“We’ll need confirmation from an adult,” the soldier said matter-of-factly.

Maggie’s face fell, but then I spotted Maggie’s mom running toward us, her face as pale as the snowflake ashes still fluttering down. She had heard the explosion, saw the smoke, and was in tears as she embraced Maggie and then me. Maggie explained the situation to her, and Dr. Gooding told the soldier, “Of course,” and gave him her name and address so he could have it for the military’s records.

I knelt down beside my mom’s stretcher. “Are you okay?” I asked as I knelt down beside her.

“I’m fine,” she said, as though she just had a cold. Then she looked up at Maggie. “Nice toss!”

“Thanks!” Maggie responded with a sheepish smile.

“What did you throw?” Dr. Gooding asked her.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Maggie said.

Dr. Gooding crouched down beside me and my mom. “I’m so sorry you’re hurt,” she told my mom. “We’ll take good care of this guy.”

“I appreciate that,” Mom said, and gave Maggie’s mom’s hand a squeeze.

“So Charlie’s going with you,” I said to my mom.

“That’s what they told me. We’re getting a helicopter ride—he’ll love that.” She closed and opened her eyes, wide. “Get word to your father, and until then, be a good guest at Maggie’s.”

I nodded to reassure her but couldn’t keep up the pretense. “Mom,” I said, “I think something very wrong is going on here.”

“You’ve been through a lot, sweetie. Our house …” She looked over at the wreckage, her eyes welling up. “This house was in your father’s family for generations. This will be tough for him. He’ll need you, you know.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You will.”

I told Mom and Charlie I loved them, and then the EMTs took me aside and cleaned and stitched up my cheek. It didn’t take much, just four sutures below my right eye. By the time I was done, they had loaded the helicopter with six of the injured, including my mom and brother, and lifted off, headed somewhere I couldn’t go, with no assurance that I’d see them again anytime soon.

Maggie’s shoulders were touching mine as we watched my family flying away. This just felt wrong. Where was my dad in this picture? Why didn’t he come home every night? It made no sense to me. Surely he’d return now—except there was no home to return to.

I squeezed Maggie’s hand. She squeezed back.

“I’m not crazy, you know,” I muttered.

I approached the nearest cop and asked whether I could help with anything further. He said no, but an aid station was being set up in the First Baptist Church basement if I needed a cot. I told him I didn’t.

Maggie, her mom, and I got into the pickup truck that Dr. Gooding used for her veterinary practice, with its cheerful logo of a grinning dog and cow.

“Let’s go home,” Dr. Gooding said.