I get ahead of myself.
On the appointed day, I snuck the assembled watches back into the factory. They were heavy, but did not weigh nearly so much as my guilty conscience. I suppose I could have called it off, but in truth I had no better ideas. So I persevered, ignoring all my misgivings, and near the end of the day, I found a moment to slip off to the cloakroom, where I deposited all the watches in Charlotte’s bag.
Seven o’clock could not come fast enough, and yet when it did, Walter, my heart plunged through my chest. But I followed my plan precisely. I did not falter. Not once. In the cloakroom, I reached for Charlotte’s bag before my own.
“Charlotte, your satchel is heavy!” I announced in so loud and cheery a voice that everyone turned to look at us. “Are you carrying rocks?”
Then I made an exaggerated effort to hoist the bag, and everyone laughed at my clownish antics but Charlotte, whose eyes narrowed. She alone knew how out of character such behavior was for me.
I had planned to somehow spill the contents of the bag, but perhaps Providence approved of my plan, for what happened next was even better. The seam burst from the weight, and all the watches scattered over the floor, making the most dreadful racket, Walter, which was worsened by the gasps of shock from the other girls. One of the watches split apart—my poor handiwork on display, I am sure—and all the pieces bounced across the floor, springs and crystals and those delicate hands I’d worked so hard to paint.
“Oh, Charlotte!” I cried, and I think I killed part of my soul with this. “Oh, Charlotte, what have you done?”
Mr. Mills, on the balcony, saw it all. He thundered down the stairs in such a temper, red-faced and full of rage, and grabbed Charlotte by the shoulders and shook her. “A thief!” he shouted in her face, and at once Charlotte began to cry, certainly from the trauma of it all, but her tears only made her appear all the more guilty. “A dirty little thief who repays my kindness by stealing from me! The police will know what to do with the likes of you, you miserable thief!”
Of course I interceded on her behalf. “Mr. Mills, you mustn’t call the police. Just send her away. She’s so young, sir. It was just an error of judgment. Charlotte will never come back and never trouble you again. Please, Mr. Mills, please, it would mean ever so much to the whole family if you could see fit to send her away without any trouble.”
He took my meaning as I hoped. After raining a few more harsh words on Charlotte’s tear-streaked face, Mr. Mills ordered her to get out and never return. We were hardly past the gate before Charlotte fell against me, racked by such great heaving sobs that she could not even walk.
“Lyddie, I never…I never would…” she choked out, her words strangled by the torrent of emotion.
“Shh, shh, dear one, shh,” I said, holding her up with my arm. “Everyone is watching. Wait until we are home…”
With all haste I hurried her along to the sanctity of our apartment. Of all the times I had walked through the stages of my plan, Walter, this was the one I could never imagine. Or perhaps I could not bear to imagine it. Charlotte’s humiliation was so great, and her pain so enormous, and to know that I caused it…
Do you remember what I wrote before? About doing the wrong thing for the right reasons?
Mother was very disturbed by Charlotte’s ordeal and wanted to speak to Mr. Mills, to assure him that Charlotte had surely been set up, but I was able to dissuade her from that with ominous reminders about Mr. Mills’s threat to call the police. I endeavored to remind her of the necessity that I, at the very least, maintain my position so that we might continue to enjoy our more comfortable standard of living.
Of course, Liza’s medical bills are also a consideration.
Perhaps my entreaties were too strong because I caught Liza giving me an odd look. But I did not stop until I was convinced that there would be no more talk of Mother interceding on Charlotte’s behalf.
That night, when I made Liza’s pudding per her insistence, I realized that we had run out of Lumi-Nite. Perhaps Mr. Mills has been gradually reducing the supply he provides? The thought is troublesome to me for many reasons. I do not think that I have imagined the increasing coldness emanating from him since that evening when he waited outside our door with flowers for Liza, flowers that were never delivered.
I apologized to Liza that her pudding was nothing but pudding and promised her that I would replenish our supply tomorrow. She flew into such a temper, Walter, but for once I was glad of it. She has been so listless of late that it was a relief to see some spirit in her again.
I tried to apologize again, but Liza would have none of it. And then she did the most astonishing thing, Walter. She picked up her palette, still tacky with paint, and scraped up a gloppy mass with the spoon from her pudding.
“No! Liza!” I exclaimed. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t possibly mean to eat that paint!”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Liza retorted. “If I’d known that you would forget to bring more Lumi-Nite, I wouldn’t have mixed up so much paint this afternoon. It’s the same stuff anyway. You said so yourself.”
“There is quite a difference between eating the powder in pudding and eating it in paint!” I said. “You might as well drink a bottle of glue, Liza. What if it makes you ill?”
“Look how much you’ve painted,” she said. “Has it ever made you ill? All the lip-pointing you’ve done? All the brushes you’ve tipped?”
Then—I think this was just to spite me—she ate the entire spoonful of the paint, Walter! And afterward she looked very sick—the paint is so gritty and unpalatable—but satisfied as well. Oh, she can try my patience, Walter. Like no one else I know. I barely spoke another word to her for the rest of the night.
Then, long after we had gone to sleep, I woke with a start. There was a figure in the room, standing at the foot of my bed. I could see her in the light from the walls, and something about the cast of the greenish-yellow glow twisted her features so that my own little Charlotte was nearly unrecognizable.
“You did this to me,” she hissed, her face streaked with tears. “You.”
I pressed my hand over my heart in hope that I could quiet its pounding and said, “Lottie, pet, what is it? What is the matter?”
“As bad as Liza,” she spat out. “Worse. Because I know that Liza never loved me. But you…you! You always pretended to. Why did you do it, Lydia? Why did you do that to me?”
If there were ever a time to admit what I’d done, it was at this moment, Walter. But the way Charlotte stood there, trembling with rage, seething with such fury that I’d never seen before…
I am not proud of myself, but I took the coward’s course and feigned innocence. Because my fears may be unfounded—because my suspicions may never be proved—it seemed too great a risk to confide in Charlotte. Besides, how much would she have understood? She is very young. She looked so young, you see, bathed in the green glow, overcome with emotion. It was impossible to look at her without seeing the infant Charlotte squalling for some milk.
So I shook my head, made my eyes go wide, and proclaimed that I had no idea what she was talking about.
“It will be better this way,” I promised her. “You’ll have more time to devote to your writing. You can go back to school now…”
There was a long, terrible moment when Charlotte stared into my eyes without blinking. I can well guess what she saw there. Then, without another word, she exited my room.
She knows, Walter.
She knows, and she will never forgive me.
As I will never forgive myself.
I am in a bad spot either way—if I am wrong or if I am right. If I am wrong, Walter, I have subjected Charlotte to a great injustice and perhaps severed bonds with my sweet little sister forever. And it is no comfort if I am right, for the consequences—if there is a poison in the factory that is slowly killing Liza, that may be slowly killing other girls…
I hope that I am wrong.
Liza’s illness takes new a
nd horrifying turns that baffle every doctor we consult. She has lost five—or is it six? I admit that it is hard to keep count—teeth now, and the infection gnaws away at her jaw unchecked. The bone is spongy, cobwebbed with holes like a cheap piece of muslin or a slice of Swiss cheese. You can’t view it without wondering what would happen if you touched her mouth. Would the slightest pressure from your fingers carve a new hole?
There is talk of a radical operation to remove a great chunk of her jaw, from just below her ear to just before her chin, in hopes that the infection may be extinguished once and for all. Liza resists with all the strength she has left, but if it is a matter of life or death—which it may well be—I am sure she can be made to see reason.
But I pray that it won’t come to that.
I have begun to make the inquiries you recommended. I have written to the Board of Directors at ARC to explain my—our—concerns. I know I am just a dial painter, but I do hope that they will respond with haste. It is certainly alarming to me that Mr. Mills now dons protective articles when he arrives at the factory and wears them all day long. I ventured to ask about this change, but he told me that it was not my concern. There have been no uniform or dress requirements for the girls, so I can only assume that we are not in contact with anything hazardous.
But what sort of exposure does Mr. Mills face, then? He is not a chemist from the second floor. He is only involved with the paint—with the powder—as are we…
My thoughts run away without my consent. I counsel myself to be patient, to have faith that I will understand in time. If there were any real danger, precautions would have been taken, I am sure.
Please keep us in your prayers, Walter—Liza who is so ill, and Charlotte who is so grieved, and me—
What am I? Afraid, I suppose. Tonight I am mainly afraid.
All my love,
Lydia
Chapter 19
I slammed out the door and into my car and drove exactly four blocks away. Then I pulled over, parked, and turned off the engine. I had nowhere to go, but I didn’t want my mother, if she looked out the window, to know that.
Then it really hit me: I had nowhere to go.
How did this happen?
How did I lose not just everything, but everyone?
It’s you, a mean little voice said in my head. No one likes you. No one loves you. There’s something wrong with you.
A sharp spasm of pain exploded through my jaw, radiating down my neck with thorny fingers. I tried to unclench my teeth, but they were locked together. It was understandable that I started to whimper, alone in my car, with no one to hear me, no one to help.
Well, no. I wasn’t really alone. There was the painting in the backseat, which glowed with soft comfort. In its own small, silent way it was fighting against the darkness, pushing it back. I could curl up with it in the quiet and listen. Maybe, if it was just the two of us, it would finally tell me its secrets. Maybe I would understand at last.
Nothing.
I rummaged in my backpack until my fingers recognized the worn leather of the diary. I knew exactly which entry I wanted—no, needed—to read.
14 May
I suppose the seasons are changing. I suppose the flowers are blooming. I suppose the girls are telling stories at work, stories I’ll never ever know, and sharing their little jokes that will never include me. I suppose the whole wide world is a whirling carousel, aflutter with streamers and aglow with light, that keeps spinning and spinning and never even notices that I’ve fallen off. I suppose—
I understood, I think, why she couldn’t finish her last sentence. Letting those words into the world made them real, imbuing them with a powerful freedom that was as terrifying as it was true.
Not good. My thoughts throbbed through my brain. I should maybe not be alone right now.
But who could I call?
Where could I go?
Then I had an idea.
I rolled down the windows and fastened my seat belt as an afterthought. It was sticky hot outside; the clouds had been creeping in since the afternoon. The air seemed to crackle with electrical charge.
Or maybe it was just me.
The whole drive I thought it might start to rain. I didn’t text him to say that I was on my way. I just drove, one thought looping through my brain, loud enough to drown out all the others. I didn’t realize my teeth were clenched until I was standing before that gray tower, staring up at the fifth-floor window.
There was a light on in the lab.
I thought, in the distance, that I saw a flicker in the sky. But it was gone before I could be sure.
I climbed the steps two at a time, which was a mistake because my heart was already racing. By the time I reached the door I was breathless; so not cool. I pressed my hand over my heart as I peered through the narrow window in the door. I recognized him right away, the shock of black hair falling over his face as he held his head in his hands.
Oh, Luke. He had no idea I was standing outside, watching him. I didn’t want to be some weird creeper skulking around, spying on him, but I really needed another minute—just one more minute…
Of course he looked up. Of course. I tried to smile big, brighten my eyes, and wave so that he’d think I had just arrived.
Luke was so surprised to see me that I don’t think he wondered how long I’d been standing there. I tried to think of something to say as he crossed the lab with long strides and opened the door. But he didn’t give me a chance.
“How did you know?” he asked. His fingers, cool and slender, wrapped around my wrist as he pulled me into the lab. “Things are falling apart in here. Falling apart. I really need some help.”
“Of course,” I said, ducking into the closet where I grabbed some goggles and pulled back my hair. “What’s going on?”
“The ice. I forgot the ice,” he said. “Can you…The ice machine is on the first floor, in the lounge…Can you hurry…”
I grabbed the plastic bucket from the counter and catapulted myself back down five flights of stairs. It was dark and deserted in the student lounge; the only light came from the far corner, where three vending machines hummed in the darkness. I shoved the bucket under the ice machine and hit the button. The frosty crunch of ice tumbling down the chute set my teeth on edge.
Moments later, I was back in the lab. I don’t think I’d ever moved so fast in my whole life. Luke had already fished two samples out of the oil bath. He plunged them into the ice before I could even put the bucket on the counter. It wasn’t until after he had adjusted the thermometers and made sure their temperatures were dropping that he finally exhaled.
Every three minutes, we pulled another sample from the oil bath and stuck it in the ice to cool. Once the sample’s temperature hit zero degrees Celsius, the reaction would halt, and Luke would have a new intermediate to run through the NMR downstairs to find out what, exactly, he had synthesized. Maybe a worthless compound. Maybe something that would change the world.
At last, he sighed and turned to look at me. In the fluorescent lights, I saw the raccoon rings under his eyes. But he looked happy at least, happy and peaceful. “Thank you, Julie. If you hadn’t shown up—”
I waited for him to finish his sentence. “What?”
“It would’ve been ruined. That ice thing…such a newbie mistake. I’ve been here for, like, twenty-seven hours. I’m just so tired. I really owe you, Julie.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “Whatever. I was happy to help.”
“How can you not be a scientist?” he asked, staring at me so intently that I had to look away. “Seriously. You’re so good at it.”
“I don’t know about that. I don’t know about anything, really.”
“You can get a ton of money to go into the sciences, you know,” he said.
“Yes, of course people will throw tons of money at me.” I laughed. “I’m really excellent at filling an ice bucket. You know what else that qualifies me for? Maid service in a nice hotel.”
&n
bsp; But Luke didn’t laugh. “Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s really annoying.”
It stung more than I wanted to let on. Then again, what gave him the right? “Okay,” I said slowly. “I was annoying by accident. But you were rude on purpose.”
“Sorry,” he said. “That came out harsher than I meant. I just hate that self-immolation crap. If you talk like that enough, not only will other people believe it, but you’ll start to believe it too.”
“I don’t know what I believe,” I said. “I think…everything is falling apart. In my life, I mean.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. What was the point?
“Can I tell you something, then?”
I looked up, met his eyes, held his gaze. He didn’t waver, not once.
“Sometimes—at least in my experience—when everything falls apart, and life is worse than you ever imagined it could be…it’s really a sign, you know? That things are about to get better. All you have to do is hold on, Julie. You know what I mean?”
I nodded because I wanted to believe him. His eyes were so bright. His hand was so close. If he made a move, I knew how I’d respond.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “You’re so smart.”
The compliment hung in the air between us. We were both waiting—for something—and then he turned back to the experiment. But there was an unexpected shyness in the curve of Luke’s shoulders. If I could steer us back to where we were during the experiment, that sparkling place of connection—
The painting in my car. I could show it to him. I had a feeling, suddenly, that Luke would understand. How could he not?
“Hang on,” I said, slipping off the stool. “I’ll be right back.”
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