Invisible

by Carla Buckley

  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.

  “Sounds good,” Mr. Connolly replied. “Thanks.”

  Her dad held out a can. “Dana?” he said, and she shook her head.

  Mr. Connolly took the beer. “I’m sorry about your mom, Peyton.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. Which was stupid. Thanks for being sorry, thanks for saying so? She handed her dad his piece of pie, licking the blueberry juice that had oozed out onto her finger.

  “Thanks, princess.” He balanced the plate in one hand and gripped a beer can in the other. He looked from one to the other. Then he set down the pie and lifted the can to his lips.

  Peyton frowned hard at her own plate.

  “I brought over your homework assignments for the week, Peyton, but of course you don’t need to worry about them right now. Mrs. Milchman sent home a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  “Great,” Peyton said. She’d get right on reading that. He didn’t catch her tone. He may have been talking to her, but he was watching Dana. It was as though a bubble encased the two of them, leaving Peyton and her dad on the outside. Peyton yanked out a chair with a loud, forceful clatter, and both Dana and Mr. Connolly glanced over.

  He cleared his throat. “So the service is Friday?”

  “One o’clock,” her dad said.

  “I’ll make sure the principal knows. He’s planning an early dismissal so everyone can attend.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  How dumb was that, everyone making such a big deal? The kids would all be excited about missing school, but they’d try to hide it. Peyton was glad she wouldn’t be around to see any of their fake sadness in the days leading up to the funeral. By Friday, though, chances were good that everyone would have moved on to the next exciting topic. Were Brenna and Adam doing it? Was that gross thing on Mrs. Olafson’s nose cancer, or just a disgusting wart?

  “I’d better head out. I just wanted to come by and pay my respects.” Mr. Connolly shook her dad’s hand, nodded at her and Dana, and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Her dad took a long swallow. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

  Dana was folding up the paper bag. She turned. “Wait for what?”

  “Back in town one day.”

  “Oh, come off it, Frank. He came by to bring Peyton her homework.”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty convenient.” He reached around to pull another can out of the cardboard case. Her mom wouldn’t have liked that, her dad drinking two beers in a row, but she was gone. The rules didn’t apply anymore.

  “Dad, he’s my teacher,” Peyton protested.

  But he didn’t even look at her. “We don’t hear from you for years. Then, bam! You’re back. Who called you? What the hell do you want?”

  “To bury my sister.”

  The words were flat and ugly. Peyton set down her fork and swallowed hard. She hated Dana.

  “That’s it?” her dad jeered. “You don’t want a nice keepsake?” His gaze roved the room and came to rest on the hutch. “How about her plates?”

  Her mom’s pretty blue wooden plates, lined up behind the glass. Every Christmas, her dad got her mom another one.

  “Stop it, Frank—”

  “How about this?” He grabbed the old pottery pitcher from the shelf, with its cream-colored finish and handle that curved like an ocean wave, the crack running up one side. “It’s damaged, though. Probably couldn’t get much for it.”

  Her dad was using his sarcastic voice, the one that could melt metal. Peyton hadn’t heard it since she was little, but now it came rushing back. Her dad snapping at her for dawdling as she fumbled with her shoelaces. Her dad telling her mom the chicken was dry. Or even worse, her dad going silent and freezing out her and her mother as if they didn’t even exist.

  “What is your problem?” Dana asked.

  He smacked the pitcher onto the counter and the crack raced up to the lip. Peyton flinched. Her mom had loved that thing. They’d found it together at the flea market.

  “You’re the problem. Julie took care of you. She did everything for you.”

  “You can’t blame me for this.” Dana’s voice trembled.

  “If you’d been here—”

  “I would have been here. I’m here now, aren’t I? But you didn’t call me!”

  “Julie wouldn’t let me. She didn’t want anything to do with you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you want. Whatever it was that you did—”

  “I didn’t do anything! I loved her! She was my sister.”

  He snorted. “You have a funny way of showing sisterly love.”

  “You don’t know anything. We got along great until you came along. Julie—”

  “Sure. Julie was real happy, working all day, going to school at night, and trying to keep you out of trouble. Did you really think she was going to spend her life taking care of you?”

  “And what life did you give her? She never saw anything of this world. You kept her trapped in this dead-end town!”

  Dana didn’t know anything. Her mom had loved Black Bear. She said she never wanted to live anywhere else.

  “Julie was happy here.”

  “Julie was loyal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She would have done anything to make you happy. She would have done anything to make you think she was happy, too.”

  Her mom had been happy. She said that having Peyton filled her life with joy. Peyton wanted to clap her hands across her aunt’s mouth, and make her shut up.

  “It kills you to know that Julie was okay without you.”

  “Sure,” Dana shot back, mocking. “She did just great without me. How many experts did you consult, Frank? Did you even think about taking her down to the Mayo?”

  Her father went still, all the air sucked out of the room. Dana wasn’t saying this was her dad’s fault, was she?

  When her father spoke at last, it was in a low, quiet voice that sent a shiver down Peyton’s spine. “We haven’t seen or heard from you in years. You never even came home when your niece was born. But here you are, acting the devoted sister. You can try and fool the rest of the town, but you can’t fool me.”

  “You’re the fool, Frank. You don’t know me, and you didn’t know everything about Julie, either.” Dana’s face was white.

  What did that mean? Peyton shoved back her chair. “Stop it! It was me, all right? I called Dana.”

  They stared at her.

  “I thought she could help,” she persisted, hating them both. “How screwed up was that?”

  “Peyton, I just—” Her dad reached out.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Peyton whirled and ran down the hall. Slamming her door, she threw herself onto her bed and grabbed her iPod. Nothing was what it seemed. People could be related to you and be nothing like family. People could die and leave huge gaping holes. What rushed in to fill them was scary and wrong. She squeezed her eyes shut to let the music sweep her away.

  . . . you didn’t know everything about Julie.

  Dana was the one who didn’t know everything about Peyton’s mom. She hadn’t been around for Peyton’s whole life, so why would she even say something like that?

  Did you even think about taking her down to the Mayo?

  Peyton couldn’t remember if her parents had ever discussed going to the Mayo Clinic. Would it have made a difference? They ha
d lots of doctors in Black Bear, a whole clinic full of them, and Peyton’s mom went to them all the time. But still a tiny worm of doubt wriggled in, flaring briefly in the blackness before disappearing from view.

  Maybe it was her dad’s fault.

  SEVEN

  [DANA]

  STREETLIGHTS THREW JULIE’S FACE INTO SHARP RELIEF as our small car hurtled through the night. She gave me a worried glance. I should’ve known something was wrong. I’m in nursing school, damn it.

  That scared me. Julie never swore. Is it because it’s too early? I grabbed the armrest as another wave of pain swept up my legs to my belly.

  It’ll be okay.

  She was just saying that. She didn’t know.

  We sailed over the train tracks, and I gasped. Julie, slow down!

  Sorry.

  The emergency room doors swept open.

  “Name, honey?” the admitting nurse said, peering over the half-moons of her glasses. The creases on her face showed what she was thinking: Aren’t you too young to be having a baby? Of course I was.

  “Julie Kelleher,” I lied.

  Julie fished in her purse and pulled out the ID and insurance card. The nurse examined the tiny photo, looked at both of us, then pushed back her chair. “Let me make a copy of this. I’ll be right back.”

  Julie and I looked at each other, stunned. It had worked.

  The urgent cooing of a dove woke me. Rolling over, I picked up my cellphone and glanced at the display. Seven. Halim would have been on the jobsite for over an hour by now, so why hadn’t he called with an update? He knew I’d be worried. Was he simply busy with the usual post-blast cleanup, or had he gotten into worse trouble? Had I? I wanted to trust him, this smart, older man who’d become my mentor, despite our many differences. I wanted to feel that we were in this terrible situation together, standing on the same side of the fence. But I couldn’t push away the memory of the calculation in his eyes as he stood over the dead woman. After all, a man who’d clean out a business account without his partner’s knowing was not someone to count on.

  The house was gentle with pearly dawn light as I made my way down the hall. My favorite time of day, everything peaceful and new, with just the soft gurgle of the coffeemaker to keep me company. A fresh start, all the previous day’s mistakes erased. Beer cans rattled as I pulled the bin from beneath the kitchen sink. Six, seven empties? Frank would need more than a new morning to erase last night’s mistakes. I dropped the old, used coffee filter into the bin and shoved it back into place. Who was I kidding? I’d made my own share of mistakes, too, letting Frank goad me into a fight right in front of Peyton. But emotion had swelled up from nowhere, and in an instant, I’d blazed up into that bitter, angry girl I’d once been, and had almost undone everything I had struggled so hard to make.