“What the…”
Piper’s eyes widened.
“Mom.”
“Sorry.”
I turned the photo over.
Five words were written across the back.
BREAK THE CROWNED RABBIT NEXT.
Piper leaned against my shoulder.
“That’s creepy.”
“Very.”
“Are we going to do it?”
Every sensible part of me said we shouldn’t.
Instead, we found the largest rabbit.
It was white with painted gray ears and a golden crown resting slightly crooked between them.
I wrapped it in a motel towel.
“Get on the bed.”
Piper climbed up and pulled her legs beneath her.
I struck the rabbit against the floor.
Nothing.
Again.
A crack appeared beneath the crown.
On the third strike, the porcelain split.
Something metallic hit the carpet.
I pulled the towel apart.
Inside was an old brass key.
Beside it was a folded piece of paper and another photograph.
My hands began to shake.
The picture showed a little girl sitting on the steps of a wooden cabin beside a lake.
The girl was me.
The man beside me was my father.
He had died when I was eleven.
Piper climbed down from the bed.
“Is that Grandpa Wesley?”
I nodded.
I remembered the photograph being taken, although I had completely forgotten the place.
I turned it over.
My father’s handwriting was unmistakable.
For Corrine, in case you ever need somewhere safe to begin again.
Beneath it, written in different ink, were three more words.
Follow the map.
The folded paper was a hand-drawn map.
“This can’t be possible,” I whispered.
Piper grabbed my sleeve.
“Mom, where does it go?”
The next morning, instead of calling my lawyer like a sensible person, I put Piper in the car.
The map led us nearly an hour outside town.
I recognized nothing until we turned down a narrow gravel road surrounded by pine trees.
Then I saw the lake.
And slowly, pieces of childhood memory began returning.
My father teaching me to skip stones.
Eating sandwiches on an old wooden dock.
Falling asleep in his truck on the way home.
At the end of the road stood a small cabin.
The porch sagged slightly, weeds covered the path, and one shutter hung crooked.
But it was still there.
The brass key opened the front door.
Inside, dust covered everything.
There was an old wood stove, fishing poles leaning against the wall, faded blankets, and photographs everywhere.
Photographs of me.
