Invisible (16 page)

And look how that had turned out.

At the kitchen sink, Peyton filled a glass with water. The house was hot and noisy, and she suddenly realized she had a fierce headache. She pressed the glass to her forehead, but it wasn’t cold enough to help.

“There you are.” Dana stood in the doorway. “I’ve been looking for you. How are you doing?”

“Peachy.” Peyton scratched at her elbow. The stupid mosquito had found her after all.

Her aunt bit her lip. “It’s quiet in your room. I could fix you a plate of food …”

Peyton took a long sip of water, wincing at the metallic flavor. The Culligan man was overdue. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t been eating, Peyton. I know it’s hard, but you should try to—”

“Cut it out. Stop talking to me like that. You’re not my mom. You can’t tell me what to do. You don’t even
know
me.”

Dana flinched, but her voice stayed calm. “That’s true.”

How could she stand there so untouched while Peyton was flying apart into a million pieces? “You couldn’t have known my mom that well, either. If you did, you would’ve known she wouldn’t have wanted you to wear pants to her funeral. You couldn’t even be bothered to find a dress.”

“If I’d known it mattered to you—”

“That’s just the thing. You don’t have a clue what matters to me.”

Dana was staring at her. “You’re right, honey.”

“Stop it!” Peyton scrubbed furiously at a bug bite on her neck. “Don’t call me honey! How dare you pretend to be sad about someone you ignored for years and years? You’re a total hypocrite.”

But Dana suddenly reached out and snatched Peyton’s hand. She studied the skin on Peyton’s elbow, pulled down Peyton’s collar.

What was she doing? “Stop!”

Dana grabbed her hand and tugged her into the living room, where her dad stood with Mr. Connolly and Doc Lindstrom. All three men stopped talking as they approached.

“Doc,” Dana said. “Look at Peyton.”

Doc Lindstrom set down his glass.

“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.

 [DANA]

J
ULIE HAD SMILED AT 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 Peyton.”

“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.