Melt away, troubles as lemon drops—Jane, raised by old people, said things like this often, usually ironically, bits of the Jazz Age or Depression or even Edwardian slang, Dee words and musical phrases: lovey-dovey, criminy, rabbiting on, tempest in a teapot. People had druthers, things were done right off the bat. Why are you piddling around? When Helen had drawn a perfect circle the day before, Jane said, “Aren’t you the bee’s knees.”

Helen was listening to them from her own little corner, an abandoned area in the garden where Polly was trying to kill off horseradish, and where there had once been a greenhouse. Helen liked finding old tin plant tags and forming the clay into castles, and she knew to watch out for glass and nails. Now she sat on her dirt heap and watched her bowl of ice cream flatten and pool, something close to fear in her face. Polly thought of the classic childhood question—could people melt to death?—good for lava situations and dissolving witches. Would Helen think Ariel melted into the river? If Ariel wasn’t found, that might be the best thing. She could become clean bones, like river stones.

“Let’s sweeten up,” Jane said. “Let’s enjoy the day, go down early and set up. We don’t want to rush Maude’s nap.”

In the hammock Sam was visible as one leg and one arm, a fluttering comic visible, held up high. Everyone had a way of solving the problem. Helen’s theory was that Ariel is melting. Sam would read her away. Shazam! Bop!

Every fucking moment since Ariel vanished was framed around what Polly worried the children would remember. The colored stink of the last of the smoke bombs wafted past the staked tomatoes and the things they’d collected for the picnic—blankets and card tables, camp chairs and tin plates, cups, coolers with half a case of Champagne and the Caesar salad, a crate with half a case of Nebbiolo, cheeses, and bread. Ned would bring the lasagna from the restaurant in a hotbox, which would give him a chance to arrive last.

“Let’s go,” Polly said. “Sam, put your comics in the house or they’ll blow away.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” said Sam.

That was a Merle line. Polly flipped him out of the hammock.

They left a note, loaded one wagon with Helen and her pirate ship and blankets and glasses, the other with supplies, and headed off. A certain giddiness took hold, and when they reached the street Polly started to run, towing the wagon. Helen clutched her ship and shrieked with some wiggling combination of joy and fear. Jane and Sam, struggling to hold three dogs, sprinted, too, but as soon as they were out of sight of the house, they all slowed down.