“Whoa,” said Murphy. “Did Mom paint all this?”

“She was quite the artist in her time,” said Grandma. “I’m sorry to hear she ever gave it up.”

A few books lined a small bookshelf—one on herbalism, an illustrated volume on plants, as well as a sports car catalog from 1995.

“Well, that much at least looks like Mom,” said Murphy.

I know it sounds like I’d gone mute, but I pretty much had. The paintings were amazing, and I wished that had been a side of Mom that we had known. But there was something else about that room that felt strange to me. I don’t want to drop fancy mystic words like “aura,” but there was definitely a feeling to it, a dusty, shadowed thing hiding itself in the corners. Something about the room wanted to be understood, if that makes any sense.

“Everything okay, Lee?” asked Grandma.

I nodded. “Just tired, I guess.”

“I can only imagine. Heaven knows all that you endured the past few days.” Grandma smiled. “And frankly, the two of you need showers. I would have requested this before dinner, but I saw how famished you were.”

“Fuckin’ A,” said Murphy, and again Grandma winced.

“Bathroom is down the hall,” she said. “You’ll find fresh towels in the cupboard. Also, I have some old clothes from years back that should fit the two of you, if you have nothing else to change into. I’ll lay those by the door.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone charger, would you?” I said. “My phone’s about to die.”

“Of course not, dear,” she said. “I try to keep the outside world truly outside, if you know what I mean. Perhaps we can pick up one in town sometime soon.”

Grandma yawned big, the veins gone sharp in her neck.

“Goodness me, I’m tired. If you don’t mind, children, I’m headed to bed. It is sundown, after all, and in this house, we obey the light.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

She smiled so big I thought her cheeks would split.

“It’s a pleasure, children,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

Grandma kissed each of us on the cheek and tottered off to her bedroom, feet making only the tiniest sound on the creaky wood, as if she weighed no more than a mouse.

“Strange lady,” said Murphy. “But cool.”

“Yeah,” I said. I picked up a small ceramic turtle from the dresser, hand-painted, like something from a craft class at summer camp. “So weird being in Mom’s old bedroom.”

“No shit,” said Murphy.

We had a moment then where the room got quiet and we were surrounded by all of Mom’s old childhood things, and it was like she was there with us, like she hadn’t died at all. I knew Murphy was feeling it too. She reached out and grabbed my hand, and together we stood there in the silence, trying not to cry. I was so glad I had Murphy. I was so glad I wasn’t alone.