Lost and Found - Epilogue

Lost and Found - Epilogue

Six months later, she went through most of Anna’s belongings in her bedroom and shifted the space into her writing room.  The modern writing desk was delivered  It had clean lines, minimalist silhouette and functional simplicity.  It faced the window, so she could see nature outside.  She aimed for an uncluttered space to foster her creativity.  “Anna would love it.”

 

On one wall she hung cloud paintings that her sister created.  There was a cloud whale and giraffe.  There was another cloud labeled “Grandma’s attitude.”  She forgot about the animals in the sky until she reread her notebook.  She laughed when she saw the paintings and pinned them to the wall.  A few days ago, an orange cat was outside, chasing a squirrel.  She took a picture of it, printed it, wrote “George” under it and pinned it next to the paintings.  Memories slowly returned.  Therapy helped with this.  

 

She stood by the window, watched a cardinal, and smiled into her cup of tea.  “That must be Anna checking in on me.”  She thought about the therapy lessons and how it started off in an awkward way.  Here is this person asking her to talk about a deep wound and loss.  Having someone ask after the desk questions didn’t sit well with her.  The therapist was good though and built trust and understanding.  “Kind of like what the pages did in the desk.”   She still got angry when she thought of the Hawthorne.  "How ruthless.”

 

The difference is her therapist offered to heal in a supportive, non-judgmental way.  She didn't erase the memories, rather she encouraged keeping the memories, good and bad, and taught how to navigate life.  She wanted the harder path of carrying grief, because love is worth it.

 

She refused to delete the message from Anna and was thankful that the therapist understood.  “Some things need to be preserved.”

 

“No, Anna, I still haven’t told the therapist about the desk.  You are my priority, to work through the emotions and keep you inside my heart.  The desk can wait.  I might never share about it.....  but I did research....”

 

It took her a few months to search the Internet.  She searched because she was expecting answers about Ellie and Billy.  Instead, she found almost nothing.  Just a brief article and photograph, which confirmed it was the same two people.

 

“Local siblings Eleanor Hart and William Hart disappeared from Hawthorne Apartments.  Despite extensive investigation, no evidence was found.  The case remains open.”  A cold case.

 

As she reread the article, the mail arrived.  Junk mail mostly.  She almost threw away one envelope, but a gut feeling told her to open it.  There was no return address.

 

Inside was a single sheet of paper. Old. Yellowed.  Her stomach dropped.  She almost shoved the paper back into the envelope, but she remembered her therapist’s words, “We are here to work through this, not shut down.”

 

The paper was thin but the words were dark.

 

“We want Anna.”

 

Three words.  Nothing more.  For a long moment she stared, then something unexpected happened.  She laughed, not because it was funny, but because she was angry.

 

Years of grief, of guilt of punishing herself... and now this thing wanted Anna?  Had the audacity to find her and make a demand?  It was laugh or cry.  Hers was a bubble of fury that erupted in laughter.. then a darker laugh.

 

“No.

Absolutely not.”

 

She tore the page in half.  Then again.  Then again.  Tiny pieces fluttered into the metal trashcan.  

“You don’t get my memories.:

“You don’t get me.”

“You don’t get her story.”

“And you sure as hell don’t get Anna!”

 

She took a match and watched the pieces burn.

She watched until the embers died down.... ashes.. 

But her emotions didn’t die down, she still felt the anger pulse in her veins.  

 

She grabbed two envelopes and two sheets of paper.

 

After slamming the envelopes down, she addressed one to the Hawthorne Apartments, she used a sheet of paper to scoop the ashes into the envelope.  Then wrote on that same paper, “Go ahead and ask me again.”

 

The notes she brought home and the two photographs were in a box.  She placed them out on her new desk and took pictures of each one.  

 

She could not save the people who wrote the notes.  She was decades too late for that, but she was determined that their names would not disappear.  Not while she remembered them.

 

The second envelope was addressed to the cold case detective that was in the article.  All of the notes and pictures and Hawthorne’s address were put in the envelope.

 

She took one last look at Ellie and Billy’s smiling faces.  “You deserve to be heard.  You deserve for your story to be told.”

 

She ran to the mailman before he left the apartment and thanked him, as she handed him the envelopes.  Back home, she listened to Anna’s message again.  No tears this time.  

 

As Anna laughed through the speaker, she suddenly remember the smell of peach juice on her sister’s hands one summer afternoon.  She smiled.  “Welcome back.”  She felt as if Anna was giving her a hug.

 

If Anna was here, she would have said:

“Some things deserve to be carried, even if it’s painful.

Some things deserve to be shared.

And some things deserve to be remembered.”

 

Then she would have looked at her paintings on the wall and said, ‘See, I told you Cloud Whales were real!”