During breakfast, Gramps says his line, casual, like we planned: “It’s such a beautiful fall day outside. Not going to have too many more sunny days like this before it really starts to get cold.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s true. Actually, Moms, I was telling Gramps about the trails behind our house, and I know how you don’t like me to go walking by myself.”

Mom takes a bite of pancake. “Okay?”

“Well, I was thinking since it is so nice out, like Gramps said, maybe me and Gramps—or Gramps and I—could go out for a stroll today. Since neither of us would be alone if we’re together,” I add, throwing in a grin at the end of my sentence.

Mom and Mama share a look. Mama gives a microscopic nod and a half shrug. Mom squints at me, like she’s trying to decide something. “Bring your phone, and I want you to look at the time, and be back in one hour. Can you do that?”

I squeal, “Yes.”

Mama adds, “Remember, we’re trusting you to be very careful, and stick to the paths, and not to go too far.”

“I know, we will. I promise!”

I finish my breakfast way too fast, and then race back upstairs to get dressed. I dump all of my school stuff out of my backpack and onto my bedroom floor, so I have room to bring some of Dewey’s supplies with us on our walk. I add in my S. Hawkins sketchbook and pencils. Gramps says an artist should always keep their tools with them, because you never know when inspiration will strike.

Meanwhile Gramps is doing his part: creating a diversion. He’s going to keep Moms and Noah busy while we’re getting Dewey out of the shed by asking them to rearrange the furniture in his bedroom.

“Make sure you wear your jackets,” Mama calls to us from Gramps’s room when she hears the back door open.

“We are!” I shout.

I can hear Dewey already.

You’re here. It was so long. I missed you; I missed you so much!

I can barely stand how excited I am to see her, and suddenly I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is my excitement or Dewey’s. I carefully open the shed door and squeeze inside while Gramps keeps a lookout. Dewey starts whining and jumping up on me, and I have to tell her “shh” while I get her leash clipped onto her collar.

I peek out the window of the shed to see the curtains in Gramps’s bedroom are closed—the signal we’re all clear. Gramps joins me as I rush to the gate, both of us holding our breath, and we slip out as quickly as possible. It’s not until we get to the clearing near the bushes that we stop.

“We made it!” I breathe.