We step out of the flames together, into a cool night breeze. I hear the pounding of the surf nearby, but it's too dark to see the ocean. A small, two-story cottage sits before us, surrounded by an overgrown but welcoming garden, an old wooden swing-set creaking softly on the right. The light is on, enough to cast shadows back from the climbing bushes and long grass that border the small lawn, lighting the path of beach rocks leading to the back door.
I hold my place as Ash turns to me, her brow tight, but her hand on my arm gentle and supportive.
"This probably won't be pretty," she says, just as the door opens and a handful of people spill out into the yard to stare. I look over her shoulder at the mix of emotion crossing their faces and understand her meaning. One of the men looks so
