“No, I didn’t, but I still have his card,” I say, and that reminds me I’ve been wanting to call Dr. Morgan.

James surprises me with the things he forgets and the things he remembers. I think part of his memory is like the dark side of the moon. Forty-one percent of the moon, the dark side, is impossible to see, but we know it’s there. I know there’s no way to figure out a percent for James’s memory.

I go inside and find my notebook. It opens to the page of questions where I tucked Dr. Morgan’s card.

Is the meteorite the core of a destroyed planet?

Or is it a little piece of the core?

If there was ever a way to see and touch a part of Earth’s core, would it look anything like the meteorite?

I study the phone number below his name on the card.

2-1-2-7-6-9-5-1-0-0

I dial Dr. Morgan’s number. A woman answers on the second ring.

“American Museum of Natural History, how may I direct you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not going anywhere. I’m calling for Dr. Miles Morgan, the curator. This is Henry Bower.”

“One moment, please. I will try to put you through to his extension.”

There is silence, then the phone rings once, twice, and a familiar voice comes on and says, “Miles Morgan speaking.”

“This is Henry,” I say.

“Henry! I am so pleased to hear from you. How have you and your lovely family been faring?”

It’s hard to know where to start.

“We are good. Birdie says sentences now. She still likes red but she likes yellow, too. Also, Nana’s hands are better, so she’s going to pick dandelions greens to can this spring.”

“Excellent. Please send my warmest regards to your grandmother,” Dr. Morgan says.

“A bad thing happened, though. James got hit in the head with a brick and didn’t wake up for a long time. Then I visited him and dripped some of what you called the rainbow water in his mouth and poured it on his head and he woke up that night. He’s better, but he doesn’t always remember everything the way he used to.”

“Those are extraordinary developments indeed. I hope your mate James continues to improve.”

“Me too. He’s homeschooling with me now, but we might both go to school in the fall. Also, a flock of rare sandhill cranes are living down by the water. Braggy painted a sign on a wooden door with a picture of a crane, and now all these people are paying him to paint cranes on their front doors. He even got his picture in the newspaper. They called him a natural wildlife artist.”

“Your uncle Braggy is indeed a man of many talents!”