“Wait,” they said. “Be patient,” they said. “Technology will solve the carbon crisis.” In Kyoto, in Copenhagen, in Doha, in Paris, they said, “We’ll cut emissions, we’ll wean ourselves off hydrocarbons,” and they rolled back to the airport in armor-plated limos and flew home on jumbo jets and ate sushi thirty thousand feet in the air while poor people choked on the air in their own neighborhoods. Waiting is over. Patience is over. We must rise up now, before the whole world is on fire. We must—
When Marian fans a hand in front of his eyes, for a few breaths Seymour cannot remember where he is.
“Anyone home?”
The link flashes Join Us Join Us Join Us. He takes off the headphones.
Marian swings her car keys around one finger. “Closing time, kiddo. Can you turn off the Open sign for me, please? And, listen, Seymour, are you free Saturday? At noon?”
He nods, collects his book bag. Outside rain is falling on the old snow and the streets are full of slush.
“Saturday,” Marian calls after him. “Noon. Don’t forget. I have a surprise for you.”
At home Bunny is at the kitchen table frowning over the checkbook. She looks up, her attention returning from a long way off.
“How was your day? Did you walk all the way home in the rain? Did you sit with Janet at lunch?”
He opens the fridge. Mustard. Shasta Twists. Half a bottle of ranch dressing. Nothing.
“Seymour? Can you look at me, please?”
In the glare of the kitchen bulb, her cheeks look made of chalk. Her throat sags; her roots show; her upper spine has begun to hunch. How many hotel toilets did she scrub today? How many beds did she strip? Watching the years take Bunny’s youth has been like watching the forest behind the house go down all over again.
“Listen, honey, the Aspen Leaf is shutting down. Geoff said they can’t compete with the chains anymore. He’s letting me go.”
Envelopes litter the table. V-1 Propane, Intermountain Gas, Blue River Bank, Lakeport Utilities. His medication alone, he knows, costs $119 a week.
“I don’t want you to worry, honey. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”
* * *
He skips math, crouches in the parking lot with Janet’s phone.
In a world warmer by two degrees centigrade, 150 million more people—most of them poor—will die from air pollution alone. Not violence, not floods, just inferior air. That’s 150 times more fatalities than the American Civil War. Fifteen Holocausts. Two World War Twos. In our actions, in our attempts to throw some wrenches into the market economy, we hope that no one will die. But if there are a few deaths, isn’t it still worth it? To stop fifteen Holocausts?
A tap on his shoulder. Janet shivers on the curb. “This is getting annoying, Seymour. I have to ask for my phone back five times a day.”
* * *
Friday he comes home from school to find Bunny drinking wine from a plastic cup on the love seat. She beams, takes his backpack off his shoulder, and curtsies. She has, she announces, taken out a payday loan to see them through until she finds a new job. And on the way home, she was passing by the Computer Shack beside the lumber yard, and had to stop.
From behind the cushion she produces a brand-new Ilium tablet computer, still in its box. “Voilà!”
She grins. The burgundy she has been drinking makes her teeth look as though she has been eating ink.
“And remember Dodds Hayden? At the store? He threw this in for free!” Next from behind the cushion she produces an Ilium smart speaker. “It tells the weather and plays trivia and remembers shopping lists. You can order pizza just by talking to it!”
“Mom.”
“I’m happy to see you doing so well, Possum, spending time with Janet, and I know it’s hard to be the kid without the new tech stuff, and I thought, well, you deserve it. We deserve it. Don’t we?”
“Mom.”
Out the sliding door the lights of Eden’s Gate shimmer as though borne along by an underwater current.
“Mom, you need Wi-Fi to use these.”
“Huh?” She sips her wine. Her shoulders deflate. “Wi-Fi?”
* * *
Saturday he walks to the ice rink, sits on a bench high above the swirling skaters, switches on the new tablet, and logs on to the wireless network. It takes a half hour to download all the updates. Then he watches a dozen videos of Bishop, everything he can find, and by the time he remembers Marian’s invitation, it’s after 3 p.m. He scurries up the block: at the corner of Lake and Park, bolted to the concrete, is a brand-new book drop box painted to look like an owl.