It’s not working, she thought, starting to feel self-conscious. She pulled her feet out of the dirt and sat on one of the pine’s stooped branches, leaning her back against the trunk. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she said, disheartened. Finn looked down at the rock in her hand and stared at the blobs of blue paint. Whether they were meant to represent sky or water, it didn’t matter. Like her sister had said: It’s just a rock.

So she threw it. Where it landed, she didn’t care.

Maybe Zadie was right. Mom doesn’t want to be found.

The wind stirred what remained of Amy’s tree’s branches. Finn closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she had a different name.

Amy watched her girls play.

The woman who called herself Wren stood under the maple tree, held out her hand.

She had mother’s arms, strong but gentle. In them, Rowan floated like a dandelion seed to the ground.

The woman wrote something on her daughter’s palm, then appeared next to her, smile like sun-softened butter.

You have a way with kids.

My girls like to climb, too.

Your girls?

Confusion like oil, fogging her eyes.

A flock of geese flew overhead. Wren watched them, rapt, unblinking.

I have to go.

And then she was gone.

Rowan ran over, held out her palm. Four letters were written on it:

N-E-S-T

There were other letters, too, but the ink was smudged, illegible.

Did she say anything to you, Rowan?

She said to come find her.

Is that all she said?

Rowan blinked. She called me Zadie.

Thunder rolled across Zadie’s pillow. Her eyes fluttered open just as the first spots of rain dotted the windowpane. She turned to see Finn’s side of the bed rumpled but empty. She must be at breakfast. Zadie was hungry, too, but she was in no hurry to run into Joel after last night. He kissed me, she thought, hardly believing herself. It was a fine kiss, the kind of kiss that would have most people buzzing the next day, but Zadie’s stomach ached with guilt.

Once again she had gotten caught up in his kindness, mistaken it for something more. He was there for her then and he was here for her now, but that didn’t mean they were getting back together. They couldn’t. She would be a mom soon, and he would still be the guy who bounces from job to job, town to town, crashing in motel rooms without permission. But despite his faults, Joel still deserved better than to be her emotional crutch.

I’ll let him down easy, she thought, knowing full well that there was no such thing.

Zadie waited until she heard Joel clomping down the stairs to the workshop before she left the bedroom. By the time she left the barn, she’d convinced herself that Joel might not even harbor any romantic feelings toward her. He’d imbibed that night (at least two fingers of whiskey and some of Myron’s home-brewed beer). His wits were suspect on a normal day, let alone after a drink or two. Her theory, however, fell apart the moment she walked into the Van Houtens’ kitchen and saw the way Joel looked at her.