Like finding a wormhole. Like time travel.

Dad points at my notebook. “You like that, huh?”

My heart is racing, but I’m trying to act cool. “It’s a neat quote.”

Dad gives me a knowing look. “I think so, too.”

I clutch my notebook and the book of poems to my chest. “Dad?”

He startles from whatever thought he was having. “Hm?”

“Thank you for the book,” I say. “And for the . . . story.”

Dad grins wide enough that I can see his front two teeth that are crooked. Mabel used to love to tease him about them, but I’ve always liked the way they are. It’s like I wouldn’t have even known they weren’t straight if it hadn’t been pointed out.

And that’s how I feel about Mom leaving. I want to tell Dad that, but I don’t know how without sounding really strange. Or hurting his feelings about his teeth.

“You’re a really good dad,” I say, standing up from the table. “And Mabel thought so, too. What I’m trying to say is that I’m really glad you’re my dad. Is that a silly thing to say?”

Dad turns his head away from me a little, but I can still see that his eyes are teary. “No, kiddo. That’s a beautiful thing to say. And, hey, I’m really glad I’m your dad, too.”

He stands up and walks around the table. Pulling me close, he kisses the top of my head. “We’re going to be okay, Corrie. It’s been tough, but I know we’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” I whisper, staring down at that impossible but possible phrase. The shape of thunder.

Thirty

Quinn

Dear Parker,

I told Cora about how I saw you with Dad’s guns. She hates me now. Like she should.

Mrs. Euclid told me that telling the truth would make me feel lighter, But I still feel pretty heavy. I haven’t told Mom or Dad. I’m scared to.

I keep thinking about all the things I didn’t know about you. Like what you were doing, what you were planning, when you sat alone in your room for hours.

I also think about the things I did know about you. That you liked pickles. That your favorite color was fire-engine red. That when you found something really funny, you tipped your head back all the way with laughter. I don’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.

It’s probably important for me to remember things like that. But sometimes I don’t want to.

I think I hate you. I just sometimes forget.

Your sister,

Quinn

Mom looks like she’s ready to go to a party or something. Since it happened, she hardly wears anything other than leggings and cozy sweaters and her cooking apron, but she’s standing in the foyer wearing crisp dark jeans and a billowy white blouse. Her hair is swept up neatly, and she’s even wearing her “Leading Lady” lipstick.