“Where’s Polly?” he said to Laura. “She was here earlier, right?”

“She said she was going to meet some friends,” replied Laura. “Not sure where, though.”

“Do you guys need any help out here?” asked Asher.

Bob looked around the garden. “Nah, I think we can manage.” He looked at Laura, who had already put down the roses and started picking bricks out of the tomatoes. Asher nodded and went back inside the house, and Bob stood for a minute or two surveying the damage.

Laura straightened and looked at him. “So, bricks out, what then?”

“Triage the plants and go from there.”

Laura nodded, and turned back to the bricks. This she could do. Bob watched her for a little while, then went to get some stakes and ties. As he sorted through the shed, he was surprised to find himself whistling.

•   •   •

When Asher went back to the kitchen, he found Maggie angrily sweeping the floor. He was perplexed by his mom’s reaction; she’d been through many earthquakes, some quite serious. He remembered half a dozen quakes and power outages in his childhood, including one that had turned into an overnight pillow fort and flashlight fest, a definite five-star memory. He’d always found earthquakes slightly exhilarating, a reminder of how easily Mother Nature could shrug him off the planet like a dog shaking off the rain, complete with ear-flapping sound effects (at least in his childhood head).

“Mom, can I help?” he asked, looking around. The damage wasn’t too bad: A couple of mugs had fallen from the sink counter, a single picture lay shattered on the floor. He bent to pick it up, carefully pulling the larger shards free of the frame. It was a shot of him and his sister taken when they were very young, her face serious, her yellow turtleneck making her resemble the world’s smallest executive on a casual Friday. His own face was a complete contrast, his eyes dancing, his face alive with laughter, his tiny chest thrust out to show off his new T-shirt, purple with a yellow star. He knew it was one of his mother’s favorite photos; maybe that explained her body language.

“We can get this reframed,” Asher said to her, holding it up. “The picture itself is totally fine.”

His mom leaned on her broom and looked over. “Oh?” she said. “Great.” She hadn’t noticed the picture, clearly.

“Are you OK?” he asked her. “You seem . . .”

“Not OK?” she replied, exhaling with a puff. “I’m fine, a little shaken maybe. Fixing the wall is going to be a pain in the ass, but whatever.”

The front door banged and Polly flew into the room breathlessly. “Everyone OK?” she panted. “I came as fast as I could.” Her hair was in braids but she’d lost one of the elastics, and the braid was half-undone.

Asher and Maggie stared at her, and nodded.