The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady (23 page)

Nance said, “Well, I can’t tell there’s a thing wrong with Otis and Ava. They’re just as smart as can be. And cute. They seem perfectly normal.”

Caroline took a deep breath. In the old days she would argue with people who said things like this, but it felt awful, really, to be put in the position of trying to convince someone that there was, really, something wrong with her children and that she and the doctors and therapists weren’t just making shit up. So she didn’t put herself in this position anymore. She looked at her watch and said she had to get to the grocery store.

“I’ll be by to get Suzi for church in the morning,” Nance said. “And there’s a dinner at church tomorrow night and a special program on mission trips. One’s to Mexico! At the end of the summer. Would you mind if Suzi went on a mission trip with the church?”

After the Dunkin’ Donuts incident—even though Nance had proved to be reliable since then—there was no way Caroline would let Suzi go on any kind of trip with Nance. “Her knee won’t be healed enough,” Caroline said.

Nance sighed and raised her hand to her neck in a dramatic gesture. “She’s such a precious girl, your Suzi. You’re so lucky to have her. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

“You know, dear,” Nance said. “If you don’t mind my saying so. You spend too much time fussing over Ava, and she’s going to be fine.”

“What I need is for people to stop telling me I’m a bad mother.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” Nance said. “I didn’t mean that! I meant to compliment you. I know it must be hard, taking care of that bunch. If you and Vic ever want to get away together for a long weekend, just let me know. I’d be glad to step in and help out.”

Although Caroline would never let Nance look after her home and kids, she did, for a few seconds, entertain the idea of herself and Vic going off on their own somewhere. He used to be such a good traveling companion. But she’d never talk him into taking a trip with her now. He was always working. Besides, it would be like going away with an old boyfriend she hadn’t seen in twenty years. Too much awkward catching up. Together, they wouldn’t be able to forget about their life at home the way she could if she were by herself. She thanked Nance for the offer, and then found herself telling Nance about getting Ava into Rhodes and moving up with her to Memphis.

“If that’s what you want, you could stay in my house,” she said. “I’ll get rid of that little couple who’re housesitting for me. The boy, Trevor, is so ugly his mother must’ve had to borrow a baby to take to church.”

“I might take you up on that,” Caroline said, but knew she wouldn’t. She wanted a perfectly anonymous place to live in, like an apartment above a store downtown, a place with huge windows looking out over Main Street, a place completely free of clutter where she could just sit and contemplate the strangers walking past. She might even get a job in a clothing store, like Barbara’s, the one she used to manage in Iowa City, when she actually had time to care about clothes and the people who wanted her advice about what to buy. It was all a fantasy, she knew that, but if Ava got into Rhodes, she’d do her best to make it happen.

“I know you must’ve missed your mama something awful, growing up without her.”

Strange shift in subject, but Caroline nodded, deciding to go with it. “Wish I had a memory of her. Even one.” She thought about mentioning the fact that she’d suspected Nance of being her long-lost mother but decided against it. It would make her seem too pathetic. This conversation was supposed to be about Nance, not her. “I’m so sorry that your daughter died,” Caroline blurted out. She had to say what she’d come to say. “If you ever want to talk about it.”

Nance flipped her hand in a dismissive wave, as if they were discussing who’d burned the breakfast toast.

“She died of bone cancer?”

“She died of medical negligence. I’d prefer not to go into it right now.”

Bingo.

As Caroline was leaving, she walked over to the table with the photographs. She asked Nance which ones were of Helen.

“All of them,” said Nance.

There was Helen at various ages: the wide-eyed downy-headed infant wrapped in a blanket; the six-month-old wispy-haired charmer clutching a cloth block; the solid toddler in diapers and a fluffy dress; the gap-toothed, freckled, blond girl wearing a plaid dress in a school picture; the serious Brownie scout sporting a sash full of badges, hair held back with plastic barrettes sticking out from under her beanie; then, finally, the sickly looking and pale patient under an afghan on a couch. Caroline studied all the pictures, looking for signs, markers, that might have foretold her fate. But Helen looked healthy and happy and like every other little girl until, suddenly, she wasn’t. When had she started growing that tumor? When had it started hurting her? When did she realize that she was dying? There were no other people in the pictures with Helen—not her mother or her father. Just Helen. “She’s beautiful,” Caroline said, and turned to ask Nance more about her, but Nance had already stepped out onto the front porch and was holding the door open for Caroline to leave.

As Caroline stood on Nance’s front porch in the stifling humidity, she gestured toward the yard. “Pretty flowers,” she said.

Nance smiled. “Why thank you,” she said. “They’re hardly any work at all!”

Was she being ironic? Caroline had no idea. “Is Archer your real name?” Caroline asked her. “I mean, was it your name when you were married and had Helen?”

“No,” Nance said. “Why?”

Caroline hadn’t planned on asking this question, not so abruptly, so she didn’t have a reason already in mind. She just spread her hands and shrugged.

“It was Quackenbush,” Nance said. “That was my first husband’s name. Bernie Quackenbush. Now, I don’t want to be rude, hon,” Nance said, stepping back into her house, “but I’ve got work to do round here. I’ll see you in the morning!”

* * *

Back home, in the den, Caroline showed her father the folder full of documents about the radiation study. He leafed through it as if it were all news to him.

“Is this all true? You were head of this study?”

He nodded slowly, frowning. “Well, it appears I was,” he said. “But I don’t recall a thing about it.”

“That’s convenient.”

Her father didn’t respond. He shut the folder and gazed out his window into the backyard. What was he thinking about?

“Where’d this come from? Did Nance give it to you?”

“I believe she did. Yes, I believe she did.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got to get out there and do some weeding. I haven’t been out there in weeks.”

“You were just out there yesterday.”

“Was I? Didn’t do a very good job.”

“Was Nance one of the women in this study?”

“She keeps sniping at me. She’s angry at me about something.”

“I guess so.”

There wasn’t any Quackenbush listed among the eight hundred victims. So she still hadn’t given Caroline her real name. She was intent upon hiding her real purpose in being here, and Caroline didn’t feel she should expose her. Had she moved to Tallahassee just to confront Wilson? If so, she must have been mightily disappointed, because he was refusing to own up to anything. But now that she was here, what did they owe her? That was the real question. What the government had done to Nance, what her
father
had done, was a travesty. Caroline and her family were obligated to help Nance Quackenbush, or whatever the hell her name was, however they could.

“Is this why my mother left?” Caroline said. “Mary Conner! My mother! Did she find out about this … study?”

“Well, now, that could be,” he said, tapping his upper lip, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

Suzi was acting strange, like her personality had changed when she hurt her knee. She actually started being nice to Ava.

“Come to church with me and Nance,” she told Ava. “Please, Sissy? The minister wants to meet you.”

Sissy? This was one of Suzi’s tricks, but what part about it was the trick? “Why?” Ava asked her.

“I told him so much about you, that’s why.” Suzi was acting all hyper and shifty, swinging around on her crutches. She kept bugging Ava, following her around, pleading with her, until finally Ava said okay.

And that’s how Ava came to be sitting in Genesis Church, which was next to the dollar movie theater, where Ava would rather be, watching
Akeelah and the Bee
. At least at the movies there was only one screen to watch.

Suzi sat on one side of her and Nance on the other. Most everyone else was standing up, swaying with their eyes closed, singing a song about the wind bending a tree in a hurricane. What did that have to do with God?

“There he is,” Suzi said, elbowing her, pointing at one of the screens.

“Ouch,” Ava yelled, pushing Suzi away. Ever since Suzi was little, she’d poked Ava, prodded her, yelled in her ear, tried to hug and
kiss her, anything she knew that Ava didn’t want her to do; and then when Ava pushed her away she acted hurt, even went running to their mother, crying about how she was only trying to be nice to Ava and how mean Ava was and so on.

Now, though, Suzi didn’t react to the push. She even leaned closer to Ava. “There he is,” she said again, pointing to the people singing up on the stage. “That guy in the middle, the tall one, who looks like Orlando Bloom. That’s Buff. The minister who wants to meet you.”

Ava said in her regular voice, refusing to whisper. “He doesn’t look like Orlando Bloom. Why does he want to meet me?”

“He just does,” Suzi said, making a “duh” face. She knew more, but she wasn’t telling.

Nance scooted closer to Ava, too. Now Ava was in the middle of a human sandwich, being pressed into a pulp. “What are you talking about?” nosy old Nance asked her.

“Nothing,” Ava said, and knew she’d sounded rude but didn’t care. She didn’t like Nance, even though everyone else in her family did. Ever since they’d gone to have those pictures taken and Nance had used reverse psychology on her to get her to pose naked, she didn’t trust the woman. So, basically, she was in the middle of two untrustworthy pieces of bread. A pressed liar sandwich.

Nance leaned past Ava and repeated her question to Suzi. The two of them were BFFs. “I was just showing her Buff,” Suzi explained to Nance.

The head minister—a roundish, baldish, friendly-looking man—jumped onto the stage, and the congregation finally sat down and collected itself, and he began talking, welcoming everyone on that fine summer morning.

It would’ve been okay if Suzi hadn’t added, “Buff wants to meet Ava.”

“Why?” Nance asked.

“Exactly,” Ava said.

They shouldn’t be talking now, because the minister was talking, but Suzi kept right on, explaining that Buff had wanted to meet Ava after Suzi had talked so much about her.

Nance frowned.

Ava lost interest in Buff, what little interest she’d had, because she’d just spotted Travis, the cuteish guy who’d visited her Asperger’s group, sitting across the aisle. He’d spotted her first and was waving at her. He was wearing a felt hat with a feather through it, like Bartholomew Cubbins wore. People wore unusual clothing to this church. She waved back at him.

All through the endless church service, which both Suzi and Nance seemed to be really into, listening to the minister talk about stirring up the fire of God and walking out further into the water, she thought about
America’s Next Top Model
. Nance had helped her fill out the application and everything was ready to be sent off, including the photos Mr. Boy had taken of her—not the naked ones, of course—and as soon as she sent them off, all there was to do was wait to see if they’d want to interview her in Jacksonville, and if they didn’t, they were idiots, Nance declared. It was creepy that only Nance knew about what she was doing—except the guys in her Asperger’s group, of course, which meant that Travis knew, but he’d probably have forgotten all about it by now. What would Elvis think of Ava becoming America’s next top model? He would approve, because he liked models.

And what would Elvis think of this church? He’d probably like it, being kind of a Christian and a showy guy, but she didn’t like it. It reminded her of a poor man’s version of one of Elvis’s Vegas shows. There was too much going on at once with the screens and music and live entertainment and headline news, everything way too loud. It was like they were trying to duplicate what it was like in her own house. Why would she want to go to church for more competing noise? What
happened to church being quiet? Did everything have to be like a video arcade?

After the service was finally over, Ava wiggled out of the pew and into the aisle, catching her breath. Escape. She must escape.

“Hey, Ava.” It was Travis, blocking her path. Along with the Bartholomew Cubbins hat, he was dressed in a blousy white shirt and olive-colored knickers with brown socks and flappy leather elf shoes. “What are
you
doing here?” Travis asked her.

“My sister goes to church here,” Ava told him. People were jostling into her and Travis and giving them curious glances and then big smiles. “What are you dressed like that for? Are you in a play?”