Invisible (25 page)

“Right.” Dana’s voice trailed off. Then she said, “Is that a dwarf gourami?”

How did she know
that
? It wasn’t like the fish was all that big, or all that remarkable looking. But somehow Dana had recognized it from where she stood in the doorway. She glanced over. “Yes,” she said grudgingly.

“I dated a guy who had a tank of them,” Dana said.

Despite herself, Peyton was even more intrigued. Not so much about the idea of her aunt dating, which
was
pretty interesting, but by the fact that she’d known a guy with a tank full of aggressive fish. So now Peyton had to ask, “How did he keep them from killing each other?”

“I think he had only males.”

That made sense. Peyton found herself saying, “You can come in if you want.” Then she looked back to the tube in her hand. Where had
that
come from?

Behind her, she heard Dana come into the room. Her footsteps were soft on the carpet. Peyton moved the tube to the next inch of gravel, poking it up and down to loosen the gunk collected at the bottom of the tank. She should have cleaned the tank weeks ago.

“You’ve got some neat posters,” Dana said. “What’s that fish called?”

Peyton glanced over and saw her aunt standing by the foot of her bed, looking at the huge skeletal monster with its pointed teeth and tiny dead eyes. “An anglerfish.”

“Why is the background black?”

“That photo was taken in the abyss. There’s no light down
there.” It was only recently that scientists had been able to travel so deep undersea. They were discovering new species every day. Peyton couldn’t wait until it was her turn to go, to climb into the submersible and strap herself in.

“He’s lucky, then,” Dana said. “He’d never find a girlfriend if she could see how mean he looked.”

Girlfriend
was a baby term. Dana meant
mate
. Did she think Peyton wouldn’t understand the concept? So it was with some satisfaction that Peyton corrected her. “Her.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a her. They’re dominant.”

“No kidding.” Dana sounded amused. She moved to the next poster, pinned above Peyton’s desk. “There’s one I recognize.”

Big deal. Everyone knew what that one was. “That’s a clownfish.” Her mom had gotten her that poster, back before she finally caved and let Peyton get real fish. “You know, like in
Nemo
.”

“Actually, I saw one off the coast of Australia.”

Really
. “Like, in the ocean?”

“A couple of times.”

Peyton had never been anywhere near the ocean. The farthest distance she’d ever traveled had been sixty miles west to Fargo, which didn’t even have an aquarium. Mr. G’s three-hundred-gallon tank was the closest thing to a coral reef that she’d ever seen.

“I didn’t think I’d like it, but it was amazing,” Dana said. “So many different kinds of fish, all living together in harmony.”

“That’s not harmony. It’s the will to survive. They all get something out of it. The poisonous fish harbor the fish that lure prey close enough for them to feed. The smaller fish eat the leftovers the bigger fish drop. The weaker fish hide among the corals and sponges, and bring the food to them.”

Dana nodded. She understood; she got it. “We couldn’t stay down long. We had to take all sorts of precautions. We weren’t allowed to touch anything, and we couldn’t even wear sunscreen.
I got a terrible sunburn.” She laughed softly, probably at the memory of it.

“Coral looks hard as rock, but it’s really fragile. It can only grow under very specific conditions. The salinity has to be just right, the amount of sunlight, the temperature, the water current. If even one thing is off, coral dies.”

“Our guide told us that one-sixth of all animal species live in coral reefs.”

One-sixth of the whole world packed together in two-thousandths of the ocean. “If people only knew how important coral reefs are. All sorts of new medicines come from coral reefs. Antihistamines, antibiotics, even cancer drugs.”

“Really?” Dana had her head tilted, her eyes focused on Peyton as though her whole body were listening.

“NOAA says we’ve already lost nineteen percent of coral reefs, and they predict we’ll lose another fifteen percent in the next ten years.”

“Because of global warming?”

“And pollution. Lots of things.”

“Maybe things will turn around.”

“No, they won’t.” Wasn’t she even listening? Peyton yanked out the drainage tube from the tank. Water dribbled onto her toes. “It’s already too late.” The world would be over before she even got a chance to be really and truly in it.

“I’m sure—” Dana began.

“Don’t,” Peyton snapped. She didn’t want any lame reassurances that the whole world would suddenly come to its senses and everything would be all right. Every time she passed an SUV belching smoke or a crushed Styrofoam cup caught in someone’s flower bed, she knew just exactly where the world’s priorities lay. “Why are you here, anyway, Dana? What do you
want
?”

“Your mom wanted me here.”

“Since when did you care what my mom wanted? You don’t even
know
what my mom wanted.”

Dana said, “She left me a note.”

Peyton had just picked up the bucket so she could empty it, but that stopped her. “What note?”

“She wrote down my name in her notebook and then she crossed it out. I think that’s why she called me. She thought I was a doctor and she thought I could help.”

“Don’t call that a note. That’s nothing.”

“She was wrong, Peyton. I
can
help.”

Peyton laughed. “Wow. That is amazing. I didn’t know I had an aunt who could raise people from the dead.”

“Stop it, Peyton, and listen. Your mom wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about
you
.”

“Don’t you think I know that? My mom
loved
me.” For some reason, Peyton was crying. “My mom did
everything
for me!” She didn’t know how she was going to survive without her mom.

Dana was crying now, too. “I know, sweetheart.”

That only made Peyton cry harder, great wrenching sobs that hiccupped out of her. “You don’t know … anything! What’s my middle … name? Do you know
that
?”

Dana could only shake her head, mute and miserable. Peyton pushed past her, glad she’d hurt her.

Alone in the bathroom, Peyton upended the bucket over the toilet and watched the dirty brown water swirl down the drain. Her mom had worried so much about Peyton that Peyton stopped telling her things, stuff she’d kept back to protect her, things she thought weren’t important but now knew were the most important of all: lime Jell-O at lunch that no one ate. Parallel parking in three moves instead of eight. The way Eric looked at her when he didn’t think she was watching.

Those were the things that connected her to her mom and her mom to her, and when you took them all away, all you had left were two cardboard figures propped up and apart, not even touching.

 [DANA]

S
IX HOURS AFTER THEY RELEASED ME FROM THE
hospital, I carried my suitcase out to the car in the dark.
You shouldn’t be doing this
, Julie whispered, though no one was around to hear her.
It’s too soon
.

Everything’s been set up
, I lied.
I’ll be fine
.

The sharp cry of a newborn sailed out the window, and my heart twisted. Julie glanced over her shoulder.
You’ll be back for Thanksgiving?

That was when I finally told her.
I’m never coming back
.

Julie’s face went white; she stared at me.
Then … You can’t mean that
.

It’s the only way
.

I’ll come visit you
.

Don’t. It has to be a clean break for both of us. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a wonderful sister. You’ll be a terrific mom
.

Dana
. Her voice soared high in anguish.

You can’t call or write me
.

I can’t just let you go
.

Julie
. I threw my arms around her, the last time I would ever touch my sister, though I didn’t know it, and hugged her hard.
We’ll always be together
.

Sheri swung open her front door and smiled at me brightly. Something was up.

“Dana. Come on in.”

I’d barely taken two steps when the doorbell chimed again. “I hope you don’t mind,” Sheri said, putting her hand on the doorknob.

Of course it would be Joe standing on the front stoop. He looked surprised but then he smiled. I smiled, too, but the word he’d called me curled between us:
outsider
.

“Just like old times,” Sheri said happily.

We joined Mike in the family room. He lay on the green carpet, propped on an elbow, playing with his sons. “Hey, Dana. Joe.”

Light oak furniture, brown drapes, and mismatched pillows. A television screen dominated one wall, and a trio of hammered-metal ducks in flight decorated another. Toys lay scattered everywhere: blocks and puzzles, toy cars and army men, crayons and books. A child-sized table was by the fireplace, a big red plastic slide stood wedged into a corner. So this was what Sheri lived like, grown up.

“Come on in and dig out a place to sit.” She wasn’t the least bit apologetic about the mess, and I liked her for that. That was the girl I remembered, who wasn’t bothered by the surface stuff, who went right for what was important. “You guys want anything to drink? How about a beer? Mike?”

“Need any help?” I asked, and she answered, “I got it.”

Logan kneeled by his father. Clad in pajamas, his cheeks bright red, he smacked at his older brother’s hand reaching toward the top of the plastic chutes they were constructing. “Mine.”

“Stop it, Logan,” Mike said. “It’s Mikey’s turn.”

“How’s Peyton doing?” Joe asked me. “Is she still planning on going to school tomorrow?”

“So far as I know.” I hadn’t followed her into the bathroom. I hadn’t reached out and taken her in my arms. Instead, I’d leaned against the thin wall separating my room from the room where she stood at the sink, and ached for all the things I’d lost, and all the things I’d never have again.

“She was back at work, too,” Sheri said, walking in from the kitchen and depositing beer cans. She handed her boys sippy cups. “Logan, last one before bed.”

It couldn’t be easy, regulating the fluid intake of a four-year-old. But Logan showed no signs of irritation as he took the cup and put it to his mouth.

“Ronni said she did all right.” Sheri sat beside me.

“Ronni Stahlberg?” I asked.

“Ronni Williams, now. She and Peyton work together.”

“Not for long.” Mike held a toy piece out to his older boy. “Peyton just got moved to Manufacturing.”

Joe paused in mid-sip and lowered his beer. “She’s still a minor.”

“It’s that big government contract they just got,” Sheri said. “Brian’s got to get the new line up and running quick. You better be careful, Dana, or he’ll talk you into coming to work for him, too.”

Mike snapped a piece onto the plastic tower, his two boys bracketing him, absorbed in his every move. “Remember when he persuaded Viola Viersteck to run for mayor?”

“Not his fault she took him seriously.” Sheri was watching the three of them. What did it feel like, to have built a family like this? Then I realized she was focused on the cup in Logan’s hand, her own drink held poised before her lips as though willing her child to do the same.

“How did it go with the nurse today?” I asked.

Sheri tore her gaze from Logan, turning to me with a smile. “Okay, I guess. Mike’s going to get trained, too, so we can help each other out. It’ll be good, won’t it, Logan, to have dialysis at home?”

Logan had his head bent, his cap of blond hair falling forward and covering his features. He swiped a hand beneath his nose.

“Don’t let him touch the marbles,” Mikey warned, but Joe was already leaning forward with a tissue from the box on the table.

The box had been closer to me. I hadn’t even thought of it.

“Do you think he’ll be okay to go in with you tomorrow?” Mike was saying.

The small space was filled with worry and concern, all converging on one small child. “I think so,” Sheri said. “What do you think, Logan? Do you want to go play with the other boys and girls after dialysis tomorrow?”

“Tell Mikey to give me that one,” Logan said.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sheri smiled at me. “I’ve got lasagna in the oven. It should be ready soon.”

“Sure. So you work in a preschool?”

She shook her head. “I’m in the daycare at Gerkey’s. It’s a sweet deal. Logan comes to work with me, and I can bring Mikey anytime I want, like when he has a break or school lets out early.”

I started to take a sip of beer, then stopped. “When did Brian add on the daycare?”

“Three years ago.”

“The clinic and gift shop, too?”

Joe hitched forward in his seat. “He remodeled the building all at the same time.”

He knew what I was thinking. “I don’t know,” I said, more to myself than to him. “That can’t be the reason.”