“Whatever,” she said, but she knew things would never again be the same between her and Ronni.
FORTY-THREE
[DANA]
JOE STOOD IN THE EMPTY CLASSROOM, STUFFING PAPERS into a briefcase.
“Hey,” I said. It was odd to see him in front of the whiteboard, instead of at one of the desks.
He glanced up. “Hey.” His expression was perfectly neutral.
The way we’d parted the other night stood between us, making me feel awkward and shy. There was something else there, too, something strange and unwelcome, in the way he quickly turned away to retrieve something from the bookcase behind him. Maybe he wasn’t as glad to see me as I’d hoped.
I wandered over to him, but he didn’t look back up and flash his usual grin. What had happened? Was he just distracted with end-of-the-school-year stuff ? Or was he worried about something else? “This town’s crazy,” I said.
“Yeah?” Now he was paging through the book.
It was a textbook. How fascinating could it possibly be? “Someone came by this morning and left an envelope addressed to Peyton filled with white powder.”
Now I had his attention. He set down the book and looked at me. “She didn’t mention that.”
“She doesn’t know. Frank and I got to it before she did. Turns out it was just baby powder.”
He frowned. “Good.”
“Frank said people have been talking. He checked my car for a bomb.”
“I’m sure no one would do that.” He pushed the book into his briefcase.
“That’s it?” I said. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Dana?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“So there’s something wrong with me?”
“I hear you’ve been busy.”
So that’s what he was upset about. “Look, someone had to call the EPA, Joe. You knew what was going on. You were just as worried as I was.”
“Brian just got a huge government contract. He’ll lose that if he has to reformulate. He’s already put in the third line. He’s extended his credit to the limit.”
“Are you saying it’s okay for him to keep using dangerous materials?” I was shocked.
“Of course not. But you could have given him a little notice before jumping to conclusions. He could’ve gotten his finances in order, cut back on his supplies, tried to keep his business from going under.”
“I did give him notice.”
“Did you talk to him, or did you tell him how it was going to be?”
He was closer to the truth than I wanted to admit. Still, that wasn’t the point. “He wouldn’t even listen.”
“Dana, this isn’t about you and Brian and your power struggles. Other people are involved. Hundreds of people.”
Now I was mad, too. “I know other people are involved,” I retorted. “Like Peyton.”
“Like my niece.”
“Your brother’s kid? What does this have to do with her?”
“My brother works at Gerkey’s. He’s afraid he’s going to lose his job.”
“Oh,” I said, abashed. “I didn’t think—”
“Exactly.” He snapped his briefcase closed. “That’s the thing, Dana. You never stop and think about anyone else.”
Where had that come from? “Just forget it. I don’t know why I came here, anyway.” I stalked toward the door.
“There you go, running away again.” He flipped off the lights and pushed past me.
There was nowhere to go but to follow him down the empty corridor. He punched through the heavy doors to the parking lot, the heat shimmering up from the asphalt in waves.
This wasn’t how I wanted it to be. This wasn’t the way I wanted to leave things. I took a deep breath, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. “Joe, we need to talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” He held up his remote and his car beeped. He reached inside and set his briefcase on the passenger seat. “About the note you stuck in my locker? About moving and never saying goodbye?”
“Joe—”
“I wish I could have been that person for you, Dana. The one you trusted. The one you loved. But I finally figured it out. I’m just the guy who once loved you.”
“Wait,” I said. I put my hand on his forearm.
He pulled away. “I waited for sixteen years. I’m done waiting.”
He climbed into the front seat, and I moved back to let him slam the door. This was so unlike him. “Come on, Joe,” I pleaded helplessly. “Don’t leave.”
“Funny.” He turned the key and the engine started up. “I once asked you the same thing.”
As those last few months went on, Julie tried to get me to tell her. It’s his responsibility, too, Dana.
No, I said. He can never find out. Never.
But it’s not fair to him.
Since when has anything been fair? I shot back.
Your baby’s going to need to know his or her medical history.
Will you leave me alone? I opened my textbook. I have to study.
Why are you being so stubborn about this?
Why are you being so pushy?
I’m just trying to help.
I don’t need your help.
You don’t have to be alone.
I looked at her. I am alone.
Julie’s face softened. She came over and stroked the hair back from my temple. You’ll never be alone, Dana. You’ll always have me.
FORTY-FOUR
[PEYTON]
THERE ARE OVER FOUR HUNDRED DIFFERENT KINDS of sharks, ranging in size from the puny eight-inch dwarf lantern shark to the fifty-foot whale shark. They’ve been around forever, since way back at the beginning of time, before landmasses even formed, and they haven’t evolved that much since. Guess they figured they’d nailed it to begin with.
They have thousands of teeth, all specially shaped, each one backed by a row of baby teeth just like it. As a tooth falls out or is yanked out during a confrontation, the next tooth in line moves forward and takes its place. Their whole bodies are covered with flat, pointed teeth called denticles, each of which is anchored to the shark’s body to form a rough mesh. Not only does this skin protect them from injury, it’s also thought to help them speed through the water. Sharks are formidable hunters.
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.
FORTY-FIVE
[DANA]
THE 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.