By the time we entered the house, the lights were dim, and everyone had gone to bed. Two steaming cups of tea with biscuits had been left on the table beside a note. Scrawled in Essie"s handwriting, it read: Welcome Home.
Welcome Home“I"ll say goodnight and leave you. We can talk in the morning.” My father kissed me on the forehead, and then he tousled Cole"s hair as if we were small children.
Seated at the familiar table, Cole and I sipped our tea. I breathed in the cinnamon-vanilla scent. We were home.
“I want to find the journals and start going through them," I said, finishing the last of my drink.
“Not tonight, Mara. I"m tired.” Cole stood and offered me his hand.
Reluctantly, I accepted it. “Tomorrow, then.”
When we reached Gram"s room, Cole stopped in the doorway.
I pulled hi
