PEYTON.
Frank stooped to retrieve it as I stepped onto the porch and glanced up and down the quiet street. “See anyone?” he asked.
The sidewalk was empty; no cars moved in the distance. Whomever it was had left in a hurry. “No.”
Frank grunted.
We’d gotten threats, Ahmed had said.
I whirled around. Too late—Frank was already sliding his finger beneath the flap. A shower of fine white powder drifted out.
“What the hell?” he snapped.
We stared in horror at the tiny mound of powder by his foot. Not anthrax, but something just as lethal. Nano zinc.
“Shit,” he said.
How much had we just inhaled? The slightest breeze, and it would be off, cycling through the air to the kids on their way to school, the people walking to the lake or to town, mowing their yards, walking their dogs. “Don’t move,” I said, thinking desperately. We had to cover the powder that had already fallen out, and somehow contain what remained in the envelope. I’d grab the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet, but how much would escape? It wouldn’t do any good. The stuff was too tiny to be caught by ordinary measures.
Frowning, he tilted the envelope toward him and gave it a little shake.
I grabbed his wrist. “Are you insane?”
He yanked away, and held the envelope to his face. He shot me a look of pure disgust. “Baby powder.”
“You sure?”
“I know what baby powder smells like.”
“What’s with the phone, Dad?” Peyton’s voice was sleepy, untroubled. She stood blinking and yawning, her arms wrapped around herself in the early morning chill.
Frank pushed the envelope into his pocket. “Nothing, honey.”
“Can I take the first shower?”
“You bet,” he said.
The door smacked shut behind her.
“What kind of sick person would do something like this?” I raged. “Soon as Peyton’s off to school, I’m calling the police.” She shouldn’t know about this. But would she be safe at school?
He was shaking his head. “Won’t do any good.”
“Why not? They can’t get away with this!”
“Did you see anything? Anyone?”
“You know I didn’t. But maybe there are fingerprints on that paper.”
“Doesn’t matter. The sheriff ’s son-in-law works at Gerkey’s.” He was frowning, his mind elsewhere.
“What?” I demanded, impatient.
“Get your car keys.”
My SUV sat parked at the curb. Frank unlocked the driver’s door and popped the hood.
I teetered on the curb, wanting to see, wanting not to get too close. He stared down at the battery, the spark plugs and hoses. Reaching in, he parted wires, turned caps, lifted belts aside.
“Frank,” I said, wanting him to be more careful.
“Just be quiet for once, will you, Dana?”
A door banged and Irene came out onto her front stoop. “Car trouble?”
“It’s okay,” I answered tersely. Then in a lower voice, “Frank, you don’t know what you’re doing. Get out of there.”
“Stand back,” he said, and strode up the driveway to the garage.
Irene was standing in the shadows of her porch. When she caught me watching her, she retreated hastily, letting the door bang behind her, but I knew she stood just inside, peering through the gauzy curtain.
Frank returned, carrying a flashlight. Crouching, he shined the narrow beam of light upward along the underneath of the engine. He went all around the car like that.
“Anything?”
He didn’t answer.
“Frank. What’s wrong?”
He stood and switched off the flashlight. Frowning down at my car, but not at me, he said, “There was some talk at the plant yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you. People are upset.” He released the hood and let it fall shut.
“Upset enough to put a bomb in my car?”
“You really have forgotten what it’s like, haven’t you?”
Had I?
One Halloween night when I was little, Mom had to work, leaving Julie in charge. We were sitting cross-legged sorting our trick-or-treat candy when the pounding started. The front door, the back door, the windows along the side of the house. All were shaking and rattling at the same time. Whoops and calls sounded from outside, the throaty barks and howls of werewolves and witches eager to snack on little girls.
Julie grabbed my hand and hauled me up the narrow stairs to the bathtub. There we crouched, hushed and terrified, hidden behind the shower curtain. We couldn’t see out, so surely they couldn’t see in. Julie wrapped her arms tightly around me and held me close. It’s probably just those stupid kids from school, she whispered. I pressed my head against my sister’s chest and heard the reassuring thump of her heart.
Now my sister was dead, and it wasn’t the monsters that rattled doorknobs and cracked eggs on the mailbox you had to fear. It was the monsters you couldn’t see. The ones who kept their masks of friendship firmly in place and their true intentions disguised. Those were the ones you really had to worry about.
Peyton. The envelope had been addressed to Peyton.
FORTY-TWO
[PEYTON]
SEA SLUGS ARE CALLED THE BUTTERFLIES OF THE ocean. They’re not like they are on land, fat slimy lumps of tissue that wreck gardens and that no one likes. In the water, they’re transformed. They come in an array of shockingly bright colors and are intricately put together. Some have spiny protuberances; some look like they’re feathered. Others are furled like precious silk. They creep just as slowly along the ocean bed as their cousins do on land, so they’re not aggressive hunters, though they are indiscriminate eaters. Whatever they catch is fair game.
Because they can’t run away and they have a difficult time hiding, you might think they’re the most vulnerable creatures in the ocean, but you’d be wrong. Despite their pretty coloring and cute little bodies, they’re desperately, fatally poisonous, and other creatures have learned to leave them alone. It’s a good thing to know: looks can be deceiving.
Peyton studied the cereal box. Not her usual brand, something organic masquerading as regular. Like the cheerful little drawings on the front and the name, Happy Honey Ohs, would deceive her. She wanted to say something to Dana, let her know exactly how she felt being marooned with this healthful crap, but her aunt was on the phone in the living room. This was the last morning her aunt would be around, probably for forever. Well, that was just fine. They’d gotten along without her for Peyton’s whole life.
“Do I have to eat this?”
Her dad tightened the cap on the thermos. “You should eat something.”
She waggled the box at him. “It doesn’t even have sugar in it.”
“Then add some,” her dad said, and Peyton knew he was done discussing breakfast. His hair was damp from the shower and his cheeks freshly shaved, but his eyes were bloodshot and his hand trembled as he set down the thermos. Probably from staying up and drinking all night. Oh, Dad.
She turned so she couldn’t see him and pushed the cereal box back into the pantry. “What’s your blood type?” she asked.
“Don’t have a clue. Why?”
“It’s a project I’m doing for Mr. Connolly. I’m making this family tree. I’ve got Mom’s and mine, so all I need is yours.”
“Ask Doc Lindstrom. He should know.”
“Okay.” She grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter. She’d eat it on the way to school. How different could organic bananas be from regular? “Bye.”
“Hold on.”
She stopped, hand on the back doorknob. “What?”
“Who knew you spilled powder the other day?”
His voice was casual, but his gaze made her nervous. “But you said I wouldn’t get in trouble. You said everyone made mistakes.”
“That’s right. You’re fine. I just wondered.”
<
br /> People didn’t just wonder stuff. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Everyone, Dad. Everyone knew I spilled that stuff and screwed everything up.”
He reached out a hand but she was gone, whirling away and letting the back door slam shut behind her.
The classroom windows were cracked open, letting in the buzz of a lawnmower, the hoot of a distant train. It would be summer soon. After work, she and Eric could go down to the lake and swim, then go to the amusement park and ride the roller coaster over and over and over.
“Peyton?”
Her Spanish teacher was looking at her expectantly. Across the room, Brenna smirked.
“Por favor,” Peyton said.
When the bell rang, Brenna came over as Peyton shoved her books together. “My dad says your aunt is nuts.”
“Whatever.” No argument there. If she hurried, she could meet Eric between classes.
“My mom says Dana’s always been a real troublemaker.”
“Since when do you listen to what your mom says?”
“You want to hear what else my mom said?”
“Not really.”
Brenna’s face darkened.
“Ready?” Eric called.
Brenna stomped away.
“What’s up with her?” Eric asked.
It wasn’t worth talking about. “Can you give me a ride to the plant after school?”
“Sure. I can put in my application, too.”
Good. She was glad that Eric would be working at Gerkey’s. They could totally hang out together. “Want to do DQ after?”
“Can’t. We got that thing at Brenna’s, remember?”
“What thing?”
He stopped and looked at her.
“Oh,” she said, getting it. “That thing she didn’t invite me to.”
“I don’t have to go.”
“No biggie. Pool party, right?”
“Sorry, Pey.”
“Seriously,” she said. “I don’t care. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.”
She smiled at him.
“Okay,” he said, after a second.
They were at her classroom door. “Bye.” She walked into the room and that’s when she finally let the smile off her face.
“Here you go.” Mr. G handed Peyton the filter he’d promised her, in its little box.
“Thanks,” she said, and he smiled.
Mr. G had the most amazing aquarium, filled with stony corals. He had special blue and white lights set on a timer to mimic day and night, which he said soothed the fish and fooled them into thinking they were still in the ocean. Peyton thought that was impossible. Maybe the lights went on and off, but the water temperature didn’t change, and there were no waves. Those fish might not know where they were, but they knew for a fact that they weren’t in open water.
The refugium tank bubbled below. Peyton bent to make sure the Banggai cardinalfish inside was doing okay.
“Look how big he’s grown,” Mr. G said. “All that urchin and sea grass, just for him to hide in.”
He knew she hated the Banggai being down there all alone, without any friends to pass the time with. She straightened to look into the big tank. Bright orange anthias darted everywhere, and an anemone opened and closed its pink arms. The fleshy meat coral looked plump, the encrusting corals a riot of branches and mushroom shapes. Teeny starfish dotted the sides of the tank, the passive reef variety that wouldn’t harm corals. Coco worms, red frilled creatures, were tucked among the crevices of the live rock. A big clam with purple lips sat at the bottom, looking smug. Nearby, the white goby worked on his burrow in the bed of sand, diving in and backing out to spit out the sand he’d collected. The cleaner shrimp with its delicate spiky legs and antennae hovered nearby. They were a pair, the goby and the shrimp, despite their many differences. Probably the only real friends in the whole tank.
“Here’s the new guy,” Mr. G said.
The black-striped clownfish swam within the water-filled plastic bag floating in the corner of the big tank. Sure enough, he was an onyx percula, which was pretty rare. That’s why it had taken Mr. G so long to find him. He was about half the size of Charlie, Mr. G’s other clownfish, which was good. No fights over turf between them. She leaned in. The new fish flicked his eyes toward her. “He looks happy,” she said, knowing that was what Mr. G was waiting to hear. But she didn’t think he looked happy; she thought he looked wary, like he knew his world was going to be turned upside down, again.
“He’s already had his first meal.”
That was a good sign. Sometimes new fish went on hunger strikes.
“He and the Desjardini tang have been eyeing one another. I can’t decide if that means they like each other or not.”
The large brown-striped fish drifted to the far corner, as if she’d already forgotten all about the newcomer. She could be faking it, though. Tang were crafty that way. “She doesn’t like him.”
“Don’t worry, Peyton. I’ll stay on top of it.”
But he wasn’t here all the time. He went home at night, and he took business trips. There would be plenty of opportunities for the tang to take a vicious nip. Yes, Peyton decided, the new fish looked uncertain. Like he knew this wasn’t going to be the best setup.
“Here we go.” Mr. G undid the top of the plastic bag and upended it, letting the new clownfish slide into the tank.
Nothing at first. The new fish sat still, as though he wasn’t sure where he was or what he was supposed to do. The purple tang swam over and past, then cycled back. The Desjardini zipped around the top layers. Charlie had his back to the new fish, playing hard to get, or genuinely not picking up on the changed dynamics of the tank. Then he swam to the top and down again, and came to an abrupt halt, like, Whoa.
“That was fast,” Mr. G said.
Charlie swam closer. The new fish treaded water, his little gills opening and closing. Charlie circled and circled, drawing nearer and nearer.
“Little does he know he’s going to be a Charlotte soon.”
Clownfish were born male. Over time, the more dominant ones became female. The new fish flipped around to face him. They wavered in the tank, inches from each other. Would they fight or would they decide to get along? As a rule, clownfish were a docile species, but it could still take them a while to settle down. Charlie puffed up his fins, letting the newbie know he was in charge.
Mr. G’s face was reflected in the glass. “Did Fern tell you I spilled powder the other day?” she asked him.
He watched the fish. “She had to fill out a report.”
“If the EPA finds anything, is it because of me?”
Now he looked at her, appraising.
A knock. The secretary stood there. “Sorry to interrupt, but Martin called. It’s LT.”
Mr. G straightened. “I told him. He has to wear his uniform.”
“It’s not that. He’s not even supposed to be working today. He got in somehow and he’s going around looking for cameras.”
“Like security cameras?”
She grimaced. “Like the miniature cameras that aliens put into people to monitor the human race.”
“Martin can’t handle this?”
Martin was half the size of LT and old.
“LT’s trying to get into the daycare.”
“For crying out loud.”
No one said not to, so Peyton followed Mr. G and his secretary down the hall to the lobby. Voices grew louder as they got closer.
“There’s no such thing, LT.”
“That’s what you say! But I saw them!”
Martin stood, arms crossed, between LT and the daycare door. Inside, Sheri Cavanaugh watched through the glass, a baby balanced on her hip. “Those weren’t aliens,” Martin said. “Those were people from the EPA.”
LT rocked his enormous self from side to side. “EPA’s the government, isn’t it?”
“I can’t let you in there, LT. You know that.”
“LT!” Mr. G called.
LT whirled around, and his blubbery face crumpled with relief. “You’ll let me in, won’t you? I got to make sure the kids are okay!”
“Give it a rest, LT,” Mr. G said. “Only parents are allowed in the daycare.”
“But they won’t look. You know they won’t!”
Ronni trotted toward them, snapping off her gloves as she moved. “Stop it, LT. Look, you’re scaring the kids.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” LT said.
“I’ll tell Mom. I’ll tell your home supervisor.”
“I don’t care.”
“Sure you do, LT,” Martin soothed. “Come on. We can look for cameras outside.”
“The cameras aren’t outside. They’re inside. Why can’t you see that?” LT shoved Martin, and the old guy fell back against the wall.
“That’s enough!” Mr. G grabbed LT’s elbow.
Peyton hadn’t known Mr. G could yell so loud.
Mr. G marched LT away, LT struggling and trying desperately to shake him off, but Mr. G held tight, even though LT was so much bigger than he was.
“You okay, Martin?” Peyton asked, and he nodded at her, rolling his arm around as though checking his shoulder. She could tell he was embarrassed.
“I better go check the back doors,” he mumbled, and walked away.
Sheri pushed open the door to the daycare. She’d set the baby down and she came over to Ronni. “Has LT been taking his meds?” she said in a low voice.
“I guess not.”
“You better get on it. You know what’ll happen.”
Ronni pushed her hair back with both hands, turned and saw Peyton. “Don’t look at me like that. This is all your fault. You and your stupid aunt.”
If Peyton’s mom were still alive, LT would be behaving. “Don’t you mean it’s my mom’s fault?” Peyton shot back.
Ronni set her mouth in a hard line. “How long do you think people are going to be sad for you, Peyton? Trust me. It won’t be forever.”
She pushed past Peyton and stalked down the hall after her brother.
“She didn’t mean it,” Sheri assured Peyton. “You know she’s just worried about LT.”
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