Invisible Page 4

“Brian Gerkey?” How had that happened? Brian used to be so high on weed he couldn’t turn himself around, let alone a family business.

  My surprise made Fred chuckle again. “He’s one of our most upstanding citizens now. He’s married, got two little girls.”

  That lost, sad look in Mrs. Gerkey’s eyes as I’d plucked my paycheck from her grasp. Everything had worked out in the end. “His mom must be thrilled.”

  “Old Alice? You betcha.”

  The waitress waved from the end of the bar, and Fred said, “Excuse me.”

  I studied Miss Lainie’s picture. Hard to imagine her working behind the counter of a gift shop. She probably snapped at the customers to hurry up and decide, made a big production out of having to give them a bag to carry their purchases in. But it didn’t mean she didn’t deserve a decent burial. I tugged a bill from my wallet, folded it into a neat rectangle, and tapped it through the slot cut in the jar lid. What happened to people like Lainie, alone and poor at the end? I fingered the few remaining bills in my wallet, then pushed a second one through the slot. In another day or so, Halim would deposit the money from the Burnside job into our account and I could use my ATM card.

  I picked up the mug. Good old Leinenkugel, Minnesota’s unofficial state beer. The honeyed malt taste blew me right back to the blanket spread beneath the football bleachers, the backseat of Joe’s car. I’d forgotten how cloying the brew was. So much for nostalgia. Next round I’d return to good old Sam Adams. No memories there.

  I scratched the mosquito bite on my shoulder. In town less than an hour, and already the insects were feasting on me. It was like they sent up signal flares. Over here, juicy one right here. They never bothered Julie, though. Martin used to say it was because she was too sweet. Which meant, of course, that I was too sour. Martin always winked at me when I grumbled at the unspoken comparison. He never tired of teasing me.

  Was I reading too much into one phone call, made by a girl I didn’t even know? After all, people could live a long time with kidney disease. I could have gone to a doctor back in Baltimore to see if I was a match. Instead, I’d dropped everything and raced up here. Maybe I’d been waiting for an excuse to return. It was just curiosity, I told myself. Nothing more.

  A man slid onto the barstool beside mine. “Hey.”

  Round-faced, droopy brown eyes, blond hair, potbelly straining at the front of his polo shirt. No one I knew. “Hi.”

  “Am I glad I found this place. Nothing worse than checking in to a hotel and finding out it doesn’t have a bar.”

  “At least Black Bear has a hotel. Try the next town over and you’d have to pitch a tent.” I should know. I’d spent an entire summer there once.

  He laughed. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be camping in a place called Black Bear.”

  “Don’t worry. There aren’t any bears around here. Head north toward the reservation, though, and you’ll find plenty.”

  “I’ll stay south, then. Martini,” he told Fred. “And one for my friend here.”

  Fred looked over; I shook my head.

  “I just flew into Fargo to meet with a client. I’m in specialty chemicals.” He paid for his drink. “You ever see that movie, Fargo?”

  A talker. Full of pent-up energy from being trapped in a plane and then driving across the endless flat countryside between here and Fargo. “Sure.”

  “Until I heard the girl at the car rental place, I didn’t know people really talked that way.”

  Oh, yah. Sure they do, now. You betcha.

  “No offense,” he said, hastily. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  “I’m not.” Not anymore.

  The door opened to admit two newcomers, men who didn’t glance over, but instead went straight to the pool table, lifting cue sticks from the wall rack. Mike Cavanaugh? Yes, though his face looked weathered, like the winters since I’d last seen him had been harsh on him. The other guy looked familiar, too. Wasn’t he the band director’s son? His hair had thinned to a fluffy circle around his head, and now he really looked like his dad. I’d better prepare myself, practice my happy face. No doubt I’d see a hundred more people I knew before I finally left town. An unwelcome thought. Just how long could I keep the mask in place before it slipped? I told myself I’d better finish up my beer and head back to Julie’s house. The sooner I found out what I needed to do to be tested for a match, the sooner I could leave.

  “So what’s there to do in a place called Black Bear, if it’s not camping?” Mr. Specialty Chemicals wanted to know.

  “Fishing’s big. And hunting.”

  Someone new had joined the pool players. A man, six feet tall, dark-haired. He had his back to me, but I recognized him instantly. The way he stood there with his head cocked to one side was unmistakable. My body registered it first, a familiar tug deep inside, then my brain caught up. Joe Connolly. My heart had conjured him up out of thin air. But of course he’d be here. This was his town, his hangout. Did I want him to turn and see me? Yes. No. Maybe.

  “That lets me out, then. I’m more into golf, watching football, that sort of thing. Hey, what’s that you’re drinking? Is it any good? You sure I can’t buy you a drink?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Joe took the pool cue Mike held out and moved around the pool table. He was saying something that had Mike frowning and the band director’s son standing motionless. Now they were all shaking their heads.

  Joe was wearing his hair shorter now; I suddenly imagined the tickle of those hairs along my fingertips. His blue shirt was open at the neck, the cuffs folded to reveal tanned forearms, his jeans well worn, the hypnotic pull of wide shoulders leading down to trim hips.

  “Specialty chemicals are the future, I tell you. They’re gonna rule the world.”

  Joe leaned over the pool table. The hanging light cast his face in shadow, revealed the planes of his cheeks, his lips. I realized he was staring at me.

  Slowly, he straightened.

  I flushed and lowered my beer. Should I smile, or be cool? How ridiculous. I was acting like a kid.

  “You don’t really care, do you? You’re not even listening. Lemme ask you something. You ever heard of nanotechnology?” Mr. Specialty Chemicals loosened his tie. “Seriously. Do you even know what that means? I don’t know what the average person on the street knows.”

  Joe said something to Mike, and now he glanced over, too. “I’m not average and I’m not on the street.”

  “Right, right.” He patted the air. “It’s just an expression. So, do you?”

  The band director’s son was looking over at me, too. Not one bit of welcome or surprise on any of their faces.

  “It’s gonna change the world, believe you me. Insider tip, I don’t mind sharing. You got any spare cash, that’s where you should be putting it. Nanotech’s gonna cure cancer, solve the energy crisis, stop world hunger.” He burped softly. “You name it.”

  Joe was coming over, threading his way around the tables, his gaze intent on mine. Did we have anything to say to each other after all these years? Damn, he looked good, his dark hair still in compelling contrast to the bright blue of his eyes.

  “Hey.” I smiled, but Joe didn’t smile back. So he didn’t have the same fond memories I did. Fair enough.

  “Dana.”

  When had I last heard him say my name?

  “What are you doing here?”

  Caution in his voice, and something else. Concern? “I was just passing by,” I joked.

  He shook his head, still not smiling. His fingers touched my arm, the warmth of his grasp singing through the thin cotton to my skin. “Excuse us,” he said to the salesman.

  “Sure, sure.”

  I slid off my barstool and followed Joe to an empty table. He pulled out my chair and sat down, looking at me with such compassion that I felt the faint prickle of alarm. “What is it, Joe? You’re scaring me.”

  “Dana, I’m sorry.” He shook his head.

  The jukebox
silenced, and in the small cupful of quiet, I said, “Sorry about what?”

  He took my hand in both of his, dragged his chair closer. “You don’t know?” he asked. “No one called you?”

  “Peyton called me this morning. She said Julie was sick.”

  He nodded, looked away, then back to me. “Let’s go outside,” he said.

  “No.” I clutched at his hand. “She said Julie needed a transplant. That’s why I’m here. I’ll go now. I’m her sister. Maybe they don’t even have to test me.”

  “Oh, Dana.” Joe looked miserable. I wanted to place my palm against his cheek and comfort him.

  “Stop.” I pushed back my chair but Joe kept a tight hold on my hand.

  “It’s too late,” he said.

  “It’s not too late.”

  “I ran into Martin. He’d just come from the hospital.”

  My teeth chattered. No.

  All around us, people moved and talked, leaned back to pour a beer, laughed and waved a friend over. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.

  “Come on,” I heard Joe say. “I’ll drive you to the hospital. Frank and Peyton are there.” He pulled me to my feet and slid his arm around my waist. Leaning into him, I stumbled to the door that swung open into the dark and unforgiving night.

  FOUR

  [PEYTON]

  THE TOP LAYER OF THE OCEAN IS CALLED THE SUNLIT zone. Ninety percent of all marine life lives there. This is the only place where plants can grow and phytoplankton survive. They’re the bottom of the food chain and need sunlight to thrive. Other fish thrive on them.

  Animals that live here are transparent, like jellies, or camouflaged to mimic the play of light and shadow, like dolphins and sharks. Coral reefs flourish along the coastline, and many fish that live below swim up to feed among these densely populated waters.

  Out in the open ocean, away from swirling silt and sand, the sunlit zone stays a constant clear blue. Divers have to be careful. There are no landmarks and a person can get turned around. They can think they’re swimming up to where their boat waits, but they might be swimming in the opposite direction, away from the sun and down into the darkness. By the time they realize their mistake, it’s too late.

  Mrs. Stahlberg drove Peyton straight to the hospital. No one bothered to sign Peyton out, or told her to get her books from her locker. So she knew before Mrs. Stahlberg swept her crappy car up to the hospital entrance, her ancient freckled hands white-knuckled and her old-lady lips pressed tightly together, that it was already too late.

  Her dad insisted on seeing her mom. Peyton couldn’t think about whether or not she wanted to, but he was gripping her hand so tightly, she thought her bones would crack. They stood there by her mom’s bed and looked down. The white hospital sheet was icy smooth and pulled taut to her chin; her body barely lifted it, she was so thin. Her face was waxy. Someone had combed her hair but it still looked terrible, fine and sparse and lying in pale wisps. This wasn’t her mom. Her mom had thick shiny hair that curled to her shoulders. Her mom had bright eyes. She sang in the shower and ate chocolate chip cookie dough right out of the bowl. She did crossword puzzles in red ink, and always, no matter what she was doing, stopped to smile whenever Peyton walked into the room. This wasn’t her mom. This was a thing.

  Now they stood in the hall listening to people try to console them, her dad standing close, Peyton with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was freezing. She had to get out of this place with its hushed voices, antiseptic smell, and surfaces that were shiny and dingy at the same time. Words skidded around her.

  “. . . just stopped working . . . I’m sorry, we tried . . . sometimes these things happen.”

  The ping of the elevator and tapping shoes, almost running. Her father’s hand tightened on Peyton’s shoulder. When Peyton looked up, she saw a woman striding toward her, a sweater pulled around her shoulders, her blonde hair mussed. For one heart-stopping moment, Peyton thought it was her mom alive and whole again, and coming to take her home.

  But of course it wasn’t. This must be her aunt, looking exactly like Peyton’s mom and arriving too late to do anything for anybody.

  Despair swamped over her, a black tidal wave of sludge. Peyton couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to talk to this person. She didn’t want to listen to someone explain the situation to Dana, didn’t want to see the horror register on this stranger’s face, didn’t want someone to put their hand on her shoulder and introduce her and have Dana look at her and say something polite. The scream built up inside her, clawing at the sides of her throat.

  “I’ll be outside,” she told her dad, just managing to get the words out. He simply nodded, staring at Dana.

  Outside, the cool spring evening washed over her. Shivering, she looked up at the sky and the stars twinkling there, desperate to see her mother’s face among them, smiling down and letting Peyton know she would be all right. Peyton looked and looked, saw only endless black and glittering pinpricks. She listened, heard only the far-off shriek of a train and knew she was well and truly alone.

  Her dad didn’t talk on the way home. He veered the truck from lane to lane, leaving a trail of car honks in their wake. Peyton should have reached out and grabbed the wheel, but she decided she didn’t care. If they ended up smashed against a tree, well then, maybe that was the easier way.

  Too soon, he bumped the truck up onto the driveway. A black SUV stood at the curb. Dana waited on the porch, her elbows cupped in her hands.

  Her dad unlocked the front door. “I didn’t know. . . . We don’t have a spare room.”

  He sounded uncertain, not at all like the father Peyton knew.

  “I can get a hotel room,” Dana told him.

  “We’ve got a pullout on the back porch,” Peyton said.

  Her dad shot her a look, frowning. Peyton got it. What had she been thinking, blurting out a stupid offer like that? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d just said the first thing that popped into her head, the thing her mom would have wanted her to say. Her mom was gone, but she was right there, too, opening Peyton’s mouth and putting in the words.

  “That all right with you, Frank?” Dana asked.

  He didn’t want her there. Peyton could see it in the way he squared his shoulders, could hear it in the long silence before he answered. “Sure,” he said at last.

  He held open the door and Peyton pushed past him into the lingering aroma of burned toast from that morning, and overcooked coffee. She switched on the lamp, throwing shadows around the room. Dana walked straight over to the wall of Peyton’s school pictures. What did she expect to find there? Peyton’s mom wasn’t in any of them.

  Her dad rubbed his face. He put his arm around Peyton and held her close. He smelled of motor oil and lavender, the comforting blend after he’d been at work all day. She pressed her cheek against the rough fabric of his shirt. Had she been the one to wash it, or had her mom? She had to remember. Her mom’s fingerprints were all over this house, tiny pieces of her that Peyton needed to collect and keep, all that was left.

  “I could make some dinner if anyone’s hungry. How does spaghetti sound?” Dana asked.

  Her dad’s arm tightened around Peyton. They hadn’t eaten spaghetti in two years. It had been one of the first things to go when her mom had gotten sick.

  No one answered Dana. Peyton knew her mom wouldn’t have liked that. Her mom would have wanted Peyton to be polite. Despite everything, she would have wanted Peyton to welcome this stranger to their house.

  “We don’t have spaghetti,” she said. “Mom couldn’t eat tomatoes.” If Dana had ever bothered to visit, she would have known that. There were lots of things they didn’t keep around anymore. Peyton’s dad had insisted that if her mom couldn’t eat it, then neither could they. Peyton always felt guilty at school when she poured ketchup onto a plate of french fries. Ketchup. Why was she thinking of ketchup? It was all Dana’s fault, yanking Peyton’s mind from its regular tracks and steering it onto this random, alien
terrain.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  “Oh.” Dana paused in the doorway. “Then I’ll put on some coffee.”

  Her dad looked down at himself, as if surprised to find himself still in his work clothes. “Guess I’ll wash up.” He walked unsteadily away, brushing the doorway with his shoulder.

  Peyton slumped into her dad’s favorite chair and wished she had a puppy, something soft and cuddly and always happy to see her that would curl up in her lap. Pulling out her phone, she studied the screen. Eric had texted her a million times. So had Brenna, and a bunch of other kids. Everyone knew. Everyone was talking and buzzing and wondering. Tonight, right now, all these kids would do their homework, watch TV, and go out for DQ or down to the lake, everything safe and normal for them. Everything just as it had been the night before and the night before that.

  Dana came into the room. “I brought you some. I didn’t know if you liked coffee.”

  Peyton didn’t. Like she could be won over with coffee, but she found herself reaching for the cup. It smelled good, like it always did first thing in the morning. She took a sip. Dana had stirred in milk and sugar, and it was delicious going down, warming and rushing right to her head.

  The bathroom pipes clanged as her dad started the water.

  Dana turned on the floor lamp and sat down on the sofa opposite. “Our shower did the same thing when I was growing up. That’s how my mom used to wake me up for school, by turning on the water. It was almost as bad as when she came into my room, switching on the lights and belting out that awful tune.” She scrunched her face up in thought. “I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.”

  Peyton examined the woman sitting there; the stranger who looked so much like her mom, and sounded so much like her, but wasn’t. Peyton set her stupid cup of coffee down, directly on the wood where it was sure to leave a circle. “‘Lazy Mary, Will You Get Up,’” she said coldly.

  The corners of Dana’s mouth curved up. “Don’t tell me that’s how your mom wakes you up.”