“Henry, I see you’ve been asking yourself many of the same questions I have over the years. What is most important is not always the answers, but the questions. Keep asking the questions. Which isn’t as simple as it seems, to devise the kind of questions and observations that will lead to answers.”

I’m thinking the answers have to be important, too. Like, why dowsing works for some people and not others, and if there’s a secret dowsing sense that a scientist could find if he knew where to look. Or why a rock brings enough water to flood a road. But I don’t want the curator to think I’m being rude.

Before I have a chance to say anything, Dad and Birdie come into the house.

“This is Dr. Miles Morgan,” I say. “He’s in charge of the meteorites at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. And he came all the way here because he saw an article in the paper about the rock.”

“Welcome.” Dad shakes his hand. “Harlan Bower.”

“I’m Boss,” Birdie tells the curator.

“This is my sister, Birdie,” I explain. “ ‘The Boss’ is her nickname.”

“I’m three,” Birdie adds.

“On your birthday this summer, then you’ll be three,” I remind her.

“Three now,” Birdie repeats.

“Okay, Birdie.” Ever since we came to Bower One, Birdie acts older, walking instead of wanting to be carried, swinging by herself on Nana’s swing instead of asking to be pushed, even shouting less. I know our house is really gone, but I’m not sure Birdie does.

“Mom,” I call up the stairs, “the curator from the museum is here.”

Mom comes down the stairs slowly.

“Alice Bower, pleased to meet you,” she says to the curator.

Dr. Morgan opens his briefcase on the table.

“I appreciate the hospitality you’ve shown me on such short notice, and I want to present you all with some gifts from the museum.”

For the second time in three days, there is gift-giving at Nana’s house.

“Shall we choose youngest first?” Miles Morgan asks, and gives Birdie three postcards.

“I am not sure of your personal preferences, but these are some of our most popular cards.”

“No, THAT.” Birdie hands the postcards back to Dr. Morgan and points to his neck.

“Oh, Birdie.” I turn to Dr. Morgan. “She wants your tie. Because it’s red. That’s her favorite color. Birdie, that’s part of Dr. Morgan’s clothes.”

“My tie?” Miles Morgan touches a hand to his tie.

“Red tie.” Birdie nods.

Miles Morgan unknots his tie and holds it out to Birdie. She lifts her chin and points to her neck.

“She wants you to put it on her, the way you wore it,” I tell the curator.

“Dr. Morgan, you don’t have to give Birdie your tie,” Mom says.