We drove along the river, and I pressed my face against the glass and watched it pass. In the distance, the cooling towers of the Limerick nuclear power plant were visible. In a few months clouds of steam would billow out of them. Sage and I had signed petitions and written to our representatives to try to stop construction. Outside Phoenixville we passed farmland, and I kept my face against the window so I didn’t have to look at Sage.

During the journey, Ellen fell asleep on Sage’s shoulder. When we turned onto our street, Marie nudged her. “Wake up, Ellen, we’re almost home.”

There was a car parked in our driveway and someone was crouching in front of the failed marigold patch I had tried to plant. A very small woman outside the front door looked up at the house.

“Who’s that?” asked Thomas. I sat forward, leaning over to peer through the windshield.

“Oh God, the Gambinos. I forgot. Ellen was supposed to be going with them this morning to start art camp. Whatever you do, don’t anyone tell them anything.” I didn’t think Mrs. Gambino could comprehend it all.

“How are we going to get out of this?” said Marie.

“No. Please. I want to go.” Ellen was awake, sitting up. “I have everything packed. Tell them I was at a sleepover, and I’ll need to sleep today.”

We stumbled out of the car and said thank you. Ellen ran to the garage to go in and get her stuff. Marie went to the front to talk to Mrs. Gambino while Thomas and I stood awkwardly by Gabriel.

“Hi, Gabriel,” I said. I saw him take in my hair and clothes. He was wearing a pressed white shirt with shoulder pads, and his hair was parted and slicked back like the boy from The Munsters. I actually thought he looked a bit New Wave, but that was most likely by accident. He was a strange kid.

“These are dying,” he said, pointing at our marigolds. I looked at the overgrown grass, which was still yellow, at the sludge at the bottom of the garden where the septic tank was overflowing, at the weeds growing between the steps up to the woods, so high you couldn’t even tell there were steps.

“Yeah, they are,” I said. I could hear Mr. Walker across the road turn the ignition on his sit-down mower. I could see all the signs of our chaos, of how we were not coping.

“What happened to your hair?” Gabriel asked.

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