But when I sat in the Hummingbird Grove and shut my eyes, it didn’t quite work. My mind wandered, or I couldn’t focus right, or I got anxious and sad. I started to miss Mom a lot, and I got to thinking about how lonely I’d always been, what a fuckup I was. I couldn’t stop worrying about Horace, where he was right now, if he would come one night and steal us away from Grandma.

It was hard to focus on something like visions when I had so much banging around in my mind. And in a weird way, it felt like the blond boy I usually saw was hiding from me, like he was peeking out from behind a tree and I just couldn’t see him. It made me wonder what else was out there, if the Hobo was watching me too. The whole thing made me sad. I sat in the dirt and wondered about myself, what was happening to me, what any of it meant.

I moped my way back to see if I could help Murphy and Grandma clean out the toolshed. But by the time I got there, Grandma had called a hydration break. I walked over to Murphy, who was slumped down in the shade, sucking on her health juice.

“Get bit by anything?” I said.

“Nope,” she said. “But I did murder about six hundred spiders. One of them was the size of my palm, I swear to god.”

“Sorry I’m not doing more to help,” I said.

“Shit, if I could get out of this, I would.” Murphy held the juice up to the sunlight and squinted at it. “Oh god. I think I’m starting to like this crap.”

I left Murphy sitting there and stole off for the Split Tree. I wanted to see if there was another tape waiting on me. It was afternoon now, storm clouds blowing up on the horizon. It felt cooler, just a little bit, the wind starting to pick up. I walked under the leaves whispering above me, the crack and groan of limbs in the breeze. As I neared the Split Tree I heard a voice, someone singing, the thrum of a guitar.

It was Cass, eyes shut, sitting on the ground with her back up against the Split Tree. She was singing to herself in that deep voice of hers, a kind of incantatory song, fingerpicked and fluttering. It sounded strange out there, the tree limbs casting long slashing shadows around her.

She didn’t notice me watching her. I guess it’s creepy that I just stood there listening to her sing. But I didn’t dare interrupt her. It was too beautiful—the song, the shadows, Cass herself—and any word from me would spoil the whole thing. So I let her sing, and I stood there happy and silent and in awe.