Birdie flies out of her swing in an instant, landing on the floor with both feet. She pulls on her own hat and steps into her red boots. Mom helps Birdie into her coat and lets her leave the top button open so she can feel the tie Dr. Morgan gave her.

“All gone,” Birdie tells Dr. Morgan. “Swam away.”

Mom and Dad and I look at each other.

“All gone,” Birdie sings this time. “All gone.”

“Are you coming with us, too?” I ask my parents.

“I think I’ll lie down for a bit.” Mom yawns, even though she didn’t wake up that long ago.

“I’m bringing food down to the National Guard and checking on the town well,” Dad says.

I lead the way to the meteorite again, but this time it’s just me and Miles Morgan and Birdie. She runs ahead, filling her pockets with pebbles.

“That’s my uncle Lincoln’s house.” I point to Bower Two as we pass the small cedar-shingled building. “He’s the oldest brother. And the three-story house below it is Uncle Braggy’s.”

“That is a rather tall house for this locale. Though I myself reside on the seventeenth floor.”

“SEVENTEENTH FLOOR!” I’m so surprised I stop in my tracks, trying to imagine how high into the sky seventeen floors would take me.

“That is quite commonplace in Manhattan. Building up is a practical solution for limited space. I do have a small balcony with a very fine view of Central Park, but it doesn’t compare with the natural beauty you have here.”

“Don’t tell Braggy about the seventeenth floor. He thinks he lives in the highest house.”

“My lips are sealed.” The curator holds one finger up to his mouth.

We get to the place where our house was. I can’t see the top of the chimney anymore. The only sign that our house was ever there are the bricks and roof shingles washed up next to the water. There isn’t any more wood or pieces of the house in the water. They must have washed away. If I could see to the bottom of the stream, would there be all the things that sank down, too heavy to float? Spoons, forks, knives, Dad’s cast-iron skillet, the rest of my encyclopedias, the metal ash bucket, our big oak kitchen table?

I’m not holding my breath, but it feels like I am. All the air is trapped in my chest and can’t get out. I cough to see if it will help, and it does, a little. Dr. Morgan doesn’t seem to notice. He hasn’t looked away from the water since we stopped here.

I make a list in my head of the animals I’ve seen lose their homes.

1. Ants, when I’ve dug into their holes by accident

2. A robin’s nest blown down during a thunderstorm