“Why don’t people talk about trees?”

“You know why.”

“I forget.”

“I’ve told you how your abuelita died. You remember?”

“Yes. She couldn’t breathe. That’s why our masks are important.”

“Yes. And the trees are why she couldn’t breathe.”

“And flowers.”

“Yes, lots of plants. But mostly the trees.”

“I still like trees,” Cami said with her head down.

“Of course you do. I still like trees. They didn’t do it on purpose.”

Cami stopped and looked at her mother the way she did when she was deciding whether Izabel was telling the truth. “Yes, they did,” she said.

“No, honey.”

“Yes! Mom!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Okay.”

The two of them looked out of the windows. Pollen had dried around tracks of water all over the car, from when it was washed. Little imperfect yellow outlines.

“If they did it on purpose,” Izabel said, “then I don’t like them.”

Cami didn’t say anything.

Opa got them from the waiting room and brought them into her office. “How are you two doing?”

“We’re good,” Izabel said. She put her bag down next to the chair, making sure the gun didn’t show. It hadn’t left her bag since the station.

“And you, Cami?” Opa said.

“Great!”

“Great!” Opa said back, spreading her arms. “We have a lot to do today. Want to know why?”

Cami nodded.

“Today is all about you.”

“Okay!” Cami said.

“I want to start with an exercise and then I’m going to ask you a lot of questions and we’ll color a little. Does that sound good to you?”

“I like to exercise,” Cami said.

“Not that kind of exercise, more like an activity.”

“But you said exercise.”

“It’s actually another definition of exercise.”

“Oh, I know about that. A teacher at school likes to say ‘neat,’ but it doesn’t mean she wants us to clean up.”

“Exactly right. Just like that. Okay, are you ready to get started?”

Cami nodded.

“You’re going to start by putting your hands together like this.” Opa put her right hand on top of her left hand, leaving a little space between them, resting them in her lap. “That’s your elevator.”

Cami put her hands out and looked in her elevator.

“Now I want you to put your elevator in your lap and imagine you’re inside it with a friend—anyone you like.”

“Should she close her eyes?” Izabel asked.

“Up to her,” Opa said. “Have you picked someone, Cami?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Cami said.

“It?”

“It’s my tree friend.”

“Cami,” Izabel started.

“No, it’s okay. Your tree friend is great. If you can imagine the tree small enough to fit in your elevator. Can you do that?”

Cami nodded.