“How did he get into the house?” Sam asked, looking from one of them to the other. “Did someone leave the door open?” With interest, he saw that Lucy’s face had gone scrupulously blank.

“No,” Holly said in excitement. “Lucy did it!”

“She did what?” Sam asked, not missing the way Lucy had blanched.

“She made it out of a juice glass,” Holly exclaimed. “It was in her hand, and it turned into a bird. Right, Lucy?”

“I…” Visibly agitated, Lucy searched for words, her mouth opening and closing. “I’m not quite sure what happened,” she finally managed to say.

“A bird flew out of your hand,” Holly said helpfully. “And now your juice glass is gone.” She picked up her own juice glass and thrust it forward. “Maybe you can do it again.”

Lucy shrank back. “Thank you, no, I … you should keep that, Holly.”

She looked so thoroughly guilty and red-faced with worry that it actually gave weight to the crazy idea that had entered Sam’s mind.

“I believe in magic,” Lucy had once said to him.

And now he knew why.

It didn’t matter that it defied logic. Sam’s own experiences had taught him that the truth didn’t always seem logical.

As he stared at her, he found himself trying to separate out a tangle of thoughts and emotions. For his entire adult life, he had kept his feelings organized in the way that some people kept their cutlery in a knife block, sharp edges concealed. But Lucy was making that impossible.

He had never told anyone about his own ability. There had never been a point. But in an astonishing turn of events, it had become a basis for connection with another human being. With Lucy.

“Nice trick,” he said softly, and Lucy blanched and looked away from him.

“But it wasn’t a trick,” Holly protested. “It was real.”

“Sometimes,” Sam told his niece, “real things seem like magic, and magic seems real.”

“Yes, but—”

“Holls, do me a favor and get Lucy’s medicine bottle from the kitchen table. Also some water.”

“Okay.” Holly jumped off the sofa, causing Lucy to wince.

Grooves of pain and distress had appeared on Lucy’s face. The exertions of the past few minutes had been too much for her.

“I’ll replace the cold packs in a few minutes,” Sam said.

Lucy nodded, practically vibrating with misery and worry. “Thank you.”

Sam lowered to his haunches beside the sofa. He didn’t ask for explanations, only let a long minute pass. In the silence, he took one of Lucy’s hands, turned it palm-up and stroked the insides of the pale fingers until they were half curled like petals.

The color had leached from Lucy’s face, except for the crimson band that crossed the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “Whatever Holly said,” she managed, “it isn’t what—”

“I understand,” Sam said.

“Yes, but I don’t want you to think—”

“Lucy. Look at me.” He waited until she brought her gaze to his. “I understand.”

She shook her head in bewilderment.

Wanting to make things clear, but hardly able to believe he was doing it, Sam extended his free hand to the terrarium on the coffee table. The miniature orchids, temperamental as usual, had started to droop and turn brown. As he let his palm hover over the vessel, the flowers and button ferns strained upward toward his touch, the petals regaining their creamy whiteness, the green plants reviving.

Silent and startled, Lucy moved her gaze from the terrarium to Sam’s face. He saw the wonder in her eyes, the quick shimmer of unshed tears, the flush rising up her throat. Her fingers gripped his tightly.

“Since I was ten,” Sam said in answer to her unspoken question. He felt exposed, could feel his heart beating uncomfortably. He had just shared something too personal, too intrinsic, and it alarmed him that he didn’t regret it. He wasn’t sure that he could stop himself from doing and saying even more in the irresistible urge to get closer to her.

“I was seven,” Lucy whispered, a hesitant smile ghosting across her lips. “Some broken glass turned into fireflies.”

He stared at her, fascinated. “You can’t control it?”

She shook her head.

“Here’s the medicine,” Holly said brightly, coming back into the room. She brought the prescription bottle and a large plastic cup of water.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured. After taking the medicine, she cleared her throat and said carefully, “Holly, I was wondering if we could keep it private, about how the hummingbird got into the room…”

“Oh, I already knew not to tell anyone,” Holly assured her. “Most people don’t believe in magic.” She shook her head regretfully as if to say, too bad for them.

“Why a hummingbird?” Sam asked Lucy.

She had difficulty answering, seeming to struggle with the novelty of discussing something she had never dared put into words. “I’m not sure. I have to figure out what it means.” After a pause, she said, “Don’t stay in one place, maybe. Keep moving.”

“The Coast Salish say the hummingbird appears in times of pain or sorrow.”

“Why?”

Taking the medicine bottle from her, Sam replaced the cap as he replied in a neutral tone. “They say it means everything’s going to get better.”

* * *

“Holly, you’re a corporate pirate,” Sam said that night, delivering a handful of Monopoly money to his giggling niece. “I’m out, guys.”

After a dinner of lasagna and salad, the four of them—Sam, Lucy, Mark, and Holly—had played board games in the living room. The atmosphere had been fun and easygoing, with no one behaving as if anything unusual had happened.

“You should always buy a railroad when you get a chance,” Holly replied.

“Now you tell me.” Sam gave Lucy, who was curled up in a corner of the sofa, a condemning glance. “I thought making you the banker would have gotten me a break.”

“Sorry,” Lucy replied with a grin. “Have to play by the rules. When it comes to money, the numbers don’t lie.”

“Which shows you know absolutely nothing about banking,” Sam said.

“We haven’t finished,” Holly protested, seeing Mark dismantle the arrangement on the board. “I still haven’t beaten everyone.”

“It’s bedtime.”

Holly heaved a sigh. “When I’m a grown-up, I’ll never go to bed.”

“Ironically,” Sam told her, “when you’re a grown-up, going to bed is your favorite thing.”

“We’ll clean up the game,” Lucy said to Mark with a smile. “You can take Holly upstairs now if you’d like.”

The little girl leaned forward to give Sam butterfly kisses with her eyelashes, and they rubbed noses.

As Mark went upstairs with Holly, Lucy and Sam organized the game pieces and the various colors of paper currency.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Lucy said.

“We lucked out,” Sam said. “Vick did a good job with her.”

“So have you and Mark. Holly is obviously happy and well taken care of.” Lucy wrapped a rubber band around the stack of accumulated money and handed it to him.

Sam closed the game box and gave Lucy a friendly, deliberate smile. “Want some wine?”

“That sounds nice.”

“Let’s drink it outside. There’s a strawberry moon out.”

“Strawberry moon? Why is it called that?”

“Full moon for June. Time to gather ripe strawberries. I would have assumed you’d heard the term from your dad.”

“I grew up hearing a lot of scientific terminology, but not the fun stuff.” Lucy grinned as she added, “I was so disappointed when my father told me that stardust was cosmic dirt—I imagined it was going to sparkle like pixie dust.”

In a few minutes Sam had carried her out to the front porch and lowered her into a wicker armchair with her leg propped on an ottoman. After handing her a glass of wine that tasted like berries and a hint of smoke, Sam sat in a chair beside hers. It was a clear night. You could see into the dark and infinite spaces between the stars.

“I like this,” Lucy said, realizing that Sam had poured their wine into old-fashioned jam jars. “I remember drinking out of these when I used to visit my grandparents.”

“In light of recent events,” Sam said, “I decided not to trust you with our good glassware.” He smiled at her expression.

As she averted her gaze from his, Lucy noticed that one of the Velcro straps on her splint wasn’t perfectly aligned. Awkwardly she reached down to straighten it.

Without a word Sam came to help her.

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “Sometimes I get kind of picky about wanting things to be lined up.”

“I know. You also like the seam of your sock to run straight across your toes. And you don’t like the foods on your plate to touch.”

Lucy gave him a sheepish glance. “Is it that obvious that I’m obsessive-compulsive?”

“Not really.”

“Yes it is. I used to drive Kevin crazy.”

“I’m very tolerant of ritualistic behavior,” Sam said. “It’s actually an evolutionary advantage. For example, a dog’s habit of turning circles on his bedding before lying down—that came from ancestors checking for snakes or dangerous creatures.”

Lucy laughed. “I can’t think of any benefits for my ritualistic behavior—it only serves to annoy people.”

“If it helped to get rid of Kevin,” Sam said, “I’d say it was a clear advantage.” He sat back in his chair, contemplating her. “Does he know?” he asked eventually.

Understanding what he was referring to, Lucy shook her head. “No one does.”

“Except me and Holly.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen in front of her,” Lucy said. “I’m sorry.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Sometimes if I feel something very strongly, and there’s glass nearby…” Her voice faded, and she hitched her shoulders in an awkward shrug.