Marla’s face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why does he want to know? He’s a right-winger, he doesn’t give a damn about the environment.” When I shrugged, she exhaled impatiently. “Tell him they don’t do an environmental impact statement when they’re reopening a mine. And ask him why he cares, anyway, okay?”
“Chocolate-covered jelly beans,” Arch announced triumphantly. He held up a glass candy jar that he’d somehow uncovered in one of the Trotfields’ cabinets. “Want some? Wait, let me check the ingredients.”
“You’ve trained your son well,” Marla remarked with a wink.
“Marla,” I said, “don’t eat candy. Please. What in the world am I fixing a lowfat pilaf for if you’re going to snack before dinner?”
Arch frowned as he read from the jar’s label of contents. “Uh-oh. Artificial food coloring. Jus
