The evening passed quietly. I pulled a thick book out of a pile and sat on the couch. Mountains of the World. A bunch of pages were ripped out, but there were still plenty of interesting parts to read. Carl stayed in a plaid armchair in a corner, mumbling. I tried not to listen, but I could hear him arguing a little. Though he was laughing a little, too. Girl sat by his leg, her head balanced on his thigh. He rubbed her head with the back of his hand, stopped mumbling once to say, “You miss your squirrel, don’t you, Girl?”

I flipped through all the pages in the mountain book and got another one. Deserts. Then a third about cats. But they were starting to get dull. I looked at the television, its shiny silver knobs and smooth wooden legs. I waited until Carl was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Can I turn it on?”

He shook his head. “What?”

“The TV.”

“Fine. Fine. It’ll be okay, right? Sure it will. But only for a minute. I know, Stan, but it’s just a box, and I broke the connections last night. Fixed the breach.”

“I don’t have to, Carl. I changed my mind. I’ll just read.”

“No, turn it on, Magic Boy. But after, you need to, urh, break the wires again.” I leaned to the side and saw that the plug was sitting on the floor. “In case it transmits a signal. Sends it out.”

“Thanks,” I said. Carl seemed better. More relaxed, anyway. “I’ll check for a show. Something short.” I missed that, squeezing into Telly’s chair with Maisy. Watching anything.

I plugged the TV back in and yanked out the button near the bottom. The whole screen was fuzz. Switching channels, I saw only hazy figures, heard a kid snicker, a gun fired, car tires screeching. I adjusted the rabbit ears, but static still distorted the screen. I flicked the knob again, saw the jagged shape of a man sitting at a desk. The nighttime news. I was about to switch the television off, but the man said something that made my hand freeze. “…still searching for Rowan Janes from Little Sliding. Anita?” I checked the tips of the rabbit ears, pulled them out as far as they would go. Then I struck the side of the television with my fist. The image snapped into view.

There was my yard. Right on the screen in black and white. I could see the corner of our house and the edge of the deck where I’d stood in the lightning storm. Our lawn looked all chewed up. A woman in a skirt was holding a microphone with a number six on it. I crouched down, turned up the volume.