“The ideas were all Gram’s,” I say. “But she was never angry at Madeline for using them. She’s been visiting her all these years. And I bet she was glad that Madeline got the book published. Otherwise, nobody would have ever gotten to read it.”

“I wondered why she liked that book so much,” Dad says. “She was always trying to get me to pick it up as a kid.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Boomer starts barking his head off.

Mom gets up. “That must be Fina’s parents.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Fina asks.

“Everything,” Mom replies. “But only when I call your mom tomorrow morning. Hopefully by then, you’ll have told them everything first.”

Fina nods. “Fair enough, Mrs. Talbot.”

Mom and I walk her to the doorway, and when we get there, Fina wraps her arms around me in a big hug.

“Being friends with you,” she says, “has turned out to be a pretty cool adventure.”

46

At long last, Jack and Sarah laid down their swords. The hobgoblin king had fled into the night with his queen, leaving his wrought iron crown to clatter to the ground. Sarah picked it up and flung it out the window after him. And then a most strange and wonderful thing happened. The sky, which had been black as an empty hearth since the children arrived, burst into a garden of color. Slowly at first, then all at once, it blossomed purple, then pink, now orange and gold.

Somewhere, the escaped fairy princess was laughing to make the sun rise, and Jack and Sarah began to laugh, too. From all over the kingdom came sounds of merriment and rejoicing. The curse was lifted, the darkness banished. Dawn had broken over the Goldengrove at last.

I feel goose bumps prickling up and down my arms. It’s late, but I can’t sleep, so I’ve been reading the last chapters of The World at the End of the Tunnel. It feels so different now, knowing that Gram is at the center of it all. I find myself looking for her behind every line. And for the first time since she died, I feel like I’ve found her again.

When I’ve read until the very end, and Jack and Sarah are tucked once more into their own beds, I creep out of mine. I go downstairs and look in the freezer. There’s mint chocolate-chip ice cream. Not exactly a warm slice of Gram’s apple pie, but it’ll have to do.

I take the carton, sit down in my usual seat, and look across the table at the one where Gram always sat.