I tilt my head to look up at the tree—its branches look like they are scraping the sky. I have so many questions, but when I look back at Quinn’s face, I see an answer.

“Okay. You’re right. Let’s try.”

Eighteen

Quinn

Dear Parker,

You know how Mom loves to listen to old folksy songs by Johnny Cash and Joni Mitchell and Patsy Cline? I’ve noticed recently that in a lot of those songs the most powerful moment is actually when they stop singing. When everything is quiet except for the strum of a guitar or the jangle of piano keys.

But that silence says something. It makes you pay attention.

What I’m trying to say is, I’ve started to remember all the things you didn’t say. The things you stopped saying, like “Hi” and “How are you?” and “I love you.” And regular things like “Mom, can you buy more pickles?” and “Has anyone seen my blue sneakers? I can’t find them.”

That silence was loud. I wish I’d listened to it.

Your sister,

Quinn

I always find the school day hard to get through, but today was super tough. Every minute felt like it was being stretched into an hour. It was like someone pressed a button and put the whole day into slow motion.

But now I’m here and every single part of my body is racing.

I hear the sound of Cora’s footsteps before I see her. She’s never been a quiet walker.

“Hey,” she says as she comes into view. She’s wearing a thicker jacket than yesterday. It’s flower-patterned corduroy and lined with fleece, and she’s wearing another knitted hat that Grams probably made. This one’s the color of a pea. “You beat me.”

I rub my hands together. “I chanced the crowded hallways. I couldn’t wait today.”

She gives me a little smile. “You think this is really going to work?”

Overhead the sky is gray. It looks like a bedsheet that’s been pulled tight at the edges. Like the type of sky that’s waiting on something. I hope that something is the wormhole. I bow my head down and make a quiet and quick wish.

Inhaling, my lungs fill with the crisp and earthy air. Everything around us is quiet and still. The only sound is the babble of the creek and the occasional gust of wind. I quickly cross the water and make it to the other side of the bank. It registers for me that Cora can now cross by herself. It makes me happy to think that I’ve taught her something.

Cora doesn’t wait for me to answer her question. She walks right up to the trunk of the giant oak tree. She runs her fingers over the bumpy bark. “So you think the wormhole is just going to appear? Like right here?”

I walk to stand beside her. I bounce on the balls of my feet. It’s impossible to stand still. “I’m not sure. But maybe it’ll open up right there.” I point at the bulge of bark that’s high up on the trunk: the part of the giant oak tree that I call The Eyeball.