The street was quiet except for a sprinkler switching on two houses down.

I climbed the three wooden porch steps and unlocked the cottage’s front door.

Emma was sitting on the woven living room rug beside her yellow flowered sundress, which lay folded neatly on top of her canvas overnight bag.

She held Barnaby, her stuffed purple rabbit, by his left ear in her left hand, and held a green crayon over a drawing pad with the other.

“Did Grandma leave?” Emma asked softly.