By Hunter Perez

The interior of the cottage looked as if somebody’s grandmother was recruited to inspire its décor: frilly lace curtains, heavily upholstered furniture, framed needlework on the walls and fragile doilies with porcelain figurines of fauns and lambs sitting atop sturdy oak tables. A fireplace took up much of a wall in the living space and an ornate clock was perched on its jagged wood mantlepiece. As I just emerged from a prison cell residency, the coziness overkill came as a shock.

The kitchen was large and more utilitarian in design and haphazard in its presentation, with dishes and pots scattered carelessly about. There was no running water for the large sink, and an oversized pitcher laying on its side in the basin challenged me to figure out how to clean the dishes and cookware without the benefit of a faucet. A wood-burning stove occupied a corner of the space. The box marked “cottage food” that Patterson carried over was plopped on a dark wood table with chairs parked on each of its sides.

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