The men move, begin to collapse the struts again, waiting for the Cat to rock off the weight, pull back the stabilizers hydraulically. One hops on and checks the cable length on the come-along. He thumbs-ups the foreman and the rest of the men hang back as the Cat lurches in low gear to the rear of the house. They alternately look at the foreman and then at Simon, who hasn’t moved from next to the pickup.

He crosses his arms and looks up at the house detachedly. He studies the pitch of the roof, the angle of the chimney piece, perched half in, half out, of the roof decking. He is trying to construct the lines of force, where the different parts of the system—walls, roof, trusses, and chimney—want to go. The walls at the back of the house want to fall outward. Without the roof to hold them in, and with the added pressure of debris knocked inside, the walls are aching to cave outward. The front is still solid, but the running beams have been torn through and the whole roof could slide either forward or back, the walls inside would buckle to accommodate them. The chimney itself is poised. Indecisive. It could go straight through the roof or slide through the side wall, sending the whole front of the house into either Third or Franklin.

The Cat is ready. Simon hears the whine of the come-along, the thrilled low-geared lisp, and walks down the driveway to the back.

“Got a lead?”

The foreman hands him the end of a piece of braided nylon rope thick enough to hoist a car. Simon takes it and loops it double. With a flick of his wrist he throws a bowline and settles the loop over his head, jerking it not-too-tight around his waist.