CHAPTER 30 
We land in my backyard, on the beach at the bottom of the cliffs. It’s almost dawn.
Little One bends a wing so that Germ, Ebb, and I can slide onto the grass, and then she straightens up again.
“Thank you, Little One,” I say, and turn off the flashlight, and she disappears. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to call her back when I need her.
Germ and I hug each other. Ebb swirls around in a circle, extra bright.
“Tell me everything,” Germ says.
So we tell her all that happened after we left her: the tunnels of the cave, and the hoarded old things, the canyon full of moths, the cocoon, and the witch. And then, when I get to the dark room and my lost memories, I pull Fred out of my pocket and slip him onto Ebb’s hand, and tell them both the rest. How Fred’s words filled my empty places. How they made me imagine things I thought were impossible.
All the way home, moths have been returning memories to me. It feels almost like the memories never left. I suppose the same thing is happening to people all over the world—as the escaped moths spread out across the sky and around the globe. At least, that’s what I hope. I hope that lots of people are still there to receive the memories that were taken from them.
Ebb looks down at Fred in his hand, petting him gently on his head, then slips him onto his shoulder. The sun is rising, and they have to go.
“I knew you could do it, Rosie,” Ebb says. And then he begins to flicker.
In another moment, he’s gone.
Germ and I watch just the slightest hint of the sky lightening as the clouds of distant moths streak out toward the horizon.
The enormity of what I’ve done begins to sink in.
What forgotten things are going to be remembered? Will it ever, in the smallest way, change the world? All because of a story and one tiny little imaginary bird?
Germ, who’s been grinning from ear to ear, finally grows serious.
“Well, I’ve really got to get home. I’ve been living on M&M’s for the past twelve hours. And my mom…” She looks sorrowful and deeply guilty. “I may be grounded for, like, life. But when I’m allowed, I’ll call you.”
“What will you tell her?”
“I’ll tell her I was sleepwalking,” she says, and winks. And then she gets serious again. “No, I’ll tell her the truth. And she won’t believe me. And she’ll probably put me in therapy or something. But at least I’ll know it’s the truth. And I’ll keep trying to convince her, somehow.
“Rosie…” She hesitates. “I was thinking about it all the time I was walking home, and I’m pretty sure I’ve figured it out. I think the reason I got the sight is because I love you, just like how it happened with your mom and dad, how loving her so much helped him to see what she saw. I think maybe loving a friend can help someone see what they see too.”
She hugs me again; then we pull back and look at each other. There is still that uncertainty between us, that little bit of distance. But we are too happy to be bothered by it now. And I think maybe she is right about the sight, and how she got it.
“I’ll walk you up to the driveway,” I say.
We are just stepping onto the steep trail up to the yard when I hear it.
I put a hand on Germ’s arm.
She turns to me with a quizzical look.
“What?” she asks, but I hold a finger in front of my mouth, and listen hard.
It’s an unfamiliar sound, coming from the direction of the cliffs. I know what the sound is, but it makes no sense. It’s hard to distinguish above the wind off the sea. But I have a prickling, itching feeling.
“It sounds like someone calling my name,” I say.
Germ tilts her head and then nods. “I hear it too.”
It’s definitely coming from up on top of the cliffs now. Someone is calling, calling me.
We make our way up the path as fast as we can. Just as we crest the ridge, I see her walking along the cliff’s edge, her long dark hair blowing in the breeze. She’s staring in the opposite direction, searching for something.
“Rosie!” she’s calling. “Rosie!” Out of breath, as if her life depended on finding me. She’s so disheveled and upset, it looks as if she’s run all the way here.
“I’m here!” I call to my mom, and she whips around to see me.
She clutches her hands to her chest. Her eyes fill with tears.
“Rosie?” she yells, her shoulders sinking in relief—the way you feel when you find something you’ve lost that you care about more than anything else in the world. She smiles so big, the way you might smile if someone gave you an island in Hawaii, I guess.
“Where have you been?” she calls to me.
And then she opens her arms, and I rush into them.