“Look.” Dana jabbed a finger at the back of Peyton’s neck. “Right here. And here.”
Peyton hated her.
Doc Lindstrom adjusted his glasses and peered at her. Peyton squirmed, then held still, suddenly afraid that if she moved, a billion baby spiders would erupt from a bump on her back or her arm. Maybe it was cancer.
Doc Lindstrom frowned. “What is it that I’m supposed to be seeing?”
“She’s been itching.”
“Yes?”
“Just like Martin.”
Doc Lindstrom sighed. “Dana—” he began.
“They’re mosquito bites!” Peyton yanked her arm from Dana’s grasp. “It’s not contagious, you know. You can’t catch kidney disease.” Tears burned her eyes. “Jeez, Dana.” She stomped away.
Hours later, her bedroom door cracked open. Dana stood there, her form outlined by the hall light behind her. Peyton refused to turn down her iPod. “What?” She heard the belligerence in her voice and didn’t care.
“Can I come in?” Dana didn’t wait for an answer, then closed the door so that the room was filled once again with the eerie blue light from Peyton’s lava lamp. She stood at the foot of Peyton’s bed. “Everyone’s gone.”
What did she want—congratulations? A gold star? Peyton pulled out her earphones and twined the thin wires around a forefinger.
“I wanted to tell you before I said anything to your father.” The glow from Peyton’s lava lamp carved hollows around Dana’s eyes and below her cheekbones, smudged her lips. “I’ve decided to stay for a little while.”
Alarming news, confusing. Round and round the white wires went, cocooning her finger. “How come?”
“I guess there are just some things I need to figure out.”
Like that was an answer. “I don’t care what you need.”
“Fair enough.”
Blue bubbles rose in the belly of the lamp, forming soft rounded oblongs that broke apart at the top and slithered down the glass into new and interesting shapes. Her fish hung motionless in their darkened tank. In the morning, she’d press on the light switch and they’d know it was another day. Peyton would put on her Gerkey’s uniform and go to work, and it would be like a switch had been flipped for her, too. Today was the end of something, tomorrow the beginning of something else.
Why was Dana there? Peyton couldn’t stand it any longer. “What?” she demanded.
“I just . . . Peyton, I’m sorry.”
Peyton stared at her in disbelief. “You’re sorry? Which part are you the sorriest about? That my mom’s dead? Or that you never cared while she was alive?” Dana flushed and opened her mouth to say something, but Peyton rushed on. “Well, I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you’re here and she’s not. I wish you were the one who died.”
She stuck the earphones back into her ears and rolled onto her side. Holding up her iPod, she let Dana see her thumb swirl the volume button all the way up. After a minute, she felt the quality of the air in the room change and she knew Dana had gone.
THIRTEEN
[DANA]
JULIE HAD SMILED A T THE SIGHT OF ME ON THE couch, knitting needles in my hands and yarn spilling over my lap. Wow, she said, coming over and sitting beside me. Look how much progress you’ve made.
It’s horrible, I muttered. Like something a dog barfed up.
She laughed.
The baby kicked, making me gasp. It had surprised me, where babies could reach. The baby’s saying, “I don’t want that stupid thing.”
It’s not a stupid thing, Julie said. It’s something you’re making for your baby, and that makes it special. Don’t you wish you had something of Mom’s to remember her by, something that she made just for you?
Despair surged through me. I was beginning to forget what our mom looked like, what her voice sounded like. I couldn’t figure out if she’d still be taller than me, or if we’d be wearing the same shoe size, if she’d be ashamed of me.
Julie spread the knitting across her knee. How clever of you to think of making a blanket. It’s a perfect idea.
I stared hopelessly at the mess of yarn. I’d been trying for a sweater, but Julie was right. It did resemble a blanket. If I couldn’t manage something as simple as knitting, how could I possibly manage taking care of a baby? It was all I could think about as I paced these rooms. The night before, I’d dreamed I was having a little girl. I woke up feeling a tiny flicker of joy. Do you think dreams come true? I asked Julie.
A pause, and then Julie stooped and kissed me. You can do this, you know. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.
Irene straightened, seeing me, and pressed the dishwasher closed. “How is she?”
Wretched. “She’s fine.” I shouldn’t have gone in. I thought that my wanting to make her feel better would be enough. I wish you were the one who’d died. Poor Peyton. All I’d longed to do was to put my arms around her and let her cry. I poured myself a glass of wine, and held a mouthful of wine against my palate. “I told her I was thinking about staying longer.”
“You did?” Irene’s face shone with relief. “Well, that’s fine, then. That’s wonderful news. Have you told Frank?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded toward the window. “This is a good time.”
I glanced toward the glass, where it showed full dark outside. “What’s he doing out there?”
“Mowing the lawn. You know Frank. You can’t talk him out of things once he’s decided. Besides, it’s better if he stays busy.”
I watched her, her stout back to me, her hands busily working. “Did you know that Julie believed something made her sick?”
A pause, then she said without turning, “Well, yes. I know she was keeping track of who was getting sick.”
Her hesitation told me this was a touchy subject. “Did anyone do any environmental testing?”
“I don’t think so. What for?”
“Lead. Asbestos. There are tons of old buildings in town. The church, the library. Have any of them been checked out?”
A nervous glance at me. What was she worried about?
“Lead and asbestos don’t cause kidney disease,” she said.
“What about pesticides? With all the farmland around—”
“Julie thought of that. She had her blood checked regularly. Mind if I throw away the fruit salad? It won’t keep.”
“That’s fine, thank you.” The counters had been cleared, the food put away. The dishwasher began to hum. “You’ve done more than enough. I’ll finish up.”
Irene shook her head. “Better if I stay busy, too.”
The moon hadn’t yet risen, leaving the business of lighting the night to the lamps posted up and down the road. The lawnmower buzzed irritably in a far corner as Frank worked it over a stubborn patch of grass. Dangerous to be mowing in the dark; he could run over his foot or throw up a sharp stick. I switched on the porch light, and after a moment, the lawnmower silenced. Coming down the steps, I stood on the uneven surface of the driveway, my arms crossed against the chill of the evening air.
Frank emerged from out of the darkness. He hadn’t changed out of his funeral clothes; his tie hung loose around his collar, and he moved with purpose. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Martin said itching was a symptom—”
“You just never think, do you?” he interrupted. “The day Peyton buries her mother, you go telling her she’s next.”
“What if she is?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I think something made Julie sick.” There. I’d said it out loud. My heart thumped with my daring.
A car drove past, music streaming out its open windows, laughter. As it rounded the distant corner, the street fell silent again.
When Frank spoke, his voice was low with warning. “What exactly are you saying? That someone at the hospital poisoned her?”
“Of course not. Not someone. Something. Something in this town is poisoning everyone. Including Pey
ton.”
“You’re crazy.” Flat. But he didn’t move away. Some truth in what I was saying held him there. “We talked to the specialists. We studied the numbers. We did everything and then some.”
“You didn’t do everything. You didn’t do any testing.”
“Julie had every test the doctors could give her.”
“I’m not talking about those kinds of tests. I’m talking about environmental tests. Did you check the air, or the water?”
“The air and water around here are fine. Cleaner than anything you’ll find in the big cities you’re living in.”
“But you can’t know that.”
“What the hell are you doing, Dana? You really think this crazy talk is going to do any good? It’s over. It’s done. Julie’s dead. Nothing you do can bring her back.”
I knew that. I gritted my teeth. “It’s Peyton I’m thinking about.”
“Don’t you worry about Peyton. You head on back home, wherever it is you’re living now. I’m sure there are people there who care.”
Meaning there weren’t any here. “So, you’re just going to let it go. The same way you did when Julie got sick.”
All of a sudden, he was there, looming out of the darkness, his face white and hateful. “I was here,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “Not you.”
“Yeah? Whose fault is that? Did Julie grab the phone out of your hand, Frank? Did she follow you around and keep you from calling me?” Let him hit me. I wanted him to. I’d claw him right back. I wasn’t that insecure, lost teenager anymore. He couldn’t hurt me. “You could’ve saved her, but you didn’t.”
He grabbed both of my arms as if he was going to slam me against the porch.
“Frank!” Irene slapped down the steps. “Let go of her. Dana, what’s the matter with you? Both of you, stop!”
Frank squeezed, then flung away my arms.
Irene pushed her way between us and stood there, glaring at first me and then Frank. “Did Dana tell you the good news?” She hit the word good with emphasis, as if by saying it, she could make it true. “Dana’s planning on staying for a while. It’ll help Peyton to have her around, won’t it?”
Frank’s face darkened. Turning, he strode back to the lawnmower, and a second later, I heard it start up with a roar.
Later that night, while Frank slumped before the television, I walked quietly to his bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, I looked down the long empty hallway behind me, listening, then turned and tiptoed into the room. No one had tidied all week. The notebook sat in the wastepaper basket where Peyton had dropped it days before. I shook it loose from the tissues heaped around it. A creak made me whirl around, my heart giving a yelping thud. No one stood there. I was alone.
I made it to my room unnoticed, closing the door and reaching to turn on the small lamp. The room flared into light and shadow. I looked down at the notebook in my hand with its creased cardboard cover and its corners soft from handling. Maybe the answer was hidden somewhere within its pages.
When I finally fell asleep, it was to dream of billowing gray dust and sheets of paper fluttering down, filled with the answers to everything I’d ever wanted to know. But no matter how closely I peered, the writing remained inscrutable, the letters so tiny as to be invisible.
Early morning light shot through the screens, alive with dancing motes, claiming the small, close space. Patting around on the small table beside my makeshift bed, I located my cellphone, pushed myself up, and dialed.
A man’s voice answered. “Down to Earth.”
What was Ahmed doing back in Baltimore? “Hey.” Someone was up, moving around in the kitchen. I lowered my voice. “It’s Dana.”
“Oh, Dana. I heard about your sister. Terrible thing.”
“Thank you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, lack of sleep making my head throb and eyes feel gritty. “So you’re all back in Baltimore?”
“No, no. Just me. Halim sent me to retrieve the New Orleans estimate.”
Our next shoot. Good. The heady aroma of coffee drifted into the room, tantalizing. “They’ve nailed down the date, then?”
“Ah, no. They’ve decided to go with another firm.”
I was stunned. Halim and I had worked for weeks putting together that plan. The owner himself had driven us to the airport and shaken both our hands. “He can’t do that!” I fought to keep my voice controlled. “He signed a contract. Tell me he didn’t ask for his deposit back.”
“Not yet, but you know he will.”
That money was long gone. We’d already spent it finalizing things for Chicago, paying for the airfare to New Orleans, the week at the hotel. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. It should have worked. It almost had. I stared at the ceiling, the wood darkened and streaked by time. “What about the crew? Have you paid them?”
A sigh. “How?”
“Use the money we got from the Chicago job. Make sure you draw your pay, too.” Halim and I would have to live on credit for the time being. Damn the money he’d just loaned his brother.
“Mr. White has not paid the balance. He says he’s waiting until the police inquiry is resolved.”
No. That was impossible. He didn’t have any legal right to do that. We’d completed the job and now he could go ahead and build his luxury high-rise. “Well, he can wait all he wants for that, but he can’t get out of paying us. We’ll take him to court.”
Of course we wouldn’t, but how else would we pry the money away from the man? I had no idea what the legalities were surrounding something like this. Could White claim the job hadn’t been completed to his satisfaction? Was he entitled to hold back payment for liability purposes?
“Halim is hoping it won’t come to that.”
“Hope doesn’t pay the bills. Tell Halim I’ll give White a call.” Clattering came from the kitchen. I lowered my voice again. “Have the police figured out who she was?”
“A homeless person. They think she was drunk and sleeping it off.”
“Why there, though? Wouldn’t it have been easier to find a park or a shelter? Why break into a guarded building?” Although we both knew just how well guarded the building had been.
“Maybe she’d been sneaking in every night, and unfortunately, this was one morning she didn’t wake up in time.”
We couldn’t just keep calling her “she.” “Do we know her name?”
“Jane Something. Washington, Hamilton. That is it. Jane Hamilton.”
Jane. I’d pushed the button that had killed a woman named Jane. “Not the name of a woman who would break into an abandoned building. What had she been doing there? Does she have a family?”
“The father identified her body.”
He’d been forced to look at what I couldn’t bring myself to see. Had he held any hope for his homeless daughter, or had he been happy just letting her be? He certainly couldn’t have foreseen the path she’d end up choosing. “That poor guy.” What path would Peyton choose? Had watching her mother suffer, losing her at such a young age, been the kind of thing that could derail her? Look how my mother’s death had derailed me. It was good I was staying longer. Maybe I’d been kidding myself thinking otherwise.
“That poor guy has been talking to reporters, Dana. CNN picked up the story. For the past few days, they’ve been showing a photograph of Jane, and the video of the building going down. When I came into the office this morning, I retrieved a number of phone messages, all of them threats. The last said he would report us to Homeland Security.”
I sucked in a breath. Homeland Security terrified us all. Anybody working with dynamite had to watch their step and make sure they followed every obscure guideline and rule to the nth degree. One anonymous phone call could tie us up in knots for weeks, if not months. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t even go there.”
“Forgive me, Dana, but we’re Saudi. We have to go there.”
And there it was. I could be worried about Homeland Security, but only as it affected my job. Ahmed and Halim were in a different s
ituation entirely. I shivered again.
The wood veneer covering the walls of the small room looked orange in the light, the same whorls printed over and over across the cheap planks, no attempt to disguise them as anything but what they were: imposters.
“Ahmed, tell me something.” Be careful what you wish for, my mother used to say. “Did Halim bring me into the company because I’m American?”
A dove cooed outside my window. The back door slammed and a car engine started up. A distant train’s whistle. Ahmed’s silence spoke the loudest.
So Halim hadn’t seen anything special in me, nothing other than my eagerness to learn and my American citizenship. “The New Orleans contract’s in the safe,” I said. “You know the combination.”
“Dana—”
“Tell Halim I’ll be back in a few days.”
“Halim said you were coming back today.”
“Then I guess we’re all full of surprises.”
FOURTEEN
[PEYTON]
IT TAKES FIFTY YEARS FOR A SEA TURTLE TO DECIDE to have babies. When the time comes, the female drags herself out of the water and onto the shore and digs her nest. She lays about one hundred eggs, which takes an hour. Then she’ll cover her nest with sand to conceal it before crawling back to the ocean. Every night for three weeks, she’ll continue to do this. Sometimes, she’ll dig a fake hole to throw off predators. When she’s finally done, she abandons her babies. She goes back into the ocean and never once looks back. She’ll spend the next two years swimming around, getting psyched up to do it all over again.
Meanwhile, the turtle eggs are baking under the sun, at the mercy of hungry crabs and birds and snakes. Maybe a hundred survive. When they finally emerge, they’re teeny replicas of their moms and dads. They have the sense to know they’re not free and clear, not yet. They’ll wait until it’s dark before scurrying as quick as they can to the water. If they’re very lucky, they won’t end up being someone’s dinner on their way.
When they finally reach the water, they dive right in. And then they disappear. No one knows where they go. It’s years before they reappear as sturdy adolescents.
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