I study the tree again. Please see what I see. Its trunk—wide and expansive, its armlike branches stretching out in every direction, and the bulge of bark that looks like an eyeball. “Do you see that?” I point. “It’s like an eye.”

“Yeah,” Cora says. “I see that.”

I hold my breath, the tiniest bit of hope bubbling up inside of me.

“What makes you think there’s a wormhole here?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I feel it.”

Cora wrinkles her nose. “You feel it?”

I should’ve known she wouldn’t like that answer. “I mean,” I correct, “from everything I’ve read, it matches the description.”

“What description?”

“You know. Of places that have wormholes.”

She walks closer to the tree. “Hm. I guess I see what you’re saying.”

“You do?”

Cora bends over to inspect the tree, running her fingers over the moss on the bark. I hope she doesn’t see that as a negative. I thought it was a good thing that the tree was able to be a home for other living things. That it was able to grow things.

“Yeah. So now we just need a plan for how to make the wormhole appear.” She turns to me, and there’s a smile on her face.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile all day.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since November 11 last year.

“A plan. You’ve always been good at those.”

She nods, her hazel eyes bright and wide. “I have some ideas already. I think we should probably structure all of this like a science experiment. Does that make sense to you?”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond; she keeps talking, “So we’ll have a hypothesis and then different steps. Coming up with the hypothesis should be easy, but I want to take some time to make sure we get it right. Also, it seems like there are conflicting ideas about how to make wormholes appear. Did you pick up on that, too, when you read the articles? Some of them implied that wormholes—”

Cora keeps talking about the different theories surrounding wormholes. I know I should pay attention, but I find my mind drifting.

Time travel. Wormholes. Fabric of the universe.

I imagine a door appearing in the middle of the giant oak tree’s trunk. A magic door, a door that glows with light. It will be covered with moss and have a big brass handle. We’ll open it, and whoosh.

There’s my brother. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not sure how to envision this next part. Do I want to see him on that terrible morning? I never actually saw him on that day—I only heard his boots in the hallway.

But I don’t think I want to see him then. I want to see him before. But when? My heart skids like a car zooming over ice as I shift through memories. Doors being slammed. The time he grabbed my wrist. The hateful comments he made. The back of his head as he walked toward Dad’s safe. I let out a tiny yelp.