“It could be they’re worried about tourism. What happened isn’t the best PR in the world. Or it could be some bureaucrat on a power trip. Or”—she looked Matt in the eyes—“or they could be hiding something.”

Matt pondered this. “If you think it’s necessary,” he said, “then, sure, yeah. When do you need me to go?”

“We’ve booked you a flight out tomorrow morning.”

Matt let out a breath. Could this fucking week get any better? He gave a noncommittal nod, then continued gazing out the window. He wasn’t particularly travel ready. He had less than one hundred dollars in his bank account. And he’d stubbornly refused any money from his parents after the fight with his father.

They sat in silence for a long time as the SUV made its way to the Henry Hudson Parkway and into Manhattan.

The rain had subsided and there was a sudden part in the clouds, the sun beaming through the gloom. The gold tinge on the buildings brought Matt back to one of their family traditions. Every July, his father’s accounting firm held its annual meeting in New York and they’d all come along. The event overlapped with “Manhattanhenge,” one of two days a year when the setting sun aligned perfectly with the New York City street grid. When the fiery ball of the sun was framed in by skyscrapers as it dipped below the horizon. Matt thought back to the last Manhattanhenge before Year Zero—the family sitting at a café on Fourteenth Street, Dad and Mom holding hands, tipsy on wine and being in the city. Danny checking out the girls strutting by in movie-starlet sunglasses and short skirts. Maggie’s nose in a guidebook, spouting out facts about the rare solar event.

Matt flashed to the same café last year: everyone in their assigned seats, Dad next to Maggie, who was across from Mom. Next to Mom, Tommy, who’d taken Danny’s old seat. And Matt on the outside, trying to squeeze in at the small table. Everyone going through the motions, pretending the ritual still had meaning. The new but not improved Pines. And now he had an ache on his insides that both versions of his family were dead. After all of the bitterness, the anger, the longing for the original Pines, he’d give anything to have his bizarro post–Year Zero family back. Give anything to tell his father he was sorry for the things he’d said. Tell his mom what she meant to him. Tell Maggie what a light she was in his life. Tell Tommy that he was their savior. But that life, whatever his grievances, was over. The devastation, the fragility of what they’d had, was almost more than he could take.

“Where would you like us to drop you?” Keller asked. “The dorm?”

“Do you think they’re gone yet?”

“Who? The reporters?”

“Yeah.”