“Henry.” James winds up to throw another pebble. “You get to live on top of the hill now. Even higher than Braggy and Lincoln’s houses. And you’ll have your own stream to swim in. Maybe we could build a raft. See, Birdie”—James points out in front of us—“you have a stream now.”

“Go swim,” Birdie says.

“It’s too cold to swim now, but if I brought my fishing rod, we could fish for treasure from your house! What do you think, Birdie?”

“Get Lilygirl.” Birdie suddenly remembers her duck.

I know I have to think fast before she starts crying again.

“Birdie, maybe Lilygirl is swimming. We can watch the water and see if we see her. Then we can pull her out.”

Birdie stares at me, and her mouth opens. I gesture to James to say something.

“That’s right,” James quickly agrees. “Ducks can swim! I’m gonna keep my eye on the water, and if I see Lilygirl, I’ll lean over and grab her by the beak! What do you think she’d say about that? ‘Quackety quack’?”

James squeezes his lips to make the quacking sound, and Birdie laughs in spite of herself.

I’m grateful to James, but my eyes and mind are divided. Fifty percent thinking about Mom sitting so still on the ground and Lilygirl and our house and fifty percent thinking about the big rock.

“What about the meteorite? Can you still see it?” I ask one of the National Guard officers.

She brings her binoculars up to her eyes.

“I believe it’s still visible. Here, take a look.”

I never looked through binoculars before. They make everything bigger and sharper. The meteorite looks so close in the lens of the binoculars, I feel like I can reach out and touch it. It’s unchanged—sitting shiny and black in its crater. If I turned the binoculars around, would the rock see me as clearly as I see it?

“I’m very sorry,” the woman says to us. “We tried to bulldoze trenches to divert the water away from the house, but they kept overflowing. We also laid sandbags around the house, but the water just surged over them.”

“We thank you for trying, and for all your hard work. This water is not like any I’ve seen before,” Dad says.

I hold the binoculars up to my face again. Something I didn’t see before moves behind the rock. It’s just for a second, and the sun hasn’t completely risen, but I only know one person with a green-and-black-plaid coat like that.

“That’s for sure. We’re also getting reports of water levels dropping in local wells. That’s unusual for this time of year—”

I interrupt her.

“Can you please let me past? I have to go to the rock. I know the way and I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Is that safe?” Dad asks the woman.