I wave at him, and slowly, he raises his arm to wave back. Finally, he sets his briefcase down on the floor next to him, and I wonder if he can feel the stickiness of the air like I can. He’s moving like he does, anyway.

Mom walks up to Gramps and says, “Dad, do you want to sit?” Mom offers her arm to Gramps, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks at her with his sad, frowning eyes, making his face seem older and unfamiliar.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” he snaps at her. That’s not like him either, to talk to Mom, or anyone, in that way. Gramps walks off down the hall that leads to the guest bedroom, and Mom stands there in the middle of the living room next to Gramps’s briefcase, looking at the floor.

Mama comes in through the door then, breaking up all that gooey, sticky tension in the room. She’s carrying two square cardboard boxes stacked one on top of the other, and says, “We come bearing pizza!”

“Yes!” Noah shouts as he skip-walks back into the living room. “I’m starving!”

Taking the boxes from Mama’s hands, Noah brings them to the kitchen where I’m still standing. And suddenly I can move again, those invisible walls having dissolved.

“Sadie, will you get out some plates, please?” Mama asks, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she walks past me.

“Sure,” I say. I know that this is not the time to mention how I wanted to make French toast for dinner.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, adding, more to herself than to anyone else, “It’s been a long day.”

Mom walks over to the kitchen where we’re all standing and lets out a sigh as she sits down at the table. Her mascara is smudged under her eyes, but she smiles anyway and asks, “So did you two get along today?”

I think Noah will tattle on how I left the yard to go into the woods, but he just shrugs, takes a bite of pizza, and mumbles, “I guess.”

We sit down to eat our slices, and I ask, “Should we wait for Gramps?”

Mom shakes her head. “I don’t think Gramps is in the mood for pizza. He probably just needs some quiet time. We’ll see if he’s hungry later.”

Noah has already eaten three slices of pepperoni, and Mama and I each have one from the veggie pizza. Mom has a slice of each, but she’s not eating either one. She’s just staring off into space. No one is talking. Not even Noah, and he’s always saying something.

“I found a dog today,” I end up saying, just so it’s not so quiet. “I think it’s lost, because it didn’t have a collar—she didn’t have a collar, I mean. It was a girl dog.”