It is 1974. In a subdivision in upper Rensselaer County a pair of cement trucks rumble over uneven gravel terrain, past plots of half-built houses across from a marshy plot. A young couple sits in a Buick LeSabre on the shoulder of an unpaved laneway, sharing a takeaway shaved meat sandwich, gazing past the trucks, down the road. In the back seat of the car a ten-month-old girl is belted into a plastic car seat, asleep under blankets. The man drums his gloved hands on the steering wheel and wonders aloud about the availability of the final report on the water table. The woman can’t listen; she is four months pregnant, wracked with barf.
