He squatted down and I squatted down next to him, and one by one he put the boats in the water. They rushed away and rainbow lines spread out behind them.

“Nice,” I said.

“Yeah. Nice is just the right word.”

A branch cracked behind us. I jumped and twisted to see.

“It’s just the woods, Maisy,” he said, and he put his hand over my shoulder.

I looked at the boats. They were still going.

“And besides, you’re brave, remember?”

I’m not brave, I whispered in my head.

“Yes, you are,” he said and squeezed my arm.

I put my face against Rowan’s shirt. My middle got a tiny bit warm.

ROWAN

I had to argue with Gran about it, and even though she was uncomfortable with my idea, she finally gave in. We didn’t tell Maisy. I knew she’d never want to go, but I didn’t want her to be afraid the entire time I was gone. It was better if I did this by myself.

We dropped Maisy off at one of Gran’s neighbors and then drove onto the highway. It seemed like forever before I saw the sign Welcome to the Town of Little Sliding. When Gran turned onto Pinchkiss Circle I looked at where our house once stood. All I could see was a black scar. We crunched down the gravel driveway until Gran stopped the car on the grass. She shut off the engine and we both got out. Gran drew in a breath, put her hand to her mouth. I just stood there.

With the exception of the red brick fireplace, our house was just a bunch of darkened stubs. The ground was littered with charred wood and ash and shards of exploded glass. Posts were hammered into the earth, and caution tape was tied in a rectangle around it all. A bright yellow bulldozer sat next to it. I guess someone was going to demolish what remained. Crush the walls of the basement. Eventually, a new house might rise up. Maybe new children would live there. A fluffy yellow dog with a full belly. A mother and father who were kind.

I took a step forward, but Gran touched my arm. “Don’t,” she said. She pointed at the security tape. “It’s not safe.”

I knew she wasn’t only talking about the ground beneath my feet. She also meant the memories. Of being trapped. Of being starved. Of nearly being burned alive by the ones who were supposed to love me best. Those memories weren’t safe.

I looked out over the backyard. The trees behind the burned-out house were bright and alive and full of orange and red leaves.

“I’ll be back,” I said to Gran.

“And I’ll be waiting right here.” She reached out and touched my fingers. “Try not to be disappointed. Keep your expectations at bay.”