We’re quiet for another moment, my mom still lost in thought as I read through the letter again. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that this is the last letter I’ll read from Sage. Part of me wishes I could keep finding hidden glimpses of her forever. I begin the letter again, pausing at the line about their neighbor. They had each other and their next-door neighbor Peter, a painfully shy boy who played with the girls when he was feeling brave and left them bundles of flowers under the willow tree when he wasn’t.

“So where’s Peter?” I ask.

“California, last I checked.” She glances at me guiltily. “After the divorce I looked him up.”

It’s weird to think of my mom stalking an ex-boyfriend online. “Did you contact him?”

“Absolutely not. That is very past history. Plus, I know I hurt him. I hope he’s moved on with his life and that he’s very happy.”

An image of my mom kneeling at the willow tree suddenly springs to me. “Who were you calling that night at the willow tree?”

“What?” She turns to look at me, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Mason and I were here. On the rooftop. The aunts told me what a knot spell is.”

“You were watching?” Her voice is aghast, but she exhales and her shoulders drop a few inches. “It was him. Being here stirred up a lot of old feelings. That first person you love… They’re pretty special, aren’t they?”

She meets my eyes steadily and I realize that she means Mason. I’m not sure if I’ve fallen in love with Mason yet, but I know that given the chance, I will certainly end up there. What if I don’t get that chance? And more importantly, is he okay?

Worry filters through me. “They’re going to find him, right?”

“I think so.” Then my mom is quiet for a moment before saying, “Would you like to do your own willow knot spell? For Mason?”

I look up at the branches. “How?”

“I’ll show you.” We both get to our feet. “Choose a branch, whichever one calls to you, then I want you to hold it in your hands and close your eyes.”

I obey. My branch is green, its leaves sweeping gracefully downward, and it is light and pliable in my hands. I close my eyes.

“Now picture Mason. Really picture him.”

That’s easy. I picture him up on the rooftop, the way the candlelight had reflected in his eyes. How his hand had felt on mine.

“Now you ask the willow tree for its magic. Tell it what you want, in your mind or out loud. Then you tie a knot in the branch. You want it to be tight enough that it doesn’t come undone, but not so tight that you break it.”