“Was anyone else woken up by the storm last night?” Dad asks, pouring a glass of orange juice just as Avery comes down the stairs.

I’m about to answer when Avery beats me to it. “There was a storm?”

My mouth shuts real fast. Did I dream it all?

No. I couldn’t have. Cammie and I talked about it first thing when we woke up.

“Kind of a doozy,” Dad says. “Woke us up pretty good. Would’ve been nice to have been able to fall back to sleep.” He glances at me, sitting at the table, as I shovel bite after bite of Lucky Charms into my mouth.

After I finally swallow, I say, “Guess I slept right through it.”

I stare at Avery as he sits down across from me, but he doesn’t look back. He empties out the Lucky Charms box into his bowl, pulls out his cell phone, and laughs at whatever he’s reading like I’m not even here.

Like last night didn’t even happen. Like I imagined it because I wanted it to be real.

But it was real.

By the time Avery had gone back to his room, Cammie was asleep again. He wasn’t scared anymore. Me neither. So why’s Avery pretending it didn’t even happen?

Instead of slurping it up like I would at home, I spoon the rest of the purple milk into my mouth and carry the bowl over to the dishwasher.

Frank comes down the stairs, with Peg trailing behind him. He heads straight for the sofa and flips on the TV. “Hey, Dan, you want to check out this golf match?” On the TV screen, a little white ball rolls straight toward a hole in the ground.

Peg taps me on the shoulder. “Maddie, I picked up some new seeds from the garden center, and I’d love some company. Maybe you can fill me in on how things are going at camp?”

I look up at Dad, who’s staring straight at me. He clears his throat. “Thanks for the offer, Frank. Actually, Maddie and I were about to head over to check on the guys for a little while. Maybe later, though.” He means the construction guys. Whenever he has a chance, Dad loves to stop by to see how they’re progressing with our new house.

“I think I have to go with my dad,” I tell Peg.

“Of course,” Peg says. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep myself busy.”

I glance back at Avery, who’s still texting. I wonder if he’s telling his friends how scared Cammie and I were last night, if that’s what he’s really laughing about.

—

When I’m in my and Cammie’s room getting ready to head over to the site, I hear Avery’s parents talking loudly in their room.

I pop my head out into the hallway. The door to their room is closed, but that doesn’t make much of a difference. Mr. Linden has one of those loud voices that just carry no matter what.

“Things will not fall into place, Naomi. It doesn’t work like that! We don’t live in a fairy-tale land. The bills just keep coming. We’re not going to be able to keep up with them.”

“I wasn’t saying—”

“No, I know exactly what you’re saying.”

“You can finally read my mind? I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

I wonder if Avery can hear from down in the kitchen. He must.

Dad’s sneakers squeak against the floor. He peeks his head into my room as I’m putting on my socks. Avery’s parents are still going at it, but at least their voices have gotten a little quieter.

“Come on, kiddo,” Dad says. “Let’s give them some space.”

I follow him down the hardwood stairs, almost slipping on them in my socks.

When we walk through the kitchen this time, Avery’s got his headphones on. The music blasts through them, so even I can hear.

There are so many things I want to say to him I don’t know where to start. Maybe with I’m sorry?

But I don’t think Avery wants to hear anything right now, except his music.

I slide my feet into my sneakers and close the door behind me, following Dad out into the bright sunshine.

—

Dad pulls the rental car into our old driveway.

He stretches his arms over his head and lets out a big sigh. “Finally, I feel like I can breathe.”

I know what he means. At our house, Saturday mornings were Dad’s time to read the paper and drink coffee as slowly as he liked. To savor the peace and quiet, he’d say. Peace and quiet doesn’t exist at the McLarens’ house. At least, not with all nine of us. And that’s not even counting the cats, one of which managed to pee on Dad’s work shirts right after he brought them back from the dry cleaners.

“No kidding,” I say, but then I wonder if that’s mean. It’s not like Peg is trying to drive me crazy. It’s just—sometimes I want to move at my own pace in the morning. Sometimes I’m not ready to go out and garden and answer all of Peg’s questions about my life right after I wake up. Maybe that’s another reason Avery’s always wearing headphones.

“You know, you’ve been a good sport about everything. I don’t think your mom and I tell you that enough. It can’t be easy sharing a room with your brother for the whole summer.”

“It isn’t,” I say with a laugh.

“Well, we appreciate it. Really, kiddo.”

We get out of the car and take a look at what the “guys” have accomplished this week. The construction crew finished digging out the extension to the basement and poured in the concrete. Since we have a chance to start from scratch, Dad said we could go a little bigger this time. As I stare at it, all I can think about is Avery’s house, with its blue tarp still flapping in the breeze.

It’s not fair that we get to build this bigger new house when Avery’s parents are still waiting to see if their insurance company will come through for them.

“What do you think, Mads?”

“It looks…good?” I finally say.

Dad takes off his hat and stares for a while at the concrete-edged hole in the ground. When he looks at that spot, does he see our old house? Sometimes I do. It’s like how every time I get a really short haircut, it feels so strange to run my fingers through my hair and have them come out way before I’m ready for them. I still expect to see my bedroom window up there, with the shade half drawn.

But if I look at the spot long enough, I feel like I can see into the future. Not for real, like I’m some fortune-teller or anything. But I can picture a new house coming up in the old one’s place, like that picture book Cammie was obsessed with a few years ago, Building Our House. First the floor, then the walls and the roof. The siding, the pipes, the electrical wires. Trucks coming by to drop off new furniture. A rolled-up rug sticking out of the back of Mom’s station wagon.

Even though there’s nothing there right now, it’s going to come together. Day by day, piece by piece.

“Mom has the paint chips for whenever you’re ready,” Dad says.

In addition to the paint chips, Mom has a bag full of bathroom tiles and wallpaper books. She’s got all this stuff piled up on the desk in their bedroom at the McLarens’ house. Kiersten didn’t write back when I texted her about seeing a movie tonight. If she’s got plans with her family this weekend, Mom and I can work on my bedroom.

“Maybe this weekend,” I say.

One of the construction workers walks over in his hard hat and tough brown leather work boots. He shakes Dad’s hand and then mine. “How are we doing?”

I hold my hand up to my forehead to block the sun. “Pretty good.” He asks me this every time.

“Any news about your dog?”

I shake my head.

“Well, I’ve been keeping my eyes open.” He gives me a closed-mouth smile and cracks open a can of soda. I wish he’d offer me one. “You know, my neighbor’s dog is going to have puppies in a few weeks. Labradoodles. They’re still looking for some buyers.” He eyes my dad. “You want me to give ’em your number?”

Dad reaches into his pocket.

“No thanks,” I say to the construction guy.

“I know you folks are staying down the street, but the puppy probably won’t be ready to leave until September.”

I shake my head. Does Dad even see me? Do his ears work?

“Thanks for thinking of us.” Dad takes a business card from the construction guy. “We’d better scoot off.”

Dad and I get back into the car. The black leather seats burn my legs when I sit down. Our old car never did that. “Can we put on the AC? I’m being burned alive.”

“We’re just going down the street,” Dad says.

But I ignore him and turn it all the way up. Hot air blasts out.

“Maddie.” Dad raises his voice, reaching his hand out to turn the AC off. “What did I just say?”

I roll down my window. “Why did you do it? Why’d you take his business card?”

“I was being polite.” Dad backs the car out and heads down the hill toward the McLarens’ house.

“But I don’t want a puppy.”

“I heard you,” Dad says quietly.

“I want Hank.” The cool air finally starts to take over, and I stop feeling like I’m slowly being cooked alive inside the car.

“We all want Hank. By the end of the summer, though, we might be glad to have another option.”

“What, you think he’s dead? If he’s dead, where is he? Where’s his tag?”

“Honey…”

“No. Be real.”

“Madelyn, I am being real. Tornadoes are messy, messy things. We never found out who that guitar belonged to, remember?”

“Hank’s not a guitar.”

We pull into the McLarens’ driveway. Dad turns to me as he unbuckles his seat belt. “I don’t have the answers this time, Mads. I just don’t.”