“He was your age. And then he passed through that gate and turned into this old man.”
I scoff and crane my head to the side, trying to see around the corner where the young man must surely be.
“It’s him,” Pia insists. “I watched him turn into that old geezer right before my eyes.”
“That’s ridiculous.” My attention is back on the old man. He’s shoving his crate of clothes and books into the front seat of an old yellow-green El Camino.
He looks up at the window and laughs, then slips inside to the driver’s seat, starts the engine, backs out of the parking lot with a spray of stones, and takes off down a dirt lane that winds around a lake.
I just watch his glowing orange-red taillights until they disappear into the woods. “What the hell was that?”
“That was him.”
“That wasn’t him, Pia. You’ve lost your mind.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know. Outside, I guess.”
“Let’s go look.” She flies down the stairs, but I don’t follow. Instead I flip the light on in the bathroom and resume my tour.
It’s super small, but that’s OK. There’s an old tub with a shower, a small vanity, and a very nice antique mirror. I finger the towels hanging off a rack absently, kind of admitting that this is a little weird.
Pia is right. The cottage looks very much lived in, but there are no personal items—no hairbrushes, toothbrushes, no clothes on the floor or anything like that. But someone has to live here. It’s all too… taken care of. And it cannot be the young caretaker giving me the tour.
Unless French countryside is just his style? But honestly, I don’t think that’s it.
“You better come down here and look,” Pia chirps.
I flip the lights off and go back down the stairs. The cottage door is still open, so I walk through it, assuming she’s already outside.
This cottage is a little bit downhill from the main cathedral. So even though I can see the top of the building and the glow of the gas lights, there are no actual lights down here. Just the leftover shimmer of amber filtering through the cottage windows.
“Pia?” I call into the encroaching darkness.
“Over here.”
I slip around the corner to a little walkway, and then look up to find the window Pia and I were looking out just a couple minutes ago. Yep, this is the place.
“Where is he?” I look around, but there’s absolutely no one here but us.
“He went through the gate. I told you. That old man was the young caretaker.”
I just roll my eyes at her, walk down the path, grab the handle of the wooden gate, and pull on it so I can look in the parking lot.
But… it doesn’t open.
“Shit. It’s locked.”
Pia lands on my shoulder. “I think we need to leave. Right now. Something is wrong here. Something is very, very wrong here.”
I pull on the gate one more time—still locked—then turn around and spy the silver ring on the edge of the path. I walk over to it and I’m just about to pick it up when Pia says, “Don’t touch it!”
I straighten. “Why not?”
“It’s magic.”
“Oh, my God. Why are you so stupid today?” I pick up the ring and look at it in the dim light of the moon. There’s an engraving on the outside, but it’s too dark to make out. It’s similar to the design on the cottage doorknob, leaves and a face. Maybe that Green Man guy, but I can’t be sure because there’s not enough light.
“Don’t put it on,” Pia warns.
“I’m not gonna put it on, you weirdo. I’m going to find the caretaker and give it to him. That old guy was probably his grandfather or something.”
Pia climbs over my shoulder, and slips inside the front pocket of my flannel. Burrowing into my chest.
Her warm body is a comforting feeling that I have grown used to over the years and more than once I have found myself hoping that she never goes away. Even if it means I really am crazy.
I slip the ring into my front pocket with Pia and start back up the walkway, irritated with the caretaker. Because what the hell?
My annoyance doesn’t last long. I’m too enthralled with this place and I find myself thinking about the cottage instead. It’s so nice in there. So homey, and warm, and comfy. I really could see myself living there. I mean, not permanently or anything. But I can picture this life. The secluded woods. The old buildings. All that stained glass to stare at on the daily. How hard could caretaking be?
I get to the top of the gently sloping hill and the cathedral comes into full view. It looks a lot smaller on the outside. So much smaller, I pause on the path to consider this. In fact, the front of this place and the back of it don’t look anything alike.