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particularly cared about fireballs—large meteors that blazed in the earth’s atmosphere—because reading
     about them on paper had never made them feel real. But then when he finally did see one, it was not only the sky that was
     illuminated; it was him.
    He’d been amazed, dazzled, invigorated. And more, when he looked at Lana, he was amazed, dazzled, and invigorated by her as
     well. He felt as if someone had put a match to his spirit and turned him into flame.
    He leaped to his feet, wanting to cheer for the sky, for Lana, for himself. When she stood up beside him, he didn’t think
     about it: He just kissed her.
    They made love on the grass, with the sun coming up over the Green Mountains and dew falling gently from the sky. It was over
     fast—a fire burning fierce and bright, combusting. They hadn’t even taken off all their clothes. But Eli remembered every
     moment of it. The smell of the earth in her hair. The scrape of her teeth. The feel of her skin on his tongue. It was the
     most surreal, most unspeakably intense connection with another person that he’d ever had.
    Unfortunately he’d thought it was only the
first
time they would make love.
    He finished his water and threw the bottle on the ground to pick up later. When he attacked the earth again, it was with renewed
     fervor. If this dig didn’t pan out soon, he’d have no choice but to quit.
    At last he felt his shovel stop with a
clunk
. He climbed into the hole and began to dig with a trowel. He was excited now, his blood pumping, his brain abuzz with the
     certainty of a big find. He would take Kelly to dinner at Burlington’s most expensive restaurant. He would order their best
     bottle of wine…
    He reached into the earth when it was loosened and pulled up—
    A hoe.
    A stupid garden tool.
    He sat back on the edge of the hole he’d made and laughed.
    He had to face facts: He’d never been a particularly lucky guy. Not in this and not in love. Searching for the right woman
     and hunting meteorites were the same in a way. There were superficial signals—the whine of a metal detector, or the sudden
     promise of sex in a woman’s smile—that said to a man,
What you want might be right under here
.
    Sometimes, you hit the jackpot.
    And sometimes, you got a woman who was perfectly nice, pretty, and conversational, but who, in the end, was little more than
     a diversion—not a fireball that turns night into day, and certainly not the wish of someone’s heart, hidden in Kansas farmland,
     deep underground.
    June 21
    The attic of Calvert’s house was only half-finished, painted cobweb yellow. The plaster-and-lath walls showed through where
     the drywall hadn’t been cut to size. There was one window—high as a belfry it seemed—that let a long beam of sunlight in during
     the evenings so that the little room turned pinkish-yellow and shimmered with floating dust. Karin’s and Lana’s beds were
     matching twins pushed up against the walls on opposite sides of the room, and the ceiling sloped so steeply they had to hunch
     their shoulders to get into bed. Though other bedrooms in the house were often vacant, Calvert had given the girls no choice
     but to live together in the attic until well past the age that was comfortable. He made more money off his real bedrooms that
     way.
    “Excuse me?” A tall woman with big blonde hair smacked her fingers on the counter at the Wildflower Barn, jerking Karin from
     her thoughts.
    “Can I help you?” Karin asked.
    “That young woman in the clothing section just told me you don’t carry pickle seeds.”
    Karin looked carefully at the woman’s face for a moment to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. And when she glanced toward
     Meggie, the latest seasonal employee to help her out at the Wildflower Barn, the girl had a wide smirk on her face. Obviously,
     she’d thought the question was funny enough to send the woman Karin’s way.
    “We have them,” Karin said. “Actually by a stroke of