I thought about how Jasper had laughed with Mom at the kitchen table, how Mom had taken to her. Maybe, I thought, maybe Mom could help. Maybe Jasper just doesn’t know how to tell her story to a grown-up, or she hasn’t met the right grown-up. Jasper doesn’t know what safe feels like. But then I remembered how she had reacted to the idea of telling anyone, how scared she was, how she was right, that there was probably no way to tell anyone what was going on without everything else tumbling down. Also, I had made a promise. Now that Jasper and I were okay again, the last thing I wanted to do was shatter everything. So I pushed away those thoughts.

“So,” I asked when Jasper got back. “I have an idea for something we can do, but it’s probably dumb.”

“Eh, I’m okay with dumb,” said Jasper. “What is it?”

“Just that the Vine Realm is so cool, and my walls are so bare . . . I thought it might be neat to paint a mural on my wall too.”

“Oh, that’s not dumb!” said Jasper. “That’s fun. Any idea what you want to paint?”

“Actually, that’s the part I thought might be cheesy.”

“Bring on the cheese,” said Jasper.

“I thought it would be cool if, since we painted that door on your wall, maybe I could have a door too. Almost like . . .”

“Like the doors connect!” said Jasper right away. “Like a Portkey?”

“Yes!” I said. “Exactly. Because wouldn’t it be amazing if that was true, if we could actually walk back and forth from the Vine Realm to here? To grab a sandwich or a Popsicle.”

“Or a shower?” Jasper laughed.

“Yes! Like you sort of lived here, and the Vine Realm was just another bedroom, with a very long hallway leading to it. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“So let’s do it!” said Jasper.

I ran to get the paint, and for the next hour or two, we worked. Just as she had at her place, Jasper sketched the door and added the knob. Then we painted in silence, happily, until Mom knocked on the door.

“Oh! Girls,” she said, looking startled. “I didn’t know you’d decided to paint in here.”

“It’s my room!” I started to argue.

But I didn’t need to—Mom was smiling. “Hey, hey, no worries, it’s pretty and so creative. You know what? I bet your dad will love it. He used to do murals once upon a time. He might even want to help!”

I looked back at the mostly finished wall. “Oh, you think?” I said.

“I’d only suggest that you open a window in here, because of the fumes,” Mom continued. She crossed the room and lifted the window for us.