“I don’t know,” I say.

“Where will we go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about George?”

“I’m not sure.”

She starts to blubber. Micah gets up and hugs her. Ivy wraps her arms around Micah’s waist and squeezes. She cries into Micah’s chest like my mom did to me. Her cries are high-pitched, like a kitten. Like a baby.

I get up and join the hug. I don’t cry, though. Somehow Ivy’s tears keep me from showing mine. Micah’s cheek presses against mine as we squeeze Ivy between us.

“You’ll be all right,” Micah says quietly. “I promise.”

But I don’t know if Ivy hears him through her cries. We hold her until she finally quiets and stops squeezing Micah. When we step apart, we all look at one another awkwardly, as if we have to get used to our new relationship. Micah, the lucky one. Ivy and me, the unluckies.

“Maybe we should go to the beach,” Micah says.

Ivy looks at me for approval. Part of me doesn’t want to leave the house again, knowing our time here is almost over. Shouldn’t we spend every last minute here that we can?

But another part of me thinks that walking back into the house and seeing my mom’s closed door, seeing everything we are about to lose, will hurt more.

“Let’s be quick,” I say to Ivy, pulling our towels and bathing suits from the clothesline.

“I’ll meet you in the driveway,” Micah says.

We hurry inside and change as fast as we can. I leave a note on the dining-room table telling my mom we’re going to the beach with Micah. It feels strange to write the note, and I wonder if it would be better to stay home in case she needs me. But that’s silly, and backward, too. She’s the mom, not me.

I end the note with an I love you and a heart. It makes me think of the Home Is Where the Heart Is pillow. If home is where the heart is, what happens when you lose your home?

“C’mon!” Ivy says, tugging on my backpack.

“OK, OK,” I say.

Micah is waiting for us in the driveway with our bikes ready to go. I don’t know why it feels like we’re running away when we turn onto the road, but it does.

The beach is quiet today. The weather is a bit overcast and looks like rain. As we pass the lifeguard stand, the lifeguard tells us we’ll have to get out of the water immediately if it starts to thunder. She seems annoyed to have to be here on such a yucky day.

We toss our stuff at our usual place at the far end of the beach and stand with our toes in the water.

“Will we still get to come here after we move?” Ivy asks.