I could take the stairs with my eyes closed. I knew the landscape of each tread, the feel of the walls where my hands touched on the way down.

In the kitchen Gran sliced a piece of apple pie and a wedge of cheese. She slid the snack in front of me on the old brown speckled china.

“I’ll talk while you eat,” Gran said in her husky voice.

I looked toward the hallway. “Is Caleb still down there?”

Gran said, “Eat, Nyle.”

I dug my fork into the deep layers of crust and apple, breathing in the cinnamon smell.

“We’ll be keeping those two evacuees here for a while,” Gran said. “I picked them up at the hospital today. They’re locals. Right from the south side of Cookshire. A woman, Miriam Trent, and her son, Ezra.”

I pierced an apple slice with my fork.

“They’ve had a bad time,” Gran said. “They lived close to the plant. The husband got a call the night of the accident and went straight over. Later, when the sirens went off, the boy tried reaching him. He took a lot of radiation.”

“Gran, I don’t want to know,” I said.

Gran ignored me. “The boy’s not too sick right now, but he was worse before and they say he’ll get worse again.”

“Can we catch it?”

“No, it’s like your cousin Bethany. It’s not contagious.”

“If he’s going to get so sick, why don’t they keep him at the hospital?” He might live if he stayed at the hospital.

“There’s already too many at the hospitals,” Gran said. “Aunt May had to bring Bethany home too. You’ve heard the news reports.”

I nodded, breaking my pie into small pieces, my appetite gone. We didn’t get television up here in North Haversham; we weren’t on the cable line. Mr. Sobel, my science teacher, taped the news for us and showed us at school.

“The boy’s father died five days ago,” Gran said. “He was some bigshot at the plant. Radiation killed him.”

At least he hadn’t died here.

Gran said, “Morning after the accident, they evacuated the boy and his mother along with the rest of them from Cookshire.”

I mashed my fork into the soft, rubbery apples.

“Took them over to Mount Anthony first. The emergency people checked Mrs. Trent and the boy in, then transported them straight to the hospital. The boy, Ezra, was in shock and sick to his stomach. But he’s a stubborn one. His mother said until he started with the fever and the runs, he refused to leave his father’s side.”

I put down my fork.

For a moment I let myself think about my own father. He left when my mother got sick. Said he loved her too much to watch her die. Dropped us here for Gran and Gramp to tend.

I can’t think he cared that much about me. If he did, he would have stayed. He didn’t have to watch me die.

My father was the first to leave me. He sure wasn’t the last. I shrugged off the thought of him. I didn’t like remembering him.