“That’s naturally occurring sand. Maybe processed sand is different.”
“That sand’s been settled for years now. How does that explain the new cases we’re seeing?”
“Maybe it just takes longer to show up in certain people than in others.”
“Doesn’t explain the profile of the people I’m seeing. If your theory’s correct, I would expect to see teenagers dominate the patient group, since they’re the group that spends the most time down by the lake, but I don’t have a single sick teenager.”
The phone on his desk buzzed. He leaned forward to push a button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Harrigan’s in room two.”
“All right. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up, and I said, “What if the sand’s contaminated?”
“It would have shown up in other ways, Dana. We would have seen all sorts of physical complaints. Hold on.” He rolled open a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Dr. Gunderson gave me a copy of the report we’re talking about, and I wonder . . . ah.” He juggled some stapled sheets free. “Here it is.” He scanned it and handed it over.
I read the heading. “Mortality from Lung and Kidney Disease in North American Industrial Sand Workers.” I looked at him.
“If sand were the cause,” he told me, “we’d expect to see an increase in lung disease, as well.”
“And you’re not?” The expression on his face was my answer.
“Dana, sometimes, things just happen. We may never know why Julie got sick.” His voice was gentle.
I’d taken enough of his time. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. I know you need answers, Dana. I only wish I had them for you.”
“Julie thought there was an answer out there.”
“I know.” We stopped by the waiting room door. His face was kindly, fatigue etched in the deep grooves along his forehead and mouth. “It’s good in the end that she knew we hadn’t missed something. I’m sure it gave her peace.”
“I don’t think she was at peace at all.” Julie had left that notebook on her nightstand, out in plain view. She’d wanted someone to find it and pore over its contents; she wouldn’t have guessed I would be the one to pick it up, but that’s how things had turned out. In this small, hopeless way, Julie had reached out, was still reaching out, and I wasn’t going to turn away. Not this time. “I think she got sick before she could do anything more.”
Something flickered across his face. It was gone before I could pin it down, but maybe it had been irritation. Or guilt. “What would she have done?”
Julie’s notebook was thin, flexible. It wasn’t enough to wage a war with. “I guess we’ll never know.”
Halfway across the lot, I looked up and there was Joe, leaning against my car. How many times had he waited for me like that, lingering against a wall or on the sidewalk, straightening when he saw me, his face helplessly changing? How many times had I felt myself changing, too, just at the sight of him?
The sun warmed my shoulders and glinted off the sidewalk. A car horn honked in the distance.
Joe smiled. “Feel like taking a ride?”
SIXTEEN
[PEYTON]
JELLYFISH DON’T HAVE EYES OR BRAINS. THEY JUST have bowl-shaped bodies and gaping mouths ringed by arms that sweep food inside. Tentacles dangle all around, like fishing lines. Some jellies have a few tentacles; some have so many they look like a tangled cloud. One of the most poisonous creatures in the sea is a jellyfish, a tiny animal called the box jellyfish.
Jellyfish randomly drift along with the current, letting their tentacles sweep along beneath them. As a tentacle brushes up against prey, it automatically releases stinging cells that numb the creature. The jelly then sucks it into its stomach to disintegrate. Nice.
For dumb, blind animals, jellies are powerfully resilient. Their poison cells remain active even after they’re dead. Water pollution doesn’t bother them, and when their habitat gets crowded, they simply multiply faster. But they do have an enemy.
If they leave the water, even for a second—the tide washing them onto the sand before rolling them back into the ocean—they die. Something irreversible happens to them. No one knows what. It’s interesting, right? One of the earth’s most basic creatures turns out to be way more complicated than you’d think.
Ronni was pulling on latex gloves when Peyton pushed through the door. She wrinkled her nose. Add fifty pounds and some wrinkles, and she was her mom. Gross. “Were you smoking?”
“So what?” Peyton said.
That caught Ronni up short. She stopped in mid-tug and appraised Peyton, who merely reached around her to the container of antibacterial gel on the wall. “You’re way too young to smoke.”
Peyton had just gone through this with LT. Screw it. She squirted a cool dollop of gel onto her palm. “And you were way too young to have sex beneath the football bleachers.”
Ronni blinked. “Who told you that?”
“Please. Everyone knows.” Their initials were carved in the soft wood, along with dozens of other couples’. It would have impressed Peyton, actually, that Ronni had done something unpredictable like lose her virginity that way, but she’d gone on to marry the dude, so it didn’t count.
Ronni looked worried, so Peyton added, “Your mom doesn’t know.” Like that would matter anyway. She rubbed her hands together, working the gel between her fingers.
Ronni handed her a pair of gloves. “Did you hear we got that contract?”
So Ronni was going to drop it. Peyton had scored something. She wondered what. “The government one?”
“Yep. Can we say ‘job security’?” Ronni swept her hair back into a tight ponytail and wrapped the elastic around it. Not the best look. It made Ronni’s face look particularly square-jawed, but Ronni was always obsessed about keeping her hair back. Like she’d get fired over tape with a hair stuck to it. “They’ll have to expand the lines. Maybe I can move up.” Ronni’s eyes shone. “Not that I wouldn’t ask to take you with me.”
Right. Ronni would never do something like that. She wouldn’t want to make waves or cause any kind of disturbance. It didn’t matter. A year from now, Peyton would be leaving this dead-end town and going to college. Then she frowned. Dead-end? How had Dana’s words gotten stuck inside her head?
Ronni’s gaze flicked to something behind Peyton and she switched on a bright grin. “Hey, Mr. G. Congrats on the contract.”
“Thanks, Ronni. Hi, Peyton.”
“Hi.” It was weird to see him in the middle of a Saturday. He usually only came in first and last thing to feed his fish.
“Got a minute?” he asked Peyton.
How humiliating. He was checking on her to make sure she was okay. He knew her better than that, should have guessed she’d hate to be singled out.
“I’ll have her right back,” he told Ronni, who nodded.
Out in the empty hallway, he said, “I’ve been hearing good things about your work.”
Who would have told him that? “Thanks.”
“You show up on time. You’re always willing to take on an extra shift. That kind of responsible attitude’s impressive.”
The only reason she showed up on time was because her dad dragged her with him to work. And as for taking on extra shifts, well, it wasn’t as though she had any choice. Every dollar Peyton earned went straight into her college fund. Lately, that had been the only money going in.
“I’m looking for people to train on the third line. What do you think?”
“Me?” Only old-timers got to work the line. Peyton was just a kid.
He grinned. “I figured you were ready for a change.”
Making the stuff had to be way more interesting than packing the bottles it came in. Plus the pay was higher. “Okay.”
“Great. I’ll let HR know. They’ll want to start training you right away, probably sometime next week.”
She had final projects, exams coming up. The horrible social studies grade that she had no cha
nce of bringing up to a C. She used to be at the top of her class. Her mom used to stick Peyton’s report cards on the refrigerator. It had been a long time since Peyton had eagerly brought home her grades.
Without waiting for her reply, he said, “That’s not the only good news. I may have a lead on a clownfish.”
“Really?” That was good news. Mr. G said his clownfish was okay without a mate, but Peyton worried about Charlie. Sometimes the little black-and-white fish didn’t seem as active as he used to be, like he was missing his old sweetheart.
“I’ll let you know,” he said, and started to turn.
“What about Ronni?” she said.
He stopped, his eyebrows raised. “Ronni?”
“Will she be moving to the line, too?”
“Ah.” His face took on that careful look grown-ups got when they were watching what they said. “That’ll have to be between her and her supervisor.”
Why didn’t he just say it? Ronni wasn’t going anywhere. She was staying stuck in Packing where she’d been for years, and only Peyton was moving on. So this was a pity offer.
He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get back. I’ve got a call coming in.”
He patted her shoulder and was off, leaving Peyton with nothing to do but go back to work.
Ronni glanced up as Peyton took her position beside the conveyor belt. “What did Mr. G want?”
Ronni was bossy and annoying. She talked endlessly about the stupidest things, like curtains and mascara. Her taste in music was horrible. But Gerkey’s was her life. She came to work with a big smile, clocked in and out right on time, arranged to meet friends during every break and meal. She’d been so proud when she’d gotten promoted to supervisor. Now she stood waiting for Peyton to answer, her hand hovering over the bottles jiggling together beneath the motion of the conveyor belt.
“To tell me about a new fish he’d ordered.”
“Oh.” Ronni rolled her eyes. “I guess that would be important.”
Peyton scooped up a handful of bottles and dumped them into the waiting box. Who was the bigger jerk: Mr. G for extending the offer? Or her, for accepting it?
On their way home, the streets honeyed with late afternoon sunshine, her dad asked, “So how did it go?”
“Fine.” It went. “I heard we got that big contract.”
He glanced over. “Means I might be pulling extra-long hours. What do you think—would you be okay with that?”
“Like every weekend?” How empty would that make the house? Would she notice his absence? Yes, she would.
“Maybe some evenings, too.”
Her mom’s medical bills filled the desk drawer at home. What if they didn’t pay them? It wasn’t like all those doctors had done any good. It wasn’t like all those hours going to dialysis had done her mom any good at all. Peyton and her dad should just keep their money.
“Peyton?”
What did he want her to say, that it sounded like a blast, being abandoned day after day, night after night? “It’s fine, Dad,” she said impatiently, and he sighed with relief.
A boy skateboarded down the sidewalk, bending his knees to swoop around the cracks and holes. A freshman. She’d seen him around. “Mr. G’s promoting me to Manufacturing.”
“Yeah?”
He sounded surprised. Which meant Mr. G hadn’t checked with her dad first. Was that a good thing or bad? “I’m getting trained next week.” Her cellphone buzzed to let her know she had a text, and she pulled it from her pocket. Eric. U done?
Yes, she typed back.
“You want to work on the line, honey?” her dad asked.
It wasn’t like her dad to ask her what she wanted. What was he trying to do, channel her mom? She shrugged. “I guess.”
“You can’t operate the machinery. OSHA regulations.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Mr. G would know that, though, right?”
“He must have something in mind, but it’s strange he’d move you there. Did he say why?”
Was he being dense on purpose? It wasn’t as though Mr. G would have spelled it out. “Just that I’ve been doing a good job.”
“Oh.” He sounded pleased, just hearing what he wanted to hear. She knew how that worked. If you looked at things the way you wanted them to be, then you didn’t have to deal with the way they actually were.
Another text. We still on for 2nite?
Eric had asked her the other day, in that other lifetime. She sorted through her feelings. Did she want to go out, hang with him like she used to? “Can I go out with Eric?” she asked her dad.
“Shouldn’t you be tackling some of that homework?”
There it was again. Her mom took care of the school stuff. Her dad put on the storm windows and mowed the grass. He couldn’t do both. He should stop trying. “Eric can help me.”
He gave her a sideways glance, but said nothing. So that was a yes. He liked Eric, and was friendly with Eric’s folks. Still she hesitated. Was it fair to leave her dad alone? Was it even smart, with all the beer he’d been drinking? Her phone buzzed again, impatient against her palm.
She slid it open and pressed K, then turned it off. “I won’t stay out too late,” she promised, and he nodded.
It wasn’t until they’d gotten home that she realized that maybe the thing she should have been worried about was not leaving her dad home alone with beer, but home alone with Dana.
SEVENTEEN
[DANA]
I’D BEEN GETTING READY FOR A DATE WITH JOE WHEN Julie came and stood in the bathroom doorway. What? I asked, twining the curling iron through my hair. How serious are you two? she asked, and I laughed. Is this where you tell me about sex? She didn’t smile back. I hope you’re smarter than that. I groaned. Do you hear yourself? I retorted. She came up behind me, her face reflected beside mine in the mirror, mine a little lower than hers, the same fair coloring, the same blue eyes, doubled. I like Joe, Julie said. But you’re too young to be so serious. Without thinking, I said, Cut it out. You’re my sister, not my mom. Which wasn’t fair. Which was really cruel, that day of all days, and even now as I stood beside Joe on the tarmac, I remembered the pain that twisted her features as she turned away, and I felt the full weight of shame.
Maybe that was the moment that changed everything for me.
I walked around the small white plane. Nearby, a couple of over-alled mechanics worked on another plane, larger than this one. Beyond them, Boy Scouts sat cross-legged on the grass, listening to a guy in khaki as he walked around and gestured. Rock music thumped from the open door of the hangar across the way.
“Nice,” I told Joe. “I never knew you wanted to fly.”
“Sure.” Joe stood on a foothold built into the side of the plane, leaning across the wing to unscrew a cap and peer inside. “I built this, you know.”
I glanced at him, astonished. How many other things didn’t I know about Joe?
He smiled at my expression. “Took me two years.”
I’d heard of planes being assembled from kits, but had never seen one up close. I ran my hand along the bolted sheets of metal. It all looked real enough. “Remind me, how did you do in tech ed?”
Now he laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken it up hundreds of times. Handles like a dream. Come on. Let me show you Black Bear from the air.”
“A dream come true,” I muttered.
Grinning, he handed me up the small folding steps, and we both settled ourselves into the cockpit. He gave me a pair of headphones. “Put these on and we can chat. It’ll get pretty noisy once I start her up.” He consulted the paper pinned to a small clipboard, then opened the glove box and slid the clipboard inside. Pushing open the small window beside him, he called, “Clear!” Then to me, “Strap yourself in.”
Loud sputtering as the propeller on the front of the plane began rotating, and a minute later, we began bumping across the pavement. The noise grew louder and we moved faster. He spoke into the microphone. The ground fell away and the sky open
ed up before us, endlessly blue and reaching all the way up into heaven.
Over the background rumbling, Joe’s voice came clearly. “Nice, isn’t it?”
Off to the right sprawled the amusement park: turquoise, yellow, navy, and red tent tops, a huge devil’s head with horns, the Ferris wheel. The roller coaster snaked up and down along the curve of woods.
“You still crazy about coasters?” Joe asked.
“I haven’t been on one in years.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even been to a park, but I remembered the first time. It had been a little county fair with rickety rides, and I’d been with Joe. A lot of my firsts had been with Joe. “So you’re Peyton’s teacher.”
He nodded. “She reminds me of you, you know. Her mind works in the same way, hopping from point to point.”
I stared steadfastly out the window. Had he ever looked at Peyton and wondered at the color of her eyes, the shape of her face? “Irene Stahlberg says she doesn’t have any friends.”
“Peyton’s okay. She’s an independent thinker. She’ll find her own way.”
It made me feel good to know that Joe was there, helping Peyton navigate the rocky road of adolescence. It meant even more now that Julie wasn’t there.
The pines thinned to grass, then to fields of wheat, stippled pale green and yellow, stretching all the way to the horizon. Brown patches of earth showed here and there. I turned in my seat to look back. In the distance, along the horizon, the crops shone in the afternoon sun like emeralds. Was that what the two old farmers had been talking about? “The wheat doesn’t look good,” I said.
“Farmers are having a tough year.”
“Anyone know why?”
“You know what it’s like. Sometimes it happens.”
Joe knew better than most. His father had been a farmer. “How’s your dad? I didn’t see him yesterday.”
“He moved to St. Paul to be near my sister and her family.”
“That’s nice.” Joe’s younger sister had worshipped him, and he’d pretended to hate the attention. But he’d been the one to stand up for her at school, and he’d gone to every one of her high school softball games. “Do you like her husband?”