I drop to my knees, pick up a sun-warmed clod of dirt, and crumble it between my palms. The hard, winter-washed gray gives up easily to the cool brown dirt inside, and a dust-colored spider hurries away with an egg sac in its mouth. Mom starts turning clods over with the spade, and I come along behind her, breaking them up with my hands, picking out the earthworms, shaking the loose dirt out of the clods of last year’s yellowed grass. We work through the afternoon. She takes a break once, and comes back out with hats and a jug of water. When Allegra comes home with Zack and Nora, they join us. Allegra sets up her speakers on a folding chair next to the garden and baroque trumpet music wafts out over our backs as the sun goes down. Then Scot and Aaron pull in, home from baseball practice. Scot’s brought two bags of Chinese takeout for supper, and he sets the boxes on the ground next to the garden and runs in and out of the house with blankets and drinks and dishes. Aaron stands next to me in his baseball uniform and glove, scuffing the dirt with his toe. Nobody knows what to say to me.

Everybody takes the next day off, except Aaron, who is starting pitcher that night in a game against Linerville. The garden is turned by early afternoon. I think we’ve turned over about five times more ground than anybody will ever plant, because nobody knows what to say to me when we stop. In the evening, we go to Aaron’s game. We’re not the sort of family who does things like this, and when Aaron sees all of us lined up on the bleachers, he gets flustered and can’t concentrate. He walks so many batters his coach takes him out of the game, and Colchis loses.

On Saturday, Mom has to go to Grimshaw’s funeral, so Allegra and her on-and-off-again boyfriend, Tyler and I get in her car and drive for a long time. Allegra puts Italian love songs on. The day is warm, the windows are open, and the speakers are loud.

At some point, I lean forward. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere we want.” Allegra holds up a credit card. “Scot’s. He just sold another house lot.”

Tyler turns around. “Niagara Falls okay?”

“I guess so.”

When we get there, Allegra and Tyler go down to the bottom of the falls for a boat ride. I stand in the viewing area and watch the thundering wall of water and think what a tiny life Grimshaw had and how little difference it makes that she’s gone. People keep going to Niagara Falls. House lots keep selling. Water keeps pouring over the edge.