Kepler’s Dream Read Free

over the chairs. Miguel’s place was different. It felt like a real home someone lived in, instead of some junky motel room that had gotten out of hand.
    â€œSee?” Rosie said in the emptiness. “He’s not here.”
    I nodded. The only person in Miguel’s room was Jesus on the cross, and he wasn’t talking.
    â€œThe fire went out a while ago,” she said, going back to the main room. “That’s why it’s so cold.”
    â€œWell, let’s start a new one.” I’d watched Miguel do it a hundred times in my grandmother’s kitchen, so figured I could give it a try. I wanted to prove to Rosie I wasn’t a complete good-for-nothing. I took a couple of big logs from the tin bucket, then Rosie scattered kindling over, then I added crumpled-up newspapers as a final topping. It was like making a sundae. Rosie found the matches and lit the edge of one of the papers, and away it went. Like a house on fire. Rosie high-fived me, her first real sign of friendliness, and then we sat on the floor, our backs against the couch, trying to get warm.
    We got hypnotized, staring at the green, blue and orange flames moving around each other like in a dream. In a sort of trance I noticed two other doors in the farthest corner of the cabin. One was the bathroom, I guessed, but what was the other one?
    I was about to ask her, when suddenly we both heard a loud, strange
bang
. Then another.
    I thought it was fireworks at first. It wasn’t the Fourth of July yet, but almost, and there are always those people who can’t wait till the Fourth to get things exploding.
    â€œThat,” said Rosie in a choked whisper, “sounds like a gun.”
    A gun?
    But she was right. It hadn’t been a
rat-a-tat-tat
, like fireworks: it had been two muffled cracks, like—well, like gunfire.
    Rosie covered her mouth and pointed at a high shelf in the cabin. There was nothing there, so I didn’t get what she was pointing at.
    â€œMy dad’s rifle—it’s usually up there. It’s gone.”
    Now I was freezing again, and there was nothing the fire could do to keep me warm. We both strained to listen, but there was dead silence.
    And then there was an incredibly loud wail that tore up the air.
    It took a second to register that it was not the wail of a person but of a device. An alarm was going off like crazy, at my grandmother’s house.
    To me the cabin seemed a nice, safe place to be, and I wasn’t eager to go anywhere else, but Rosie had a plan of her own.
    â€œWe’ve got to get out there. I have to find out if my dad is OK.” This thin, tough kid, even if she wasn’t my friend, was brave, too.
    By the time we opened the door to peer out, lots was happening. Lights were on everywhere, birds were crying, and there were a hundred dogs barking, not just Lou and Hildy, but every other dog in a two-mile radius, it seemed. It was as if some big, ugly, middle-of-the-night party had just come alive.
    â€œCome on,” Rosie said urgently. Her hand clutched my arm tightly. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
    â€œOK,” I said, like I thought that was a great idea, and off we went.
    Outside, the scene was weirdly beautiful. It was like a stage, with these bright outdoor beams I’d never seen before lighting up all the peacocks, the feed bins, the cottonwood trees, and the House of Mud itself. It could have been a postcard picture:
Greetings from Albuquerque!
It was only the noise, and what it might mean, that made the scene a nightmare. Thieves? Murderers? Pirates?
    I heard my grandmother and suddenly panicked that she had been hurt. What if someone had fired a gun at her? “Ella!
Ella!
” The high, scared voice hardly sounded like hers. “Where are you? ELLA!”
    â€œHere! Grandmother—I’m here.” Rosie and I jogged to thefront door, which was ajar. I slipped inside. Rosie let go of my arm and stayed