Long after Ziggy and Nana Jean went in for dinner, long after the fathers came home and all the other kids disappeared into the mouths of their houses, long after the neighborhood started to darken and the sleepy golden evening lights turned on behind the windows, I crept from the copper beech tree and trudged the one, two, three houses down and across the street to number twenty-eight. I took off my shoes, wiped the world from my skin the best I could, and tiptoed up the narrow staircase to our small white room.

“You’re late today,” Mother said from the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I lost track of time.”

“What were you doing out so late?”

“Climbing trees.” A half-truth.

Mother surprised me by smiling and pulling herself up. “I used to love climbing trees when I was your age,” she said, delighted. She hugged the white blanket around her. “I was one of the best tree climbers in my whole school.”

“You were?”

“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes far away. “Oh yes. Nothing scared me back then. I would climb up and look out at the world. You can see so many things from the top of a tree. So many beautiful things.”

“I know,” I said, smiling at her excitement. “I like that too. Maybe next time you could come out with me. I bet you could still climb trees if you tried.”

“No,” said Mother. “I couldn’t.” She slumped back down on to the mattress and curled toward the pillows again.

I wanted her to be better so badly, it was worse than being hungry. I started to climb toward her into our bed, but Mother took a deep breath through her nose and her face contorted into a horrible mask.

“Wait,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.

“What?”

“Go wash up first. Your hands and your face, especially. You smell a little.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” said Mother. “You definitely smell. Use soap and hot water. Then you can come back, and we can read our books together until it’s time to go to bed. Please, June Bug. Wash. And then come back to me. That’s my sweet girl.”

I did as I was told. Even though it was barely eight o’clock and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep for hours, especially on an empty stomach.

I filled the sink with hot water and used the soap to scrub my hands and face, rubbing back and forth across my lips until I was fresh and clean.

Then I found my book and climbed back into bed.

I lifted the covers and lay down beside her, turning toward the wall. I opened the book and pretended to read, but the lines were all blurry on account of my tears.

“I missed you today,” I said to the wall.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” said Mother, her voice far away. “I always miss you waiting here all alone.”

But I knew I was not the one she really missed.