“She told me how you took turns writing in it. I still walk in the woods at night, and sometimes I would go there and read the stories in the journal. I read the chapter you wrote after she died. I don’t know what possessed me, but I thought—I thought you would be missing her, like I was. I thought perhaps you would be less lonely if someone wrote back.”

“You were right,” I reply. “I did miss her, and it did help. A lot.”

Madeline says nothing to this. Like the idea she could actually help someone sounds impossible to her. Like she really does think of herself as a fairy-tale witch.

“We can keep visiting you,” I say. “Just like Gram did.”

Fina nods. “Definitely.”

“No,” Madeline says. “No, I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“It’s what Gram would want,” I reply. “And—” I hesitate for a moment. But I know what I’m about to say is true. And I think Gram would want me to say it. “She would want you to let your publishers do that new edition of The World at the End of the Tunnel.”

“Yeah,” Fina says eagerly. “It’s like the letter says. Think of all the kids who would read it!”

“No,” says Madeline again. “I am done taking credit for someone else’s ideas.”

“You wouldn’t have to. You could tell the truth. You could write it in the new edition. Maybe—maybe it would make you feel better?”

Then I think about all the people who would come in droves to see the Spinney—the real Goldengrove—if they knew the whole truth.

“You could stay anonymous,” I add quickly. “No one would know your real name or even Gram’s.”

She gets that faraway look again as she stares into the fire. “I—I hadn’t thought . . . ,” she starts, but then her voice trails off.

Suddenly my phone begins to ring. Madeline jumps in her chair like a bird startled from its branch. “Sorry,” I say. I pull the phone out of my pocket. It’s Lily.

I silence the call and look at the time. Seven o’clock. We’ve been gone almost an hour and a half. I glance over at Fina. “We have to go,” I say.

Madeline clears her throat. “Your parents will be worried,” she replies, standing up.

She’s right. They will be worried. And I’ve never been so grateful in my life to have someone to worry about me like that. Someone who cares about me enough to worry.

I help Fina to stand. “I’ll tell them to come get us at the top of the driveway,” I say. I don’t want them pulling up in front of Madeline’s house and knocking on her door. Something tells me she’s had enough company for one night. “Can you make it that far?”