“I’ve barely given it any thought,” Dad said and then looked at Mom. “Thai?”

Mom nodded. “Great idea. We can see if Oren and Jared want to join us.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

Mom pulled me into a hug. “I don’t know what you did to help Oren today, but whatever it was, thank you.”

It made my heart happy to hear her say that. Not just because it felt nice to be thanked by my mom, but because even though Oren and his uncle were in the other room crying and were still really sad about Oren’s parents, at least Oren was talking now. I’d upset him at first, but I’d been there for him, given him what he needed.

I thought of something else he needed. And how maybe I could make it happen.

“So I have an idea,” I said to my parents. “What if…” I let them in on my plan.

They loved it and said they’d talk to Jared about it.

I just hoped he was on board.

Twenty-Seven

The next day it was rainy, so Oren’s uncle dropped him off on his way to work. Oren told me he hadn’t had time to have breakfast, so I asked Mom to make us a giant cheese omelet to share.

While we ate, my parents got ready for work. They returned in their non-funeral clothes, which meant no services today. Then they filled their coffee mugs and went next door, promising they’d be home for lunch.

Oren and I went into the dining room, where I had all my quilling stuff set up so we could work on his tree memorial.

“François!” I scolded. The cat was perched on the table, chewing on a strip of paper. Oren tugged the paper away, scooped the cat up and put him in his lap, stroking him with his good hand. A moment later the cat settled and began to rumble in pleasure.

I started making more leaves to add to the pile in front of me. Big leaves, small leaves, dark green leaves, light green leaves, medium green leaves. So. Many. Leaves. Did I mention quilled trees require a lot of little coiled leaves that take forever to make? It’s relaxing but also kind of boring after a while. At least I had someone to chat to.

Make that chat with, now that Oren was talking again.

As I worked on the millionth leaf, Oren studied what we’d already pieced together. So far it was just trunk and branches—we’d arrange all the leaves perfectly before I started gluing them in place.

“Hmm,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“It needs something,” he said.

“Well, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Leaves. Working on it.” I pointed at the giant pile of coiled paper leaves in front of me.

“No,” he said. “Something more. Hmm. Like…how about roots? Yeah. Roots.” He reached over to the pile of strips left over from the funeral programs and started separating some out.

I leaned over but couldn’t tell what he was doing. “What are those?”