hat night, Julian was informed that Sibley would be home for dinner and therefore he would not be eating in his room. Julian arrived at the table promptly at seven o’clock and silently surveyed the spread: creamed spinach, veal chops, quivering salmon mousse, and dinner rolls. Sibley gave him a sour nod, then ate stolidly while Daphne grilled Preston about his day. Every few minutes, she stopped to direct a pointed question at Julian, then stared in mock expectation as he gazed miserably down at his plate.

Julian had already eaten four dinner rolls without attracting Daphne’s attention, and he didn’t dare try for a fifth. He forced himself to eat a few more bites of spinach and was about to clear his plate when Sibley pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and, with elaborate care, unfolded it onto the polished mahogany table.

“Well, you’ll never guess who I finally heard from today,” he said.

“Cari! Am I right?” Daphne said immediately.

Sibley simply raised his pale eyebrows. “And you’ll never guess what she said.”

“Let me guess! She’s not coming home!”

“Apparently, she’s extremely immersed in her work in China.” Sibley was now speaking in a tone of such exquisite sarcasm he sounded almost sincere. “She simply can’t get away.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Daphne said. “Didn’t you tell her about Julian?”

“I told her it was impossible for Julian to extend his stay with us. She’s trying to find somebody else. She asked us to keep him here for now.”

“For now? How long is ‘now’?”

Sibley gave a disparaging smile. “Undetermined.”

“This is the last straw!” Daphne turned to look at Julian. “How can he stay here? He won’t even talk to us!”

“Really, Julian,” Sibley added. “I think it would be in your best interest to speak up now.”

Julian stared mutely at the candles. He knew how his mom was when she was absorbed in something new. Nothing else could get her attention. Not her meals. Not her friends. Not anything. Still, it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be stuck with Sibley indefinitely. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t come home.

He had thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Now he realized he’d been wrong. With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed another dinner roll. Then he picked up his plate, stuffed the roll in his mouth, grabbed his glass and silverware, and walked away from the table.

At Quantum, the counselors had given up even the pretense of entertaining Julian. He sat in the corner, reading old copies of National Geographic, while the other kids made bead necklaces. After lunch, he threw seventy–two free throws before Danny wheeled onto the blacktop on his bike.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “My cousins are here. I can only stay a minute because I’m supposed to babysit, but I wanted to give you this.” He leaned his bike against the basketball pole, unzipped his backpack, and thrust a crumpled paper into Julian’s hand:

Dear Julian and Danny,
My dad showed me this article! Yikes!

Below it was an article from the San Francisco Chronicle: RECORD EARNINGS PUT SPOTLIGHT ON LOCAL INVESTMENT FIRMS. It was the kind of dull article that Julian never looked at twice, the type that ran in the Business section. But toward the end, he found the paragraph that had caught Bob’s eye:

Among the leaders in profits last quarter was the San Francisco firm IPX Investment Corporation. Led by CEO Sibley Carter, who stepped up to the helm last September, the firm has pursued a strategy of aggressive diversification. “We have our fingers in a lot of pies,” Mr. Carter said. “We’re always looking for investments on the cutting edge, where the market may be lagging.” He said he expects investments in a number of new arenas, from timber to biotechnology, to reap significant gains by next fall.

“‘Next fall,’ Julian!” Danny said. “It’ll all be over by this summer!”

Julian lifted his eyes from the article and looked around the yard. There was the counselor, blowing his whistle, the girls swinging from the monkey bars, a couple of kids playing dodgeball. And in Julian’s hand were these dry statements about investments and profits. Nothing in his world or in the article seemed connected with Big Tree Grove. Nothing was sending an alarm that a rare and beautiful place was about to be destroyed.

“Operation Redwood!” Danny said.

Julian shook his head.

“We’ve got to do it soon,” Danny said. “As soon as your mom gets back. She might even help, you know? Take pictures of the redwoods or something.”

“My mom’s not coming back,” Julian said.

“What do you mean?”

“She can’t come home. She’s too busy.” He put the paper in his pocket, picked up the basketball, and threw a perfect three–pointer.

“She’s making you stay with the Evil Ones?” Danny said incredulously. “That’s brutal.”

“She’s trying to find somebody else.”

“Who?”

Julian shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You could stay with me! I’ll ask my parents.”

“Come on! They’re not going to let me stay there for a month.” Julian threw another three–pointer and watched unsmilingly as it whooshed through the rim. “Plus, you’ve got that journalism camp.”

“I’ll beg them!” Danny said. The ball bounced toward him and he stilled it with one foot.

“Even if I could stay with you, we’re never going to get to Robin’s,” Julian said. “Her dad hates me now. He’s never going to let me come back.”

“He doesn’t hate me,” Danny said. “Maybe I’ll go to Robin’s this time and you can stay home and be the logistical support.”

Julian opened his mouth in protest, but Danny punched him in the shoulder. “Just kidding! You’re so gullible!” He looked at his watch. “Aaa!” he cried. “I’m late! I gotta go. Once my cousins set our house on fire. They’re total pyromaniacs!” He threw the basketball to Julian and climbed onto his bike. “See you tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Julian said gloomily.

“Oh, sorry.” Danny said. “I guess you’re stuck with the Dastardly Duo.” He gave Julian a look of sympathy. “I’ll see you next week. Have a nice Fourth of July.”

Julian nodded halfheartedly.

“Adios!” Danny cried, wheeling away. “Good luck!”

Back at Sibley’s that evening, Julian just lay on his bed, staring despondently at the empty walls. His mom wasn’t coming home. She was halfway around the world, having all sorts of fun without him. She didn’t care that he was stuck at his uncle’s. Or imprisoned at Quantum. She probably didn’t even know what a jerk his uncle really was.

Julian pulled his pillow over his head and breathed his own warm breath. All these silent evenings were getting to him, he thought from inside his black cave. His favorite teacher, Ms. Felicity, had told them that when they were upset, they should try to remember a place where they were happy. Julian tried to imagine himself sitting in the circle of trees at Big Tree Grove. But that just made him feel worse. He was never going to get back to Huckleberry Ranch. Even if he could get away from his uncle, Bob would never forgive him for lying to him. He’d probably never see Robin or her mom again.

Maybe Robin would find a way to save Big Tree on her own. Or was it too late already? He could picture Robin hiding in the forest, watching the giant redwoods crashing down before her eyes.

When he heard a muffled knock on the door, Julian didn’t even have the energy to lift the pillow from his head. He wondered dimly if he was getting enough oxygen.

“Hey, Julian.” Preston’s voice pierced through the haze. “Are you sleeping?”

“No,” Julian said, blinking in the light. “You better get out of here. You’re going to get in trouble.”

Preston closed the door. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Are you sick?”

Julian pulled himself up on his elbow. “I’m OK. I’m just . . . I don’t know. A little down.”

“How come?” Preston’s blue eyes were wide beneath the arcs of his pale eyebrows.

Julian had to concentrate to remember what had triggered his cloud of gloom. “Well, you know your redwood project?” he finally began. “I have some friends who have some redwoods. Not their own, but nearby. And somebody’s going to cut them down. And my friends don’t know how to stop them.” Julian knew he was being stupid, talking about Big Tree like this to Preston, but he was too worn out to stop himself.

Preston nodded. “They don’t have a million dollars,” he said with a knowing air.

Julian couldn’t help laughing. “That’s right. They don’t have a million dollars, and neither do I.”

“Some people do, though,” Preston said. “Some people are really rich.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell your parents about this,” Julian said quickly. “It’s kind of a secret.”

Preston looked surprised. “Oh, not them,” he said. “They’re not rich. . .” but his voice was cut short when the door swung open.

Daphne stood glaring at them, her arms crossed. “Preston, go to your room,” she said in her frostiest tone. “Julian. Come downstairs. There’s someone to see you.”