Invisible (40 page)

Though all sharks are carnivores, eighty percent of them don’t mess with humans. Of the twenty percent that do, it’s more of a reluctant engagement. People push it, though, descending in metal cages to get a close-up view. They throw chum in the water to lure them out. In a feeding frenzy, sharks have been known to attack the cages and
the people inside, pushing their huge snouts through the bars and showing their vicious teeth. Hard to feel sorry for those divers, though
.

After all, if you play with sharks, you’re going to get bitten
.

Peyton handed her dad the potholder. “Do you think Mr. G fired LT?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Her dad peered into the pot and tapped the wooden spoon on the rim. Peyton would have just stuck the leftovers in the microwave, but her dad had wanted to give it that extra touch, take that extra step to show just how normal everything was. Supper wasn’t something nuked on high for ten minutes. Supper was stirred, tasted, served.

“What will LT do now?”

“I guess he’ll have to find another job.”

“Like what? No one else will hire him.”

“Someone will.”

“Mom said if LT didn’t have a job, he’d end up in jail or a mental institution.”

“It’ll work out.”

Why was she so obsessed with LT’s welfare? Who cared what happened to him? He was weird and creepy. But lately she’d realized he was just as lost as she was. Maybe they were more alike than she’d thought.

The phone rang. Her father frowned. “Let the answering machine get it.”

It was the third time the phone had rung since they’d gotten home.

“What do you think?” he said. “Do you want to eat in here?”

They sat facing each other awkwardly across the small table beside the window. Their very first meal together, alone. So this is how it would be from now on.

He leaned over and set a keyring by her plate. “Your mom’s car is good to go.”

Yes!
“You’re giving it to me?”

“I’ll transfer the title to you this weekend.”

“Thanks, Dad.” It wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be great, actually. She’d get used to driving her mom’s car. She could fix it up and make it her own. She dragged her fork through the mound of wrinkled green peas on her plate, stabbed at a limp curl of ham. “This doesn’t look very good.”

He chewed, swallowed, nodded. “I might have cooked it a little too long.”

“Do I have to eat it?”

“No. Just finish your milk.”

How had Dana’s supper gone? Was it strange for her, too, to be alone? Ha. She’d probably loved it.

Her dad rinsed the dishes in the sink and Peyton loaded them in the dishwasher. “I called Doc Lindstrom’s office. You know, for your blood type? But his nurse said you had to sign a release form or something.”

“Sure. I’ll try and stop by tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget,” she warned. “I have to get this done by next week.”

“I won’t,” he promised. He opened the cabinet and reached for the brown bottle tucked up high on the top shelf.

“Why are you doing that?”

He glanced at her. “Doing what?”

“That.” She nodded to the bottle in his hand.

“Aw, princess.” He twisted off the cap. “It’s all right.”

“That’s exactly what you used to say. Don’t you think I remember? You used to tell Mom that all the time.
‘It’s all right, Jules. It’s okay, Jules.’
 ”

“Peyton—”

“Don’t do this to me, Dad.”

He set down the glass. “All right,” he said.

Anyone could tell he didn’t mean it. “I’m going out.” She snatched up the keys he’d just given her. She thought maybe he’d tell her to hold on and he’d come with her. But he didn’t.

•  •  •

Her mom’s lucky charm swayed on its chain from the rearview mirror as Peyton took the corner, the little airplane twisting and untwisting.
Life’s a journey
. The tissue box on the floor bumped her ankle; a receipt sailed out the window. The car smelled of the green tea lotion her mom applied to her hands at red lights.

Peyton turned the radio up loud. Classic rock, but at least it was better than country. She’d get one of those things that allowed her to plug her iPod into the cigarette lighter. Then she could listen to real music.

Eric’s dad was out by the mailbox getting the mail. “Hi, Mr. Hofseth.”

“Hi, Peyton.”

“I just got my mom’s car.”

“I can see that.”

He didn’t smile at her like he always did. So maybe he’d gotten some bad news in the mail. Maybe an overdue bill. That was the kind of bad news that could upset her dad for days. “Well, say hi to Mrs. Hofseth,” she said, and he nodded. She’d already texted Eric to call her later, so he could know she was okay about the party. So she could pretend.

The lake danced in front of her. People were everywhere, lying on towels, going in and out of the souvenir shops. Things were gearing up for Memorial Day. It’d be the first holiday they’d have to get through without her mom. A small holiday. They could practice on it, prepare themselves for the big ones.

The nursing home had the entrance doors propped open. The receptionist looked up with a smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hi.”

Mr. Macomber sat bent in his wheelchair, asleep, his hand lifted as if asking someone the time. Residents were being fed in the dining room by the aides, big cloth bibs spread beneath their chins and across their shoulders. Organ music played and wavery voices sang about happy days being here again.

Her grandma sat in her recliner, tethered to her bed by the long plastic lead. Mrs. Gerkey sat in her wheelchair, restlessly working the wheels back and forth. The two old ladies had been talking and now they stopped and looked up.

How sad was it that this was the only place she had to go.

“Have you come to take me to supper?” her grandma asked.

“I’m not the aide, Grandma. I’m Peyton.”

Mrs. Gerkey reached up and took her hand in her cool, soft one, and gave it a squeeze.

Her grandma’s watery eyes regarded her, the eyebrows thick and white and whiskery.

Mrs. Gerkey said, “Frank and Julie’s daughter, Miriam. You remember Julie.”

“Julie. Yes.” Her grandma tightened her grip on the arms of her chair. “Has she come to take me shopping?”

“Maybe later.” Peyton wandered around the room. She wanted to say,
I got a car today
, but her grandma wouldn’t care. She wanted to say,
My aunt moved out this morning and my dad’s drinking again
, but she might not care about that, either. Peyton didn’t know why she’d come here, after all. But now she was here and the two old ladies were looking at her, so she was stuck. A vase of paper flowers sat on the dresser, with a mirror tilted to show Peyton her throat. She reached over and tipped it up to see her face. It looked steadily back at her. “I’m doing a project for school, Grandma.”

“That’s nice.”

“It’s like a family tree. I need to put you down, too.” Peyton wouldn’t ask her grandma for her blood type. She’d probably roll up her sleeve and extend her arm.

Mrs. Gerkey said, “That’d be very nice. Miriam, you’ll need to find a photograph you can give Peyton.”

“Yes, all right.”

“Check that top drawer, Peyton,” Mrs. Gerkey said.

The fat leather album sat there among folded cotton handkerchiefs
and little cardboard boxes that sat in their lids, filled with brooches, knobby rings, heavy chains.

Peyton sat down on the bed and opened to the first page. She’d been through this album a million times and knew there was nothing she could take for her project. Everything in it was too old and there was only one copy. She’d take a photo of her grandma with her cellphone instead. She tapped a page. “Here you are with your mom.” Peyton’s great-grandma looked happy, the breeze lifting a raft of fluffy blonde hair off her forehead.

“Yes.” Her grandma leaned forward. “That was when I was just a little girl.”

“And there we are, Miriam.” Mrs. Gerkey pointed to a picture of two women with smooth hair in dresses that reached below their knees. “Your grandmother had just had your father.”

Her grandma nodded. “We both had our babies late in life.”

“Brian was my lucky surprise,” Mrs. Gerkey said.

It was crazy to think of Mr. G as a surprise, much less a baby. A turn of the page revealed him as a toddler holding on to the bar of a wooden pushcart. A teenaged Aunt Karen sat cross-legged, smiling demurely while the six-year-old version of Peyton’s dad, instantly recognizable with his intent expression and high hairline, stood off to one side. They both looked like they’d been caught in the middle of something.

Here was her parents’ wedding portrait. Her mom held kind of droopy tulips and her dad wore an ugly brown tux the color of a Hershey’s bar.

“Julie was a beautiful bride,” her grandma said.

Her mom’s hair gleamed a soft gold, curving around her face. Her blue eyes were wide, her skin perfect. “How come there aren’t any pictures of Dana?”

“Oh.” Her grandma’s hands trembled. She moved them back and forth as if wiping something off her lap.

Mrs. Gerkey leaned forward and patted Peyton’s knee. “You stop bothering your grandma, honey.”

A thought struck her. These old ladies had been friends for forever; they probably knew everything about each other. “Tell me, Mrs. Gerkey.”

Mrs. Gerkey reached out for the album and placed it in her own lap. “It was a sad time, my dear. No need to relive it.”

“But I should know if it’s about my mom.”

“People don’t need to know everything.”

“So you
do
know.”

“It’s none of my business, too.”

She was so smug. “Did you hear about the EPA?” Peyton’s heart pounded with her daring.

Mrs. Gerkey hiked a penciled eyebrow. “A lot of trouble and worry over nothing.”

“The EPA wouldn’t be there if it was nothing, Mrs. Gerkey.”

“I’ve been around a long time, my dear. I remember all sorts of scares that turned out to be nothing.”

“And plenty that turned out to be real,” her grandma piped up.

“Miriam,” Mrs. Gerkey said, chiding. “That’s different.”

“Maybe,” her grandma said.

Aha
. Peyton had accidentally poked something free, some secret these two old ladies were holding on to. “Like what?” she asked, with interest.

She was looking at her grandma, but it was Mrs. Gerkey who answered.

“Let’s get a cookie,” Mrs. Gerkey said. “They’re making Snickerdoodles today.”

“My favorite,” her grandma said happily.

Peyton stayed for another hour, eating cookies with the old ladies in the small coffee shop down the hall and trying unsuccessfully to steer the conversation back to scares that turned out to be real. But, in the end, she left having eaten way too many cookies and with the certain knowledge that Mrs. Gerkey knew something very important that she had no intention of revealing.

 [DANA]

T
HE TELEVISION DRONED FROM THE BREAKFAST
nook. The weather report. The farm report. Entertainment news. I pulled the lever on the coffee urn, and out dribbled the last inch of pale brown liquid. As soon as the front desk clerk returned, I’d let her know we had an emergency on our hands. I’d eaten my share of hotel continental breakfasts, and they ran the gamut from extravagant waffles made to order to sealed plastic packages from the nearby gas station. This one teetered toward the pitiful end of the spectrum, with green bananas and day-old doughnuts. But until the coffee ran out, I’d been okay.

I stood by the window, sipping the weak brew, eyeing my car parked as close to the entrance as I could manage. It had spent the night bathed in bright yellow light. I’d fastened a small piece of tape across the hood to warn me if anyone had popped it; I’d make sure to check the underside before I got in. Paranoid, right?

“… no cause for concern. Russian officials say they’re looking into the unexplained deaths. In other news, last week’s implosion in Chicago that left one person dead has the victim’s family talking.”

There it was, playing out in full color, my shoot from the week before. I hadn’t actually seen it on film yet, and the beautiful crumpling of brick and cement to a tsunami of powder took my breath away, even though at the same instant, it made my skin pop out in goosebumps. As those stones were raining down, they were falling on Jane Hamilton.

“… possible irregularities during the demolition. The owner, Dana Carlson, could not be reached for comment.”

They hadn’t even tried to reach me, and there had been no mention of the
other
owner. How had Halim managed
that
?

Halim answered on the second ring. “I heard,” he said grimly. “There’s been a leak.”

“What does that mean? Who talked?” I paced the small space. A family came in, chattering, and I moved to the lobby.

“One of the crew, most likely. They haven’t been paid.”

“I told Ahmed to pay them out of the Burnside funds.”

“That account was empty.”

Because Halim had been only too eager to bail his brother out with money we didn’t have. No wonder the crew was angry. I was angry, too. “So they went after me?”