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"Making pollution," Dellarobia added, thinking a neutral word ht head off trouble, but Miss Rose was all over this They’d discussed it in class

"And what are sos we can do to help out?" Miss Rose prohts e’re done," one boy said

"Pick up our beer cans," said another

Miss Rose laughed "Whose beer cans?"

"Our dads’," another replied, eliciting general agreeot over it They wanted to knohat could kill a butterfly Dellarobia knew so cars! He said scientists in Illinois discovered that cars smashed half a million monarchs there in just one summer The kids rallied to the word "smashed," yet there was a collective "A" for the roadkill monarchs A boy put up his hand, pulled it down, then put it up again, and finally asked, "Are you the president?"

Ovid laughed heartily "No, I aht be the president? Is it because ht "Because you’re wearing a tie"

Ovid looked startled "A lot of o to work," he said "Maybe your dad does that?"

"No," said the boy, and Dellarobia could see Ovid taking this in: no on the tie, or no on the going to work,of reat deal more about Dr Byron: if he lived in the lab, and if those were his sheep Preston waited patiently for his turn and asked, a little out of step with the crohether the butterflies were like flying ants that go out and start new colonies Ovid said that was different, the ants had to stay together almost always because of their kinship syste families, and they could discuss it ood call, given the extent of eruption already under way a the lunch boxes Dellarobia was surprised at how quickly the kids fell back into their fors: the Chosen, the Beetle Throwers, the Shriekers One troupe of perirls tracked Miss Rose like bridesht solitude as if long accusto acorn caps as he went And, Dellarobia noted, her son left Josefina flat for the chance to talk shop with Dr Byron She’d have the loyalty chat with Preston, later She ap "I know the best lunch spot," she offered, and Josefina gratefully took her hand The true best spot, the bigacross the creek, was already taken, so they headed to the uphill edge of the clearing and sat on a smooth spot at the base of a fir colossus

Dellarobia felt buoyant Everything had gone better than planned Ovid needed to do this; he was obviously good at public relations but harbored a blind spot, an inexplicable breach in his confidence A breach she had filled The word that rose in her thoughts was partnership, and it thrilled and sent her reeling as such thoughts did, in a life spent flying fro with Preston, he had the best seat in the house, he who occupied her thoughts while at work and at rest and probably when she slept He sat with his lunch on his lap and seven kids lined up like ducks in a row, but it was Preston who had his ear She could see the two of the it up about insects and the different kinds of families She looked in her purse for the tuna fish sandwich she’d barely had ti, while Josefina extracted fro a fully cooked meal in several parts: the sandwich-equivalent rolled inside tortillas like long, yellow cigars, the sauce in a paper cup covered with cellophane, the brown beans in another A large reused sour creaot the gold-star ht be an obscure way to put it for a newcoet it Her English had iether helped Dellarobia watched Josefina lay out her complicated lunch without self-consciousness on a cloth napkin, and wondered what it would feel like to be in that kind of a family Or any kind, other than the one whose walls contained her Whatever incentive sheaway, there it was, family, her own full measure, surrounded by a cheap wire fence built in one afternoon a long tied in the first place, according to Hester What kind of ties were those, what did they bind? She could so easily belong to someone else

Josefina ate her meal with a fork, but after a moment paused to push her dark hair back over her shoulders and look straight up Dellarobia was ht of her throat, the vulnerable little bulb of her Ada from her zipped corduroy coat, and this child’s unaccountable poise in the midst of a life that had been wrecked A house borne away on shifting ground, a world away Dellarobia looked up too, taking in the dizzying view of the butterfly tower anchored behind their backs Butterflies prickled all the way up the trunk in perfect alignment, like a weathervane collection Butterflies drooped heavily from the branches "What do you call the bunches?" Dellarobia asked

"Raci to remember this time She’d asked before It seemed better than cluster or colonnade or any other word Ovid used More specific "Does this re up here?" she asked "I mean home in Mexico?"

Josefina nodded "In Mexico people say they are children"

"The caterpillars are the children, though These are the grown-ups"

Josefina shook her head quickly, like an erasure, starting over "Not children So that coht this sounded like a horror movie But she could see it mattered to Josefina, who had put down her fork "I can’t re that goes out" She placed both hands on her chest, thus "It flies away from the body"

Suddenly Dellarobia understood "The soul"

"The soul," Josefina repeated

"They believe a monarch is the soul of a baby that’s died?"