The side door slammed and Aunt Sadie cursed as she struggled to step out of her boots.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” she shouted. “Did you reach Helen?”

“I didn’t answer because you didn’t call me,” Thomas’s father shouted back, and then after a deep breath added in his regular voice, “Helen’s still not answering her phone.”

Aunt Sadie picked up Mr. Moran’s cell phone from the kitchen table. She looked at the call history before pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“Mother of God,” she said. “I’ve been calling heaven.” She gave his father a look, one that dared him to say anything. “I meant Helen. Obviously.”

Aunt Sadie took off her coat and put it on the counter. She pulled out Helen’s chair and sat down before reaching over to grab Thomas’s hand. She squeezed hard. It hurt and it felt good at the same time.

“Did you see her this morning?” Aunt Sadie asked Mr. Moran.

“For a short time before I left to teach.”

“So she didn’t sleep late,” Aunt Sadie continued.

Sleeping late was what they said when Helen couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed.

“Have you called the police?” Aunt Sadie asked.

His father glanced at Thomas before answering. It wasn’t the kind of conversation he liked to have in front of his son. “She said she was going to try and run some errands, maybe she got held up. It’s only been a few hours.”

“A few hours? What’s the definition of ‘a few’?” Aunt Sadie said.

“More than a couple, but a small number.”

“You said good-bye to her at, what…”

“I left at eight fifty.”

“And it’s past six. It’s been more than eight hours since you’ve seen her, Brian. No one run errands for that long, especially Helen.”

“She was up before I went to school,” Thomas added, studying the surface of the table.

Aunt Sadie leaned toward Thomas. “Go on,” she said.

Thomas considered. He was reluctant to mention his conversation with his mother because he wanted the dream to be for the two of them, the way it had been that morning. But things were different now.

His father was impatient. Thomas could tell by the way he snatched up Aunt Sadie’s coat. Thomas waited for him to start for the landing, waited until his back was turned.

“She told me she’d had a dream that she was taking a trip.”

“Thomas. Is that true?” His father was not hanging up Aunt Sadie’s coat. He was not practicing first things first. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because dreams are fanciful.”

Thomas felt the caterpillars again. Inching their way along. For some reason, he thought about what he’d learned during another of their Ask Mrs. Evans lessons—that a caterpillar turned into liquid after it spun its chrysalis. A chrysalis was the hard shell in which a caterpillar lived until it transformed into a butterfly.

“Let’s suppose for a moment that there’s value in being fanciful,” his father said, setting Aunt Sadie’s coat back on the counter. “Tell us about your mother’s dream.”

“She was in an airport and when she looked at her ticket it didn’t have a destination on it.”

“The airport.”

“Though it did have a seat assignment,” Thomas added.

“Maybe we should go to the airport,” his father said.

There was a knock at the front door, and Mr. Moran rushed to answer it, followed by Aunt Sadie and Thomas.

It was Mrs. Sharp, the old lady from across the street. Thomas liked her, though he couldn’t say why. She had long gray hair that she kept piled on top of her head in a bun with some sort of stick in it, and she spoke with an accent.

“Mrs. Sharp. I’m sorry,” Thomas’s father was saying. “But this is not a good time. We’re in the middle of…something.”

“I saw Helen’s car pull in,” she said, walking through the hall to the kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you both.”

Her eyes seemed to take in everything, like the little birds that hopped around the birdbath, turning their heads this way and that.

“She’s not home,” Mr. Moran said as they followed after her. “That’s her sister’s car.”

“Oh dear, when I saw the car I assumed she was back…”

“This is Helen’s sister, Sadie.”

Mrs. Sharp turned so she could look at Thomas’s aunt. “How like Helen you are. I’m Amalia. Amalia Sharp from across the street. You aren’t…twins, are you? No, I can see now. Helen’s the older.”

“She’s not, as it happens. I am.”

“Of course. It’s the Weltschmerz,” Mrs. Sharp replied. “It ages you.”

“Weltschmerz?”

“It’s a German word. The literal translation is not satisfying. It means ‘world pain,’ but I think it is more about weariness than—”

“Mrs. Sharp, did you notice what time Helen left today?” Mr. Moran asked.

“I believe it was around noon.” Thomas watched Mrs. Sharp, whose eyes were hopping from the table to his father to Aunt Sadie to the counter. She wasn’t telling the truth, or maybe not the whole truth. Thomas could see things like that. Things that other people didn’t see. Helen said it was because he was so quiet and thoughtful.

“It’s just that she’s…not back yet. We’re concerned,” Mr. Moran said.

“She rarely goes out, I know.”

“Precisely. We’re about to go look for her.” Mr. Moran paused. “What was it you wanted to ask us?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Sharp said. “Helen and I talked about my hiring Thomas and she suggested I come over so that we could all discuss it. I would need him for about fifteen minutes a day at dusk to help me feed the birds. Helen agreed that children are never too young to learn the value of work, and it’s no—”

“I didn’t know…” Mr. Moran looked confused. “You’ve been…talking with Helen?”

“You didn’t know that we are friends, Helen and I? Your head is full of details, Mr. Moran. Missing one is not a crime.” Mrs. Sharp looked at Thomas, lifting her eyebrows as if to say, “One or two.”

“Do you want some coffee?” Thomas asked her.

“Thomas, this is hardly the time for pleasantries,” Mr. Moran said.

But Thomas hadn’t asked Mrs. Sharp if she wanted coffee to get her to stay. He asked her to see if she knew where the Morans kept their coffeepot. And as he suspected, those curious eyes turned directly to its home on the counter.

“We’re wasting time,” Mr. Moran said. “I’m going to the airport, and…I’ll discuss your offer with Helen when we find her.”

Aunt Sadie put her hand on his father’s arm to stop him. “We should call the police.”

“Not until we’ve checked there first.”

“I’m coming with you, then,” his aunt said.

“Thomas, put on your coat,” his father instructed.

“You can’t be serious, Brian. We are not bringing Thomas.” Aunt Sadie turned to Mrs. Sharp. “Would you…mind staying for an hour or so?”

“Sadie! I don’t know that Mrs. Sharp has time—”

“It’s we who don’t have time, Brian.” Aunt Sadie was taking charge. “As soon as we arrive, I’m contacting security,” she said. Turning to face their neighbor, she repeated: “An hour or two…tops.”

“We’ll be fine, won’t we, Thomas?” Mrs. Sharp said.

Mr. Moran handed Sadie her coat and retrieved his from the hook on the landing. “You have homework, Thomas. Make sure—”

“Brian! We have to get going.”

Once the side door had closed behind them, Thomas and Mrs. Sharp sat down at the kitchen table. Thomas turned to face her so he could watch her eyes. “You were here with my mother today.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You knew where the coffeepot was. You drank the coffee and cleaned the pot and her dishes.”

“Yes, I did. I can’t drink coffee as a rule—it’s not good for my stomach, but once in a while…” Mrs. Sharp put her hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You pick up the crumbs your father misses, don’t you?”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“We meet when your father is busy at the college or has a meeting with an author away from home—and usually at my house. But today Helen wanted me to come here and help her identify birds. I didn’t mention my visit because Helen…well, she asked me not to. I’m not sure why.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Of course I don’t.” She patted Thomas’s cheek with her wrinkled hand. “I would never keep that from you or your father. You mustn’t be concerned, Thomas. I’m quite sure she’ll be home soon. Now…” She stood up and looked around. “Why don’t you begin your homework and I’ll see what I can put together for dinner.”