“No, it’s true. And today we’re going to see it up close.” I finish braiding Abby’s hair, tie it off, and check my phone. “It’s almost time to go.” Right on time, the tram arrives. “Come on, Abby.” I take Abby’s hand. “Are you coming?” I ask Afton.

“Of course she’s coming,” Abby answers. “She’s not stupid, is she? She can’t not see a volcano. Duh.”

“We don’t say stupid, Abby,” I say. “And we don’t say duh.”

Abby scoffs.

Afton has her phone out, texting again. Always texting. Phone at the table, in flagrant violation of the family rules, but then Pop’s not here to enforce them.

I’m trying not to think about Pop.

The tram starts to beep. It’s about to leave.

“Let’s go, Afton!” Abby cries, and Afton throws her phone back into her bag. We all sprint to the tram. We barely make it, but we do.

“Where are we going?” Afton asks as we’re whooshed away.

I tilt my head to look at her. “Uh, the volcano?”

She closes her eyes like I am annoying her greatly. Afton’s never been what you’d call a morning person. “I mean, where are we going to start this wonderful trip to a real-live volcano?”

“Oh. There’s like a parking lot for buses where we’ll meet up. Off the floor under the front lobby.” Clearly she did not read through the folder of helpful information about the conference that was left for us in our room. With the stuff about schedules and the outings we’re taking and what we’re supposed to bring and where we’re supposed to be. I, of course, have read the folder cover to cover.

Abby is frowning. “The volcano’s not alive, is it?”

“No.”

“Afton said it was a real-live volcano.” Abby looks troubled. It’s difficult to say what kind of worries pass through my baby sister’s head.

“I didn’t mean it was alive,” Afton clarifies. “Hey, look.”

She points to outside, where in the center of its own small island there’s a large gray bird with a yellow Mohawk. I take a quick picture. Because that’s my normal behavior. I see a pretty thing, I take a picture. For painting purposes.

Abby spends a few seconds in appreciation of the startling bird. “I’m going to call him Walter,” she says. Then she tugs at my arm. “Is this the kind of island where they have to throw people into the volcano to appease the gods?”

I frown. “How do you even know about that?”

She shrugs. “Well, is it?”

“No. I don’t think there are any more islands like that. Or if there ever were islands like that, outside of the movies.”

“Good,” she breathes. “I don’t want to become a human sacrifice. Poppy would miss me.”