“I’m not sure if you can hear me, but if you can, I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

If Amy understood, she didn’t show it. Finn placed her toes in the dirt like she’d seen Rowan do. She looked back up into Amy’s twisted branches. “My name is Finn. You knew my mom. She told you her name was Wren, but it wasn’t. It was Nora Wilder, and I’m trying to figure out where she went.”

The wind died down and Amy’s branches stilled. Finn felt an earthworm wriggle against her big toe.

“I know she probably didn’t tell you where she was going, but if you know anything that might help me…”

Finn waited. Minutes passed. The soles of her feet began to feel clammy. The wind picked up again and hurried pewter clouds across the sky. She pulled the painted rock from her pocket, squeezed it until its cool surface began to feel warm in her fist.

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.