“Okay . . .” I say slowly, not quite sure I’m understanding, even though I really want to.

“So maybe you can think of how you’re handling missing Mabel—how you’re coping with your grief—as an imperfect and evolving theory. It’s always something you’re going to have to puzzle over. But the ideas, the theories, of the comforting things that Grams says can be helpful. Because they work, even if they don’t actually, well, you know, work. Like Newton’s laws of motion. They are imperfect and incomplete, but that doesn’t stop them from being useful or worthwhile. There’s a reason you still study Newton in school.” Dad scratches his head.

He continues. “What I’m trying to say is that your feelings, and your feelings about your feelings, can evolve with you. And it’s okay for them to do that. It actually could be said that it is scientific for them to do that.”

“Feelings about feelings,” I repeat, and give him a smile. “That explanation is the most annoying science-professor thing ever, and I actually like it.”

“I thought you might.”

“Mabel would not like it at all.”

“Probably not,” Dad says, and I see that his eyes are full of tears again. He touches my chin. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”

I nod. He lets go of my chin.

“And you’re growing up. Growing up is like an imperfect theory in its own way.”

My throat is dry. I understand what Dad’s saying, but there’s only one thought in my brain. I decide to say it.

“Mabel’s never going to get to grow up.”

Dad’s eyes overflow again. Tears run down his cheeks. “No. She’s not.”

“That makes me so sad.”

“Me too.”

“But it makes me happy to talk about her.”

Dad nods.

“We should talk about her more,” I say.

Dad nods again. “Okay.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I know there’s nothing we can do to bring back Mabel.” I stare down at my bruised hands and remember the stormy sky from last night. “But there has to be something we can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“To try and make sure what happened to Mabel doesn’t happen again.”

Dad is silent for a while. He doesn’t look at me.

“Dad?”

“That one is so tricky, Cora. More than anything, I want to make sure what happened to Mabel doesn’t happen again.”

“Then why don’t we do something? Why don’t we do something to change things?”

He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Corrie.”

Complicated. Moaqqad. I hate that word. The fact that I know how to say it in Arabic only marginally makes me dislike it less. “That’s what grown-ups say when they don’t want to tell the truth.”

Dad squints in thought.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you one last question?”

“You can always ask me as many questions as you have.”

I give him a nervous smile. “Do you believe in impossible things? I mean, even with everything that’s happened. Do you still believe in impossibly good things?”