Invisible (9 page)

B
ELOW THE SUNLIT LAYER LIES THE TWILIGHT ZONE
, so deep that only blue light can penetrate. It’s really dark there. You’d think the animals that live there would learn to cope without the light, but instead, they rely on it for everything: scaring away predators, luring prey, looking for love, disguising retreat. In some species, it’s language. Since there’s no light source, the animals make it themselves, and it can be pretty spectacular. Picture a velvety darkness filled with delicate glowing necklaces, blobs of brightness that dart here and there, tiny cascading sparks
.

The only people who’ve ever witnessed this light display are the scientists in submersible boats. As they descend, they watch through their portholes as animals emerge from out of the murk all around them, amid a steady fall of white particles. This is called marine snow and it’s the remains of plants and animals from above. It makes the twilight zone look like a night sky sprinkled with stars. Maybe the creatures there look around and, amazed, wonder if they’ve reached heaven
.

•  •  •

Arnie’s Fresh Corn stand was open for business. Too early for corn, but there were fluffy green heaps of lettuces and boxes of bright red strawberries on the wooden table. Her mom would have squealed with delight and braked to a stop. But her dad drove past without even noticing.

“I decided on cherry,” he said, “with a blue satin lining. Your mom’s favorite color. She’d have liked blue, don’t you think?”

It sounded expensive. Her mom would have
hated
it.

“Tomorrow we should go to the florist and pick out flowers. We need something to put on the casket.” He swung the steering wheel and drove through the entrance to the nursing home.

“Okay.”

“Roses, do you think?”

“Not red ones, Dad.”

“I know. Your mom always said they reminded her of craft projects gone bad.” When she didn’t smile, he probed, awkwardly, “You okay?”

“I guess.” Someone had planted yellow petunias by the front door, glowing mounds of color that seemed wrong somehow against the faded brick. A man with a walker stood by the door looking as if he was gathering his energy to burst into a trot.

Silence stretched out, and then her dad said, “Your mom was so proud of you, honey.”

She winced at the nakedness of his grief. He never talked to her about feelings. Why couldn’t he just go back to talking about that stupid casket?

“She’s still here with us, you know. We just can’t see her.”

Whatever. Peyton hadn’t decided about that.

“It’ll be all right, honey.” Was he talking to himself or to her?

He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her up the wide flat path to the nursing home doors. The place smelled wrong. Bleach, ammonia, cooked food, and old people.

The carpet was the worst of all, a trampled brown stained by things you just knew you didn’t want to know about. Whoever
had tried to scrub it clean had done a crappy job. Whatever these liquids and solids were had soaked in permanently, as though the residents were trying to stamp their mark on something, anything, before they died.

Her grandma shared a room at the end of the hall with Mrs. Gerkey. The two old ladies got along pretty well, which always surprised Peyton. With everyone else, they were cranky, angry at losing their memories and always complaining that no one wanted them. Today, her grandma sat alone, reading in her chair, Mrs. Gerkey off playing cards or doing chair yoga, probably.

“Mom,” her dad began, and Peyton’s grandma looked up, her eyes watery behind the thick lenses of her glasses. She held a child’s paintbrush, rolling it between her fingers as if wondering what to do with it. They’d taken away her sable brushes after they found her snipping the bristles into stubs. A button pinned to her sweater had a long wire trailing across the room to the bed. That way, if she got up, the nurses would come running. “Karen?” She blinked at Peyton.

Peyton sighed. She was always confusing Peyton with her dad’s sister. “Hi, Grandma.”

Her grandma lifted her powdery cheek to be kissed. She never used to be touchy-feely. Now she always wanted to be kissed hello and goodbye; she was always snatching at Peyton’s arm with greedy soft hands as if searching for something. Peyton stepped over the long cord, kissed her grandmother’s cheek, then sat on the folding chair in the corner.

“How are you feeling today, Mom?” Her dad perched on the bed.

“Have you come to take me to supper?”

She thought he was the orderly. “It’s a little early for that, Mom.”

“It’s pot roast today, isn’t it?”

“Sounds right,” he agreed in a fake cheerful voice.

Actually, it was chicken potpie. The menu was prominently written out in bold black marker on poster board and propped on an easel in the lobby, as if to encourage family members to stay and share. Her dad had never once eaten here. Only Peyton and her mom had, and afterward they’d stay and play pinochle, and her mom would pretend not to notice Peyton’s grandma sneaking peeks at the cards.

“Listen, Mom, I have some bad news.”

She peered up at him. “No pot roast?”

“It’s about Julie, Mom. You remember Julie. My wife.”

Her cheeks reddened the way they always did when her memory was challenged and she felt lost. Peyton crossed her arms. Why were they even here?

“She’s gone,” he said. “Julie’s gone, Mom.”

All the terms people used.
Gone, passed on, no longer with us
. Why pretend? Her mom was dead. She was turning back to carbon molecules. Period.

Her grandma gripped the arms of her chair. “I
told
her I would never tell.” She looked to Peyton. “And I never have, Karen.”

God
. “That’s good, Grandma.”

“You tell Julie that. I love that girl.”

“She loved you, too, Mom.” Her dad straightened. “I guess we’ll be pushing off. I’ll be by Friday morning to take you to the funeral.”

“Not
mine
,” she said with alarm.

“No,” he said. “Julie’s.”

“Julie’s gone?”

“I told you, Mom. Remember?”

Why did he even bother? It wasn’t like she’d get it the fifth or tenth time he said it.

Outside in the hall, Mr. G was pushing his mother in her wheelchair toward them. He saw them, and his face saddened. “Frank. Peyton.”

“Hello!” Mrs. Gerkey was wearing a pantsuit so pink it made Peyton’s head hurt.

“I was going to stop by later,” Mr. G told her dad. “See if you needed anything.”

Like what? What could he possibly give them that would help? All these meaningless offers, when all the while, people really just wanted to get away. Look at the nurses at the hospital last night, the way they’d fluttered around, then disappeared. But Mr. G didn’t mean it like that. He was a pretty nice guy, and she had a hard time believing all the rumors of him being such a major druggie in high school were true.

“What’s the matter?” Mrs. Gerkey demanded in her quavering voice. “What’s going on?”

Mr. G told her, “Julie passed away yesterday,” and she frowned, slumped in her wheelchair, probably puzzling through who Julie was and whether or not this affected her. “Oh. Julie. Miriam’s daughter-in-law. Have you told Miriam?”

Yes, they’d told Miriam, and probably would have to keep telling her until her hearing conked out entirely, and then they’d have to start writing it.

“Don’t worry about missing work, Frank,” Mr. G said. “Take off as long as you want.”

“I’ll be in Saturday. We got to get that third line up and running.”

He’d been excited, washing his hands at the sink after work and telling them all about the catalogue descriptions, the choices between this system and that. Her mom had laughed and teased him about being a kid with a fancy new toy.

“Me, too,” Peyton said. “I’ll be there Saturday.”

The two men looked surprised. “You sure, honey?” her dad asked, and she shrugged.

She hadn’t known until that very moment, and once the words spilled out, they made perfect sense. What else was she
going to do? She’d be going back to school on Monday, too. The sooner she got back to her pretend life, the sooner she could pretend she had one.

They didn’t go straight home. Her dad switched off the ignition and cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

She refused to look at him, and after a moment, he sighed and climbed out of the truck.

The engine ticked. The neon sign glowed, red and inviting.
Lakeside Liquors
,
OPEN
. She sank in her seat, chewing her thumbnail. Someone walked by; cigarette smoke drifted in. Country music played from a car radio. What if she slid out of her seat and over behind the steering wheel, turned the key, pressed the accelerator, and caught the highway as it soared out of town, following it all the way to the end? Isn’t that what Dana had done? She’d hated Black Bear, too.

The truck door opened, and her dad got in, leaning around Peyton to set a bulky paper bag behind her seat. “Want to stop for takeout?”

They never did takeout. Her mom worried about the money, and her dad worried there wouldn’t be anything her mom could eat. “Maybe later.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” He put the truck in gear. “Why don’t we go home and regroup? Plenty of time to figure out supper later.”

She hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch and it was going on five o’clock. Her stomach traitorously rumbled and her head throbbed. Though it was only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before her dad slowed to take the turn into their driveway. Her aunt’s black SUV sat snug along the curb. Peyton bet it was clean inside, the dashboard polished and gleaming, the interior smelling richly of leather the way Mr. Gerkey’s car did.

A hulking figure paced the porch. LT Stahlberg.
God
. Why
wouldn’t he leave her alone? He came to the railing to peer at them as they turned in to the driveway. “Why doesn’t he go creep on his own mom?”

Her dad grunted. “I’ll deal with LT. Go around through the back door.”

Dana was in the kitchen, wedging something into the refrigerator. Covered dishes sat all around her, taking up all the space on the counters and the kitchen table. She straightened as Peyton came in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Peyton opened the cabinet and took out a glass.

“How was the nursing home?” Dana pushed the refrigerator door closed and it instantly sprang back open.

What was she supposed to say to that?
Horrible, as usual?
“Fine.”

“The phone’s been ringing.” Dana crouched and reached into the refrigerator to move around a few things. “I let the answering machine pick up.”

“Okay.” It didn’t matter to Peyton. Anyone who wanted to reach her would call her on her cell.

“I hope you like Tater Tot hotdish, because we’ve got three of them. I’d forgotten it was the signature casserole of the North Woods.”

Peyton held her glass under the faucet. Her mom could never drink water whenever she wanted to. Peyton would sneak into the kitchen when her mom wasn’t around and drink glass after glass, as if she were quenching the thirst for two people.

Her dad was taking a long time. Maybe LT wouldn’t leave. Maybe he thought he could camp out on their front porch all night, until Peyton’s mom reappeared or the aliens beamed him away. They should just call Mrs. Stahlberg and make her deal with him, but that usually made things worse. LT refused to talk to his mom. He said she was possessed.

“It’s a lot of food.” Dana put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with all of it.”

“Mrs. Stahlberg could take some. She’s got a freezer.” Peyton refilled the glass.

“Oh. Good idea. How is Irene these days?”

Her mom never called her Irene in front of Peyton. She was always careful to say “Mrs. Stahlberg.” Peyton shrugged. Mrs. Stahlberg was Mrs. Stahlberg.

Dana sighed with just a hint of annoyance.

Good
.

“Where’s your dad? I thought he was coming in.”

“He’s talking to LT.” Someone had brought pie. Peyton lifted up the foil and saw dark juice staining the crimped pastry. Blueberry. Her favorite.

“LT Stahlberg? Wow. I haven’t thought of him in ages. Anyone ever figure out what was wrong with him?”

“He’s schizophrenic.” LT was confusing. Sometimes he acted so dumb, like he was retarded or something. But other times, he totally got things. Look how he’d managed to set the hardware store on fire, right in the middle of the day, without anyone seeing him. Peyton’s mom was always telling her not to underestimate LT. She said that his medications made him seem slower than he really was.

“Oh. I guess that explains a few things. How sad.”

What was sad about it? It was just the way LT was. It wasn’t like LT knew any different. It wasn’t like he
cared
.

The screen door banged, and her dad came in, gripping the paper bag.

“Want some pie, Dad?” Peyton held a knife poised over the pie plate.

“Sure.”

“Aunt Dana?”

“Maybe later, thank you. And call me Dana.”

Yeah, that sounded better. She couldn’t think of her as an aunt. “What did LT want, Dad?”

“Oh, he just needed to talk. Don’t worry. He won’t be back.”

He was lying, telling her the safe thing, the reassuring thing. They both knew LT had a way of doing the unexpected.

The doorbell rang. LT again? But he didn’t use doorbells. He said the electricity messed him up. When he came by to see her mom, he always banged on the door with both fists, not stopping until someone finally answered.

“I’ll get it,” her dad said. But when he returned, he had Mr. Connolly with him.

It was weird seeing her teacher in her house. He held a manila folder and some books.

“Joe,” Dana said, her voice warm.

So she knew Mr. Connolly. From the way she was looking at him, Peyton guessed she’d once known him very well. And Mr. Connolly was looking back at Dana in the same way.

“How you holding up?” he said.

Peyton couldn’t tell if he was asking her dad or Dana. Neither answered.

“Beer?” Her dad sounded terse, which surprised her. Peyton thought he liked Mr. Connolly.