“At first I did. But I’m getting used to Dad and Braggy’s old room. I like how quiet it is when the door is closed. And Birdie has her swing in the living room.”

“Okay, then,” Mom says.

“Did the collector call about the meteorite?”

“He did. Your father took the call the other day.”

“Did Dad tell him the meteorite is too hard to cut into? Does he want to buy the whole thing?”

“I didn’t hear him talk about how hard it is. But I did hear your father say that some things aren’t for sale.”

It’s too dark to see the meteorite in the corner of the field, but I’m sure if I had to, I could find my way to the rock without a flashlight. Ever since it fell, I’ve kept its position fixed in my mind, like old sailors used the North Star.

“Are you glad I can dowse, like Dad and his father?” I ask Mom.

“If you are.”

That sounds like both a question and an answer.

“Yes. It was amazing feeling my stick move, and I’m happy we got the water back for the town. But I’m not sure I could do it again. I think the little stone Dr. Morgan gave me was what helped me dowse.”

“You know that’s not the only gift you have, Henry,” Mom says.

“No?” I don’t know what other gift she means.

“You see the world with your own eyes, and you’re kind to your sister.”

I don’t think those are gifts. Everyone uses their own eyes to see the world, and who wouldn’t be kind to Birdie?

Suddenly the cranes take flight, their big wings flapping, their long legs trailing behind. We hear their loud, trumpeting calls.

“Guess it’s time for us to go home, too,” Mom says.

When we get back to Nana’s, supper is all the food neighbors and friends brought for us. Everything tastes a little bit the same and a little bit different. I’m used to Nana’s baked beans. These have some kind of spice that’s good but makes my tongue burn. The macaroni and cheese has orange cheese instead of yellow like Mom’s. The Jell-O salad has whipped cream, but the whipped cream is mixed inside the Jell-O, not scooped on top.

Dad takes a bite of the beans, then a drink of water, a bite of beans, then another drink of water.

“I’m tasting those chili peppers Darlene grows,” Dad says between sips.

“The mac and cheese is kinda cheery, so bright like this,” Mom compliments the dish.

I serve myself some of the Jell-O salad, green and white swirled together in a round bowl, and it’s much better than I expect.

“Do you want to try some of this, Birdie? It’s really good.” I hold up another spoonful.

“No, Henry. I eat pie.”