“Rachel, it’s OK. We can’t do anything about it now. The rain will pass in a few minutes.”

I pace impatiently, thinking about the horses and the goats and the sheep’s wool getting all wet and poor Lucy’s pen getting muddier and muddier. My chest gets tighter, and I start to have trouble breathing.

“I feel weird,” I say, struggling to breathe.

Ivy stops dancing and looks worried. Micah puts his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe in slowly,” he says. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

I try to breathe in slowly, but my heart is racing and it’s hard to catch my breath.

“Nothing is going to happen to the animals,” Micah says. “They will get wet, and they might not like it, but they’ll get over it. Breathe out.”

I breathe out, my heart still beating way too fast.

“As soon as it stops pouring, Ivy and I will go with you and help you take care of everyone. It’s going to be fine. Keep breathing.”

I take a bunch of deep breaths, letting each one out slowly, and start to calm down. The rain begins to find its way through the pine boughs and drips on our heads, through the holes in our bike helmets. I concentrate on the cool water soaking my hair.

“Are you feeling better?” Micah asks.

I nod, even though I’m not sure.

When cars drive by, they splash waves of water near our feet. Ivy keeps jumping out and splashing in the puddles, then dashing back under the branches when a car comes. “I bet my cooling-off hole is turning into a swimming hole!” she says excitedly.

I concentrate on my breathing, but it doesn’t help very much. My thoughts race between what’s going to happen to our family and whether the animals will be OK in the rain.

When the rain finally lets up, we race to the Townsends’ house. We drop our bikes in the driveway and toss our helmets on the ground, then run behind the house and down to the barns, slipping on the wet grass as we go.

We’re still wearing our bathing suits and the air has gotten colder, but I hardly notice I’m so worried about everyone, even though the rain is barely a drizzle now.

“See?” Micah says when we reach Ben and Gil. “They’re fine.”

The gentle horses look at us in their bored sort of way and keep nuzzling the ground for grass, as if it’s not even raining. Still, I run into the barn and put some grain in their buckets to coax them inside, and they happily follow.

Micah hops the fence and latches their stall gates closed.