She began seeing the butterflies before Tina did, but soon they couldn’t be missed, they were everywhere: the phenomenon. At the overlook, the road had been widened into a compact turnaround spot, and Ron stopped the Jeep there, facing out. Tina stared, still belted into her seat. Cordie and Preston also sat up straight and took notice, as they did when a favored program came on television.

“Dat,” Cordelia said, pointing through the windshield.

The cavernous valley before them was filled with golden motion. Cordelia had never seen the butterflies, Dellarobia realized. And Preston just the once, on a rainy day when they weren’t flying around. She let Preston get out of the car.

“Stay close, honey, and don’t go near the edge where it drops off.” She pulled open the door on her side and shifted Cordie to her hip, leaving the diaper bag. “Yes, ma’am, there’s the King Billies,” she said quietly, “just like at Grandma’s.” She didn’t want Tina to know her kids had not seen this before. It seemed so lazy and housebound or something. It made the butterflies belong to her less. Tina wouldn’t understand, the road was new, prior to this week there had been no way to bring a toddler up here.

She watched wonder and light come into her daughter’s eyes. Preston stood with the toes of his sneakers at the very edge of the gravel road and his arms outstretched, as if he might take flight. Dellarobia felt the same; the sight of all this never wore out. The trees were covered with butterflies at rest, and the air was filled with life. She inhaled the scent of the trees. Finally a clear winter day, blue dome, dark green firs, and all the space between filled with fluttering gold flakes, like a snow globe. She could see they were finding lift here and there, upwelling over the trees. Millions of monarchs, orange confetti, winked light into their eyes.

“This is your shot,” Tina said, out of the car now and suddenly bossing Ron around bluntly, calling into doubt Dellarobia’s earlier impression that Tina was afraid of him. She pointed to where he should set up his tripod, and stood Dellarobia on the precipice, so to speak, with the view of the valley and backdrop of butterflies behind her. Tina patted Dellarobia’s face with a powderpuff so she wouldn’t shine, and explained that they would talk for a while with the camera on Dellarobia, then briefly move it around to shoot Tina as well. Later they would patch it together into one conversation. It didn’t matter if Dellarobia said things in the wrong order, or made mistakes. They could cut and paste, Tina said. They would make it all look good.

Dellarobia was flattened with anxiety. The questions Tina asked were mostly personal: Who was she, where did she live, how did she and her family feel about what had happened here? To her shock, even Tina knew the circulating story about a miracle involving Dellarobia and some kind of vision or second sight. Did she want to talk about that? Not especially, was Dellarobia’s reply.

“Then say whatever you want. Whatever you think is important,” Tina said.

“Well, here’s what I think is probably important. Usually these butterflies go to Mexico for the winter. They’ve never come here before, in something like a million years, and now all of a sudden here they are. As you can see. He said . . . okay, wait. Stop. Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a scientist that came here, Dr. Byron. You need to talk to him, he’ll be back in a few days. He knows everything there is to know about these butterflies. Could you come back maybe later this week and talk to him?”

“Maybe, sure. Absolutely. But for right now, let’s just be here.” Tina gave Dellarobia an indulgent smile. She felt the depths of her own incompetence.

“Okay, sorry. Can I start again?” She stuck her hands in her jeans pockets and tried to calm down. She was supposed to be good with words. Cub always said she could argue the wire off a fence post. She’d done speech and drama in high school.

“As many times as you want. No worries. Just be you.” Tina put up her hands and waved them, as if to chase everything away and start all over. “What we want is to be up close and personal with Dellarobia. Tell me about the first time you saw the butterflies. What did that feel like?”

“The first time.” She glanced at her kids. Cordie was safely tucked into the Jeep now, playing with her plastic barn, but Preston was inching his way out to the edge of the overlook. “Preston!” she yelled. “Not one more inch, mister! I mean it. Or else you will go sit in the car with your sister.” She winced apologetically at Tina, who was still smiling. The patience of a saint. “Sorry,” Dellarobia said.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Go ahead.”

“What I was going to say before is that these butterflies migrated to the wrong place this year, for the first time ever. I guess in the history of the world. So even though it looks really pretty, it might be a problem. It could actually be terrible.”

“And why is that?” Tina asked.

Why was that. Words left her mind. Her hair was slipping out of its tie, the curls around her face moving in the breeze, distracting her, and suddenly she felt completely sure her sweater was buttoned wrong. Or not buttoned at all. This day was crazy. She touched her chest with one hand, checking the button placket. “Hang on a sec, can I just, is my sweater buttoned wrong? I’m sure I look horrible.”

Tina cocked her head, a little gesture Dellarobia was starting to recognize. “Do you know what I was thinking just then? Honestly? That this is probably the most gorgeous shot we’ve set up in I don’t know how long. Months. You, that gorgeous hair, the butterflies behind you. It’s just about killing me. I’m going to look like a corpse next to you and all that ambery light. You’ll die when you see it. How’s the light, Ron?”

“Gorgeous,” Ron said from behind the camera, startling Dellarobia. Since when was Ron on her side? Gorgeous. She wondered if Jimmy would see her on the news, and felt a simmering fury, largely the result of nicotine deprivation and not entirely at Jimmy. But partly at him. Flirting with everything in a skirt. Had he never been serious about her at all? Just because she was older, and married, he’d seen her as a sure thing, sex without risk of attachment. Did he even care that she’d ended it? She hoped the sweater looked as good on her now as it had in the store, the rare dressing-room event. She did not have the vaguest idea what Tina had just asked her. “What was the question?”