edge of the mesa where they had a clear view of the southern horizon and sat in the still early darkness, smoking and waiting.
Right before sunrise there was a bright light. Dewey thought it might be the sun coming up, except it came from the wrong direction. It lit up the sky for a moment, then disappeared, like the fireworks they’d had in May when the war in Europe ended. There was silence for a minute after the light faded, then Mrs. Gordon and the other women started hugging each other, smiling and talking. They hugged Dewey and Suze too, but Dewey wasn’t sure why.
She figured it must have something to do with the gadget. Everything on the Hill had something to do with the gadget. She just wished she knew what the gadget was.
That evening, around dinnertime, a caravan of cars full of men returned to the Hill. They looked tired and hot and dusty and were greeted with cheers. Dr. Gordon walked into the apartment about 7:30. He had deep circles under his eyes and he hadn’t shaved.
“Well, we did it,” he said as he hugged Mrs. Gordon. He hugged Suze next, and ruffled his hand through Dewey’s curls. He didn’t say what “it” was. He just ate a ham sandwich, drank two shots of whiskey, and slept until the next afternoon.
On the fourth of August, Dr. Gordon came into the apartment late in the afternoon. He was whistling, his hat tipped back on his head, carrying a pink box from the bakery down in Santa Fe.
He put the box down on the table and opened a bottle of beer. “Got a birthday surprise for you,” he said to Suze.
She stopped coloring in Dorothy’s dress with her blue crayon and looked up. “Can I open it now, Daddy?”
“Nope. Your birthday’s not until the sixth. Besides, it isn’t something you can unwrap. It’s a trip, a little vacation. I’ve gotten special passes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Well now, that’s the surprise.”
“Farther than Santa Fe?”
He smiled. “Just a bit.” He took a deep swig of beer. “Why don’t you go and pack up a few things before supper. You won’t need much. Just a change of clothes and your toothbrush. Your mom left a paper sack for you to put them in.”
Suze threw her coloring book onto the table with a thump and ran into the bedroom, her shoes clattering loudly on the linoleum.
Dewey sat on the couch reading a book about Faraday. She ducked her head behind the page and didn’t say anything. She was used to people leaving. It was better to stay quiet. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and concentrated on the orderly rows of black type.
“Aren’t you going to get your things ready?” asked Dr. Gordon. He had picked up the newspaper and was looking at it without really reading.
Dewey was startled. “Am I coming with you?”
He chuckled. “Of course. What did you think? The whole family’s going.”
From the bedroom there was a loud sigh, then a snap! as Suze unfolded the paper bag.
“Oh,” Dewey said slowly. “Family.” The Gordons weren’t her family, really. Nobody was, not since she’d gotten the Army telegram about Papa and the accident. But they were nice. Mrs. Gordon even tucked her in, some nights, if she wasn’t working late at her lab.
“Don’t you want to go on an adventure?” Dr. Gordon asked.
“I guess so.” Dewey wasn’t sure. She liked being on the Hill. She knew where everything was, and when dinner was served at the Lodge. There weren’t any surprises. She’d had enough surprises.
But Dr. Gordon seemed to be waiting for an answer. Dewey carefully replaced her bookmark and closed the book. “I’ll go pack my things,” she said.
The next morning Mrs. Gordon was up early, making stacks of ham and cheese sandwiches that she wrapped in waxed paper. She put the picnic basket and their paper sacks into the big black Ford, and just after eleven they showed their passes to the guard at the East Gate and set off down the long, twisting road that led to the highway several thousand feet below. The temperature climbed as they descended.
Dewey and Suze sat in the backseat, a foot or so of black serge between them. Suze had the road map spread out across her lap. Los Alamos wasn’t on the map, of course, but a thin blue line trickled down from the mesa through Pojoaque. When it became a fatter red line, Highway 285, in Santa Fe, Dr.