Saskia pushed the start button on the dryer, grateful for the white noise the machine created. She had a feeling her father wanted to have a talk—a talk she wasn’t ready for.
“I don’t have to go in until five,” he told her.
Making a quick calculation, Saskia winced. Six hours. She and her father had six hours together. “Gilmore Girls?” she asked hopefully.
“Nah, let’s do something active. I don’t want to sit around.”
“I’m tired,” she said.
“Tired of doing what?”
Uh-oh, here it comes. You need to look for a job. You need to come home earlier. You need to be more responsible. You need to communicate with your mother.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested.
“No, Dad. It’s way too hot.”
“Okay, somewhere with air-conditioning. The grocery store?”
Saskia sighed. It was as good a place as any. Besides, if her father wanted a heart-to-heart, it was better to have it in public. If need be, she could wriggle out of answering, act shy, embarrassed, or distracted.
“Fine,” she agreed.
In the car, her father mentioned a surge in overdoses at the hospital. All kinds of people were being brought in. Adults abusing pain pills, teens gorging themselves on over-the-counter medicine. “The kids, they’re looking for an easy high. We’ve seen a lot of dextromethorphan and pseudoephedrine abuse.” He glanced at her nervously as he steered the car around a bend. “You’re not into that, are you?”
“Of course not.” Saskia looked away, thinking she needed to find a better place to hide the baggie of pills. Not that she was taking any, but her father would freak out if he suspected she was. Pills or no pills, she had to admit she was taking risks. Unnecessary risks.
Only last night, thinking about what Paige had said, she’d put a drop of mercury on her tongue, let it roll down her throat. She’d imagined it would taste like a dirty coin in her mouth, but that wasn’t the case.
It had felt smooth and tasted bland. When she’d tilted back her head, how quickly it had slipped down her throat and into her stomach. Too fast for her to stop it.
“I had to ask.” Her father paused. “You know, it’s normal to want to experiment,” he continued. “You’ll hear about new things, things you’ll want to try. And other kids will encourage you—push you, even.”
“Dad, I’ve listened to about a hundred speeches on peer pressure and bullying. No one’s pushing me.”
“Don’t be testy. This is just a conversation. I’ve noticed you’ve been more withdrawn lately. Every time I look for you, you’re in your room.” He paused. “Or off with those girls.”
“You mean, my friends? You wanted me to make friends, remember?”
“Yes, but sometimes you get home in the middle of the night. Your hours are almost as bad as mine. That’s not acceptable. I think maybe I’ve given you too long a leash. I have no idea what you’ve been up to or what’s going on in your head.”
Saskia fidgeted. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad.” After swallowing the mercury, she’d been up all night, paranoid with worried, sick with fear. So much for incredible dreams. She hadn’t slept a wink. In the morning, she’d been grateful, though. Grateful to still be alive.
“Look, I don’t want to fight. I realize you’re still trying to process everything—the separation and the move and all that. But if there’s more—if something, or someone, is bothering you—you can tell me. I’m not gonna punish you. I just want to know.”
“Why?”
“Why?” her father snapped. He banged his hand, newly bandaged, on the steering wheel. “Because I’m your father. Because I was a kid once, too, believe it or not. Because I work at a hospital and see what happens when people make bad decisions. There are consequences, Sask, and they’re not always pretty. A boy went into cardiac arrest yesterday after taking too much Advil. Advil!”
A morbid uneasiness settled over Saskia. She was feeling terrified about what that drop of mercury could do. Might have already done. She’d read online how it would feel to die by mercury. A prickly, pins-and-needles feeling in your mouth. The gradual disappearance of peripheral vision. The slurred words, shakes, and poor balance of a drunk. Add to that mood swings, difficulty breathing, and kidney failure, and you had yourself a full-fledged nightmare.
Staring out the car window, she was aware she was brooding obsessively, but she couldn’t stop. Would that one drop be enough to kill her? What about the vaporized mercury she inhaled whenever she opened the vial? Suddenly, there was so much to worry about.
“I’m fine,” she said, her hands in knots.
“From a diagnostic perspective, I disagree,” her father retorted. “You’ve changed. You’re sleeping a lot and less active. You’ve gotten thinner . . .”
She laughed in spite of herself. If only her dad took a good look at Paige, Sara Beth, and Adrienne.
He chuckled, too, unsure of what to make of her reaction. “Look, maybe everything is fine. Maybe this is normal. God knows I don’t know what it’s like to be a teenage girl. All I know is that it must be hard. So remember I’m here, okay? You are my first . . .” He paused. “You are my only priority.”
Saskia kept staring out the window, watching everything zip by in a blur, an abstract collage of shapes and colors. Funny how ordinary things looked completely different when you were in motion. She couldn’t help but wonder if the world really was blurry, and by standing still, people distorted its rightful appearance. For a fleeting moment, she debated telling her father about the daguerreotypes and the Mercury Boys, about her dreams, and the club. And Cornelius. How he’d changed her—expanded her mind, and maybe her heart, too. Ever since she’d visited the lighting store, reality had mutated. All the colors were suddenly bleeding through the lines. She couldn’t find the boundaries anymore.
But to speak of Cornelius meant revealing secrets she’d promised to keep. It meant betraying Paige and the other girls. Why take that risk when her father might not understand? He was worried about her—that was what this car ride was all about. What if her admission made him so worried that he took away the daguerreotype and forbade her from seeing her friends?
And there was another reason to keep quiet. Maybe it was selfish, but she recognized that part of the reason Cornelius was so precious was his obscurity. If she shared him with her father, or any adult, she’d drag him into the light. And the truth was, she preferred him in the shadows. There, she could imagine what she liked. Her mind was free to fill in the question marks and blank spaces. In the darkness, Cornelius was all hers.
“We’re here,” her father said.
Saskia snapped to attention. Looking around, she saw that the car was parked, that the world was still again. In front of Shop Smart, rows of cars stood like soldiers at attention, and orphaned shopping carts waited on the steaming asphalt. People scurried to and fro. Lost, it seemed to Saskia. She looked at all that and put the idea of sharing to rest.
In the store, surrounded by people, Saskia felt better. She and her father scouted the aisles, leaving their previous conversation behind. With a grin, he brought up the Kyinkyinga, which he had burned. “If I’d just taken them off the indoor grill sooner . . .”
“They would have been good,” she replied.
“And used more cayenne pepper. You can never use too much cayenne pepper.”
“Uh, you can definitely use too much cayenne pepper.”
“It was the wood skewers that burned. They say you’re supposed to soak them first.”
“Good to know.”
“I didn’t realize they could catch on fire so fast.” Her father scratched his head and steered the cart around a display of baked beans. “Maybe we ought to invest in an outdoor grill.”
“Next summer,” she said, thinking the last thing they needed was another big bill.
&n
bsp; Her period had started, and she said she had to go get “girl stuff”—a euphemism he instantly understood. They split up, agreeing to meet back at the meat section in a few minutes for Kyinkyinga, take two.
She browsed the tampon section, marveling as always at why little cardboard tubes and cylindrical cotton wads cost ten bucks a box. It was highway robbery. Making a selection, she proceeded down the aisle . . . only to run into Josh.
His hair was mussed-up in its usual rock-star way, not like hers, which looked like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket—twice. The truth was, even under the too-bright fluorescent lights of Shop Smart, he looked great. Even better than she remembered. He was with another kid, a guy Saskia vaguely remembered from school.
Instantly, she wished she were somewhere else, anywhere, even back in the car listening to her father. Could anything be worse than running into your crush while holding a jumbo-size box of Tampax? Saskia grimaced. Not crush, she told herself. Ex-crush. She wasn’t Adrienne, after all, flitting between two boys, one living and one dead. No, Cornelius was the only one she was interested in.
“What’s up?” Josh said, smiling at her.
“Nothing. Just shopping with my dad.” Saskia positioned the tampons behind her back and glanced at the other boy.
“You guys know each other?” asked Josh. He was standing close to her, uncomfortably close. “This is Benny. He’s our year.”
She nodded in shy recognition.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” Josh went on.
“Not much. Seeing friends, mostly. Paige and Adrienne and Lila . . .”
She realized, suddenly, that Josh was wearing the same T-shirt as that night. The discovery made her heart quiver. Stop, Saskia, stop. “What about you? Keeping busy?” Her voice seemed to be coming from someone else, the sound of it foreign to her ears. With Josh mere inches away, she felt strangely insubstantial, like dandelion fluff in the wind.
“Shoot—nothing, really. Playing music. Benny on drums, me on guitar. We’ve started a band. We still need a bass player, though. Know anyone?”
She shook her head.
“You play anything?”
For the first time in her life, Saskia wished she’d indulged her mother and taken piano lessons. Again she shook her head.
“Can you sing?”
“Not unless you want your audience to wear earplugs.”
Josh laughed. “You should come by sometime. We’re at his house—in the garage—every night, practicing.”
“Trying to rack up as many noise complaints as we can,” Benny added.
Saskia smiled.
“You said you hang out with Adrienne?” asked Benny. “How’s she doing?”
She realized with a start that Benny was Benjamin. The Benjamin. Adrienne’s Benjamin.
Ding, ding, ding.
“She’s fine.”
“I haven’t seen her for a while. She got mad about something I did—it was stupid.”
“You mean, when you guys went for ice cream?”
He looked surprised that she knew. “No, after that. We were hiking. In Sleeping Giant State Park—you know it? She got mad ’cause I took my dog off his leash and he ran away.”
Saskia couldn’t believe they’d gone out again. Benjamin seemed to sense her surprise.
“I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to make sure everything’s cool, even if we’re not gonna be together.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“You guys pretty close?” he asked her.
“I’d say so,” she replied cautiously.
“When you see her, can you tell her to hit me up? I need to talk to her about one other thing.” He looked nervous and insecure, like he was the one holding a bright pink box of tampons.
“Yeah, okay.”
Silently, the three of them looked at one another. She waited, hoping Josh would reissue his invitation and tell her where the heck Benjamin’s garage was. Then again, maybe he didn’t want her to visit. Maybe it had just been something to say, a way to be polite. She tried to catch his eye, but he seemed distracted. She could never hold his attention for long.
“Well, I gotta get going,” she said, before he could.
“Yeah, us, too,” replied Josh.
“It was good to meet you,” Benny said, sticking out his hand. She clasped it firmly, like her dad had taught her to do long ago.
Josh nodded a goodbye—it seemed to Saskia a half-hearted gesture. She gave him, in return, a half smile. Before she knew it, he and Benjamin were trudging away. She continued to feel strange, like she was only partly there. Maybe because Josh had taken her self-esteem with him. She looked at the box of tampons and thought quite seriously about hurling it at his head.
A flood of feelings rose up in her. Excitement, disappointment, desire, anger. She was surprised by how strong those feelings were. The run-in colored her mood for the rest of the day. Even so, she was glad it had happened. Glad because it made her appreciate Cornelius even more. Cornelius, who never ignored her or confused her. Cornelius, who never let her down.
Saskia
Saskia stood in front of a run-down house. Beside her, Cornelius gripped two heavy leather satchels in his hands. Saskia wasn’t sure what they contained, nor was she sure where she was. It was probably a neighborhood on the fringes of Philadelphia, judging from the dingy, weatherworn houses and buildings. They looked similar to the ones she’d seen on previous occasions with Cornelius. She glanced around. Piles of ashes and animal droppings fouled the street. A mangy dog yelped, and an unseen baby cried. Passersby looked somber, grime and worry etched on their faces as they trudged down the street. Even the children seemed to carry a burden: shoulders slumped, eyes on the ground. Saskia glanced at her clean white blouse, which had been part of her old school chorus uniform, and felt guilty.
“Who lives here?” she asked, nodding at the door. It was unpainted, the wood warped and splintery.
“A woman I met yesterday. She asked me to do her a favor.”
Saskia wondered what kind of favor but decided not to ask. She would find out soon enough. Unthinkingly, she scratched at a Band-Aid on her finger, which covered the healing blister. Lately, the wound had started to itch like crazy.
“What happened to your finger?” Cornelius asked. He set down the satchels and took her hand gently.
Saskia shrugged. She didn’t want to tell him the truth for a lot of different reasons. “I burned it on the stove,” she lied, repeating what she’d told her dad.
“Does it ail you?” he asked worriedly.
Saskia hesitated. “I’m ailed—a little.” Cornelius smiled amusedly, causing Saskia to question her word choice. “Whatever. I’m fine now,” she said defensively.
But he continued to stare at her finger with an expression she’d seen before, back when he’d first spotted the Velcro on her sneakers.
“It’s called a Band-Aid,” she said.
“The object covering the burn?”
She nodded. He investigated it with great care, as if the Band-Aid were an astonishing technological breakthrough, or an unsolved mystery.
“It’s doesn’t match,” she muttered. “I mean, it’s way paler than my skin.”
They hadn’t talked about this difference between them. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Cornelius shook his head. “I am only wondering how it stays in place?”
She laughed, a little relieved. “It’s sticky.”
“Sticky?” He continued to stare at the Band-Aid with such studious fascination that Saskia peeled it off and offered it to him.
“I couldn’t,” he said.
“Too gross?”
“Not at all. But you need it.” He looked pointedly at her still-ugly wound.
“I’d rather let it heal on its own now.”
&nb
sp; At that, he cupped his hand, and she placed the soiled Band-Aid into his palm. His eyes glowed with genuine gratitude, as if she’d gifted him a rare gem. The absurdity made her laugh again. He carefully tucked the Band-Aid into his pocket and smiled at her.
Resuming a serious expression, he knocked on the door. At first, there was no sound from the inside, and then Saskia could make out faint footsteps. He knocked again. On the first floor, someone moved aside a stained oilcloth from a window and peeked out. Saskia only caught a glimpse of a woman with a pale, narrow face and sad-looking eyes.
A moment later, the woman opened the door.
“Mrs. Rothschild,” Cornelius said, bowing slightly.
“Mr. Cornelius,” she replied politely. Up close Saskia could see that it wasn’t just the woman’s eyes that were sad. Her whole body conveyed a sense of deep sorrow, even devastation. Saskia saw it in the pitiful stoop of her back, in her pigeon-toed stance, in the fine pink veins threading the whites of her eyes.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
“It was very kind of you to come,” Mrs. Rothschild said. “I didn’t know if you would.”
“I gave you my word.”
“Yes, but when there is no money on the table, sometimes words are forgotten.”
Cornelius shook his head. “Money means nothing in this case. Losing a child—there’s no greater sorrow.”
Fresh tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. Cornelius handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“My boy fought hard, but it was too much, the fevers and chills,” Mrs. Rothschild said, wiping her eyes. “And then the coughing—terrible coughing. When blood came up, I knew it was the end. God was calling him.”
“Yes, and now he is beside the Almighty Father in heaven,” Cornelius reassured her.
“It’s a better place than here,” Mrs. Rothschild said, her eyes flickering toward the street.
“That it is.”
“But I didn’t want him to go—not so soon. He was only seven. Maybe I’m selfish.” She closed her eyes, obviously trying to suppress a fresh round of tears. When she opened them again, she seemed to notice Saskia for the first time.
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