“A million,” I repeat.

I see it again—that morning—and even with the new furniture, the vision is strong of me standing there, passing Johnny to Shirley, the sound of Tom’s vehicle kicking up stones, me running down the dock, jumping into my kayak so recklessly I nearly tip before I can get going.

“I think I’ll wait outside,” I say.

“You don’t want to see the rest of the place?” Tom asks. Hidden in his voice is the understanding of how hard this is for me, but there is also a twinge of disappointment. Maybe he hoped I had left those memories somewhere else, somewhere far away.

“Another time,” I say. “I’m sure we’ll be back.”

He nods, and I turn, push open the door, and walk down the long dock. I don’t get in the boat though. I sit and let my feet dangle, and because this dock is lower to the water than the one at Tom’s house, my feet nearly graze the lapping waves.

Why am I here? I wonder for the hundredth time.

I hear the pitter-patter of little feet skidding along the dock, feel a small hand on my shoulder, and sense the restless sitting of an eleven-year-old.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” you reply, your hand moving to mine. Your fingers are so small. “I know why we’re here.”

I feel alarmed, though I don’t know why. “You do?”

There is a solemn expression on your face. “The woman told me last night.”

“The woman?” Every time you mention her, sadness and disappointment rise in me, holding a small dose of anxiety. I keep thinking something must be very wrong.

“She told me why we’re here. And Grampy? She needs my help, but she’s going to help me too. We’re going to make it all right.”

All right. Wouldn’t that be nice.

“I saw there was a red X on your map where this cabin is,” I said.

You nod eagerly. “Yes! The silver-haired lady put that mark on the map last night. And now I think I know why—the door must be here! In your old cabin! I’m going to go look around.”

“That’s fine, Pearl. But stay out of the basement.”

“There’s a basement?” you ask, your eyes lighting up.

“Pearl,” I say in a warning voice.

“Hungry?” Tom calls out from the cabin.

I look over at you. “How about you?”

You nod, grinning, but I can tell the excitement of searching the house is distracting you.

“Sure,” I shout back.

“Can you bring in the bag of food from the boat?”

I help you climb down into the boat, you grab the bag, I hoist you up, and we walk back up the dock. And for just a moment I think I can see it: a life for you here in Nysa. The sun is shining and the trees are rustling in the breeze and the lake is all around us, blue and shimmering. You wouldn’t need a lot of people around—Tom would give you a happy home, make sure you get a good education. You would like it here, even alone, roaming the woods and spending days out on the lake. It would probably be safer for you than the city.