Invisible Read online

  “. . . another word,” her dad said.

  “She deserves to know the truth.”

  “Yes, but not from you.”

  “At least take her to the doctor.”

  “She goes every year.”

  “It’s a simple blood test!”

  “I’m not scaring her over this.”

  “Julie died not knowing what killed her, Frank. She died not knowing if Peyton had been exposed, too.”

  Peyton rolled onto her back. Raising a hand, she rotated it in the slanted stripes of sunshine. The three red stripes LT had left looked like plain scratches. Nothing about her whole arm looked the least bit irregular. She touched her cheek, ran her fingertips along her jaw, but the skin felt completely normal. She took in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, and there wasn’t the tiniest twinge. But just because she couldn’t see or feel the particles didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  It was just like tubeworms. For hundreds of years, people didn’t know they existed. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there all along.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  [DANA]

  THE DAY I FOUND OUT I WAS PREGNANT WAS ONE OF those sunny, blustery March days that couldn’t decide whether it belonged to spring or winter. I drove all the way to Fargo to buy the test, wandering the drugstore aisles, gathering shampoo, strawberry licorice, looseleaf notebook paper, watching the checkout counter and waiting for the old guy to go off duty. Finally, he was replaced by a teenage girl who ran my purchases across the scanner, her hand barely pausing at the small pink and white box. But when she raised her gaze to mine, I saw sympathy.

  Despite the directions on the box, I didn’t wait until the morning to take the pregnancy test. I was two months overdue, and every minute stretched out to an hour. Sure enough, the little line turned a solid blue. I pressed my hand to my belly and tried to imagine the unimaginable: a baby. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and started to smile.

  A baby.

  Supper was silent. Frank sat at the head of the table, working his way through the meal I’d heated up. I lifted my glass of water and wished it were something stronger. I wondered if Frank was thinking the same thing. That morning, there had been no empty cans on the counter, and none overflowing the trash bin. So maybe he was getting things under control.

  Between us, Peyton kept her head down and nudged scalloped potatoes around her plate with her fork. She was thinking about that lab coat. So was I. That number had been huge. I’d stared at it for a full second before it registered, and then I’d looked at her. She’d spent so much time in her bedroom. How many times had she stepped on it? How many particles had she released into the air, and then breathed in?

  Peyton glanced up at me and frowned.

  “Good news,” I told her. “This is the last of the hotdishes. I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow. Any requests?”

  She shook her head, and Frank pushed his plate away. “So what’s going on in Chicago?” he asked me.

  Meaning, When are you leaving? He had to know I wasn’t going anywhere, especially not now. He was trying to get a rise out of me, drawing the line firmly between us. “The police are waiting for the toxicology report,” I said.

  “Why?” Peyton said. “What difference will it make?”

  “They’re checking to see if she was on something when she broke in.”

  “And if she was, then they won’t arrest you?”

  “I’m sure they’re not going to arrest me,” I said, though I wasn’t the least bit sure. If they went after Halim, he’d tell them I had helped lay the charges. He wouldn’t even hesitate to share the blame. Did I know any lawyers? Maybe there was someone in Black Bear I could talk to. Glancing up, I found Frank watching me.

  He turned to Peyton. “Let’s go work on your mom’s car while we still have some daylight.”

  “But Eric’s coming by to pick me up. We have to study.”

  “Fifteen minutes. There’s some stuff you need to know. Come

  The back door banged behind them as I ran hot water into the kitchen sink. Julie had stood here countless times, soaking these dishes in this sink, scrubbing at them with this sponge.

  Frank’s voice came in through the opened window. “This is the dipstick. It sits in there and you should check the level fairly regularly.”

  “How regularly?” I heard Peyton ask. “Like even when it’s freezing?”

  “I’ll help you stay on top of it then. Now, you don’t want to run out of oil or the pistons will seize up.”

  “I guess that’s important.”

  “Don’t they teach you this stuff in driver’s ed?”

  “Dad, my teacher had really bad B.O. Who could ever listen to what he was saying?”

  Frank grunted. “Pull this out and hold it up to check the level. You’re looking to see if it reaches that line, and whether it’s clear. If it gets dark and thick, it needs changing.”

  “Is that clear?”

  “Hard to see in this light, but yeah. It should be. I just changed it recently.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll want to make sure not to touch it with your bare hands if the engine’s been running. It’s metal, and it’ll get burning hot. Use a rag or a paper towel.”

  “This seems awfully complicated.”

  “You need to know this. I won’t always be able to bail you out.”

  “All right, all right.” Then, “Dad, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to apply to the U.”

  “You sure? They don’t have a marine biology program.”

  “It’ll be closer to home.”

  “A little distance won’t be a problem.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “You know.”

  A mosquito whined at the screen, insistent, determined to come in.

  “Hey, no worries,” Frank said. “I’ll find the money.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m serious. Besides, I’m still buying those lottery tickets.”

  “Oh, Dad!”

  Setting the last dish in the rack to dry, I wiped the counter and dried my hands. I checked the clock on the wall. Six-thirty. I might be in luck if I hurried.

  The first time Brian Gerkey stopped by, Julie watched with a frown as he lounged on our sofa, eating Oreos and laughing about something that had happened at school that day. When he left, she leaned against the door with her arms crossed. What was that about?

  No big deal. I shrugged. We’re just friends. Secretly, I was delighted. Brian was a year older and infinitely cool. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

  It is a big deal. I’ve heard about him. He’s trouble.

  I snapped back, I’m not stupid.

  Just . . . be careful.

  She held my gaze until I rolled my eyes and said, Fine. I’ll be careful.

  It was Julie who should have been careful around Brian Gerkey.

  THIRTY-SIX

  [PEYTON]

  OCEAN WAVES ARE CONSTANTLY MOVING AND UNSETTLING things. The fish themselves are always on the prowl. But even the ones that swim great distances to mate or find food know exactly which rock, which piece of coral is their home. It’s freaky, like they have an internal GPS. Salmon and box turtles live their entire lives traveling the ocean, yet when it’s time to spawn, they return to the exact same spot where they were born. How do they do that? Even-tempered fish will suddenly turn vicious and rip apart a fish they think is moving into their space. A sea anemone will let one clownfish live among its poisonous spires, but no more. When the clownfish takes a mate, it has to somehow convince its home anemone to let its partner in. The anemone knows who belongs and who doesn’t.

  The Hofseths’ living room was warm and bright with lamplight. A baseball game playing on the TV had all three Hofseth men riveted, including Eric, who didn’t even like sports that much.

  “Esconder,” Peyton said.

  Eric’s gaze drifted to where she sat cross-legged on the couch beside him. She wa
ved the flash card at him, and his face twisted into a parody of concentration.

  “Um,” he said.

  “To hide,” she said.

  A roar from the TV and his gaze shot back to the screen.

  “Here we go!” Mr. Hofseth leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.

  “He’s going to walk him.” Eric’s older brother, George, home from college, lounged sideways in the armchair, his long legs flung over the upholstered arm. I’m back, his posture said. I was gone, but now I’m back. Make room.

  “He wouldn’t do something that stupid,” Eric said.

  “Does it all the time.”

  Peyton nudged Eric and held up the flash card. “Cocinar.”

  “To make.”

  “To cook,” she corrected.

  He shrugged. “Close enough.”

  “Not even.”

  His younger sister, Mary, came in and did a little pirouette that made her short pleated skirt bell out over her gray leggings. “Does this work?”

  “Move,” George ordered. “Jeter’s up.”

  Mary ignored him. “Peyton, what do you think?”

  Mary was way cooler than Peyton had ever been. She straightened her hair to a glossy sheen; she wore just the right amount of lip gloss and eyeliner; she had that casual thing going that made people listen to what she said and care about what she did. The only thing Peyton had going for her was that she was a junior and Mary was only a freshman. Sooner or later, Mary would figure out that Peyton was the last person to ask about making a fashion statement, and things would change between them.

  “Is she decent?” Mrs. Hofseth called from the dining room, where she sat piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. The upstairs hallway was lined with shellacked Monets, Rembrandts, and van Goghs. Peyton couldn’t imagine where she’d find room for her current challenge, a Renoir portrait of a serious red-haired girl who looked like she knew something she didn’t dare talk about.

  “Pretty much,” Peyton called back. She held up a flash card. “Viajar.”

  Eric’s gaze skittered to the card. “To fly.”

  “Try again.”

  “How short’s the skirt?” his mom called.

  Really short. Mary would never be allowed to wear it to school. “She’s wearing leggings.” Underneath a really short skirt. “Eric.” She shook the card. “Viajar.”

  “To buy?”

  “No, you dope. To travel.”

  He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the television.

  “Cleavage?” Mrs. Hofseth again.

  Mary groaned. “Mom. Ally’s waiting.”

  “She’s got on a hoodie.” Peyton knew Mary would unzip it the minute she left the house to reveal a gossamer-thin tank top beneath cut low enough to show the lace trim on her bra. All the girls in ninth grade dressed like that, or at least Mary and her crowd did.

  “And what have you got on underneath, young lady?”

  Peyton hid a smile. So Mrs. Hofseth had caught on to her daughter.

  “A T-shirt.”

  “Show Peyton.”

  Mary groaned, widened her eyes theatrically, and unzipped her hoodie in a flash to bare a green shirt.

  “It’s a T-shirt,” Peyton called back. She said nothing about how it rode up high on Mary’s belly.

  Mary grinned at her.

  “All right, then you can go,” Mrs. Hofseth said. “Make good choices.”

  “I will.” Mary made a face that said the last thing she was going to do was make good choices. “Peyton, you still haven’t said. Does this work?”

  “It works,” George said. “Now move.”

  “You look great,” Peyton said.

  Mary squealed and flung her arms around Peyton. She’d drenched herself in a floral body spray that made Peyton’s eyes water. Eric pretended to gag, and pushed her away. She giggled. “Bye, Daddy.”

  Mr. Hofseth waved a hand. “Bye, honey. Have a good time.”

  “Home by nine,” Mrs. Hofseth said. “It’s a school night.”

  “Okay.” The front door slammed, leaving the house much quieter and feeling a little emptier.

  “You hungry?” Eric asked.

  Code for Let’s go into the kitchen and get away from my family. But Peyton didn’t mind staying put. She loved Eric’s family.

  “You getting up, Eric?” Mrs. Hofseth called. “Mind making some popcorn?”

  Now Eric groaned.

  His mom was like that, zeroing in on her kids, aware of their every move, sometimes even before they’d twitched a muscle. Eric called it her Mom Antenna.

  “Get me a beer, would you?” George asked.

  “Get it yourself,” Eric said.

  He’d do it anyway. Just like he’d microwave popcorn for his mom. That was the way Eric’s family was. They acted like they didn’t care, but their love shined through.

  Peyton pushed herself up. “You want anything, Mr. Hofseth?”

  He didn’t take his gaze off the screen. “I’m good.”

  In the kitchen, Eric tore the cellophane from a packet of microwave popcorn. “You want some Coke with this?”

  “I’m good.”

  He gave her a look. “You okay?”

  So much for acting normally. Eric had seen right through her. “You ever heard of nanotechnology?”

  “Sure. It’s amazing. It’s wicked cool.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Seriously. It can do all sorts of stuff, like turn regular paper into batteries. Pretty soon, we won’t even need silicon chips anymore to power our computers. And the health applications are ridiculous. They’ve got these sensors they can stick in people to track cancer cells and zap them before they even start growing, and they’re showing it can disrupt viruses like HIV and influenza.”

  She’d never heard of any of that. He was just standing there, holding the popcorn package, like he’d been completely derailed from reality. “How come you’ve never talked about it before?”

  He shrugged. “You’re not interested in stuff like that.”

  “So we just talk about stuff you think I’m interested in?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Since when?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

  But she did. Since they stopped being just friends and began being something else. “Well, cut it out.”

  “They already use nanoproducts in all sorts of things, you know.” He pushed the microwave buttons. “Televisions, clothes—”

  “Sunscreen?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So what if that’s the reason my mom got sick?”

  He started to laugh, then stopped and looked at her face more closely. “Come on.”

  “Dana says this stuff is dangerous.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s one of those.” He made his voice mocking. “Technology’s going to ruin our planet.”

  “She says there’s this study that showed nano zinc can cause kidney damage.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She didn’t make it up.”

  “The government regulates that sort of thing, Pey. They’d never let anything out without testing it first.”

  Her father’s words floated back to her. You can’t believe everything you read online. “I guess.” Eric looked so serious. She could trust him. She could tell him anything and he’d believe her completely. He never used to be like that. Used to be, he’d argue right back. Now it was like she knew something he didn’t, that she was wiser. Better. She hated that. She reached up and swept off his baseball cap, turned it sideways.

  “Dude.” He came close and looked down. “Don’t mess with the cap.”

  She pressed her palms against his chest. His lashes were pale from the sun, his eyebrows smooth and soft. She wanted to run her finger over them.

  Something altered in his expression, and he bent his head toward hers. Suddenly, she was standing on a cliff looking down, dizzy from the height and the certain knowledge she was going to jump.
/>   “What?” His voice was husky.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a million miles away.”

  “I’m right here.”

  He smiled a little sadly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost you, which is dumb.” He reached up and set his baseball cap facing forward again. “Because how can you lose something you never really had in the first place?”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  [DANA]

  THAT FIRST WEEK OF AUGUST, I WOKE UP FEELING queasy. Julie had already gone to work. The apartment had that stillness to it that told me I was alone. The day’s heat had begun to build, and the shades hung limp in my bedroom windows. I pushed myself up against my pillow, the solid weight of my belly pinning me in place. I was supposed to check the weather reports. I was supposed to stay hydrated, but all I could do was stare up at the ceiling and think, I cannot do this for one more day.

  Back then, time had crawled from moment to moment, but now it spilled through my fingers. I couldn’t hold on to it. I shifted from foot to foot while Brian carefully spooned out fish food and dropped it in the tank filled with purple and pink corals. “Come on, Dana. You want me to change my formulation based on some reading you got?”

  “An abnormally high reading.”

  He screwed the lid onto the food container with an efficient twist. “Look. We use nanoparticles. It’s no surprise to me that you got a reading. That’s like saying you found a banana in a grocery store, Dana.”

  “What if it’s making people sick?”

  “Right.”

  “What if it is?”

  “Look. The minute the FDA gives the word, we’ll reformulate. It might be moot by then, anyway. The industry’s constantly changing. We might be onto a whole new technology by then.”

  “Why take the chance? Reformulate now.”

  “Impossible. Sales went through the roof when we switched.”

  “Other companies use regular zinc.”