon.” She pointed out the lamppost by the beach trail, explaining that he could see it from the beach, and then Jackson took off running.
“Did you make a fire for us?” Wendy asked.
