Peter smiled. “I know.”
“What, really? You were spying on me?” Her eyebrows arched.
“I wouldn"t call it spying. I would call it paying very close attention from a distance. Besides, I kept finding little Polly Pocket shoes in the cracks of the floor. Pretty big clue.”
She smiled, looking down at the grass. “Well, I guess all good things come to an end.”
It was a statement that seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He watched as she turned, touching the rough gray bark of the old tree, looking up at the jumble of scrap boards joined together in a crude box in the center of the tree. The limbs of the giant oak seemed to cradle it in its arms. “Do you really need to tear it down?”
Peter joined her. “Well, how about a last look around? Most of it"s still there. The ladder shoul
