IanOakley moves from one end of the cottage to the other, tidying little sticks and tossing rocks in a pile near what can be construed as the front door. I’m leaning on the stone wall I imagined I might turn into a hearth one day during my ridiculous day dreams, watching her spiral. “Can we please talk about this, Oakley?”“There’s nothing new to say. You’ve already made it clear I cannot stay here with you and that you’re going to reject me. Maybe you’re right, and that’s the only way to save the both of us, but I just–” She skirts past me and neatly sets her armful of twigs on the ground just beyond the cottage rubble. “Don’t touch those. I’m going to make a broom.”“Okay,” I breathe, reaching to catch her arm before she manages to sneak past me again, but I miss, and she goes back to whatever she’s doing. Clearing her mind. Keeping her hands busy while the world burns down around us. I get it. It’s probably why, after returning from the creek, I gathered several logs and started
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