“I haven’t looked yet.”
“Why not?”
“We should do it together. Mirabel went to work?”
“Yes, but you and I can—”
“Not without her,” I say. “We’ll just have to be patient.”
“But I am not patient,” Monday points out.
* * *
We just manage to wait until Mama and Mirabel get home, but then they have news. Over a dinner Mama makes but cannot eat, she tells us what happened at the bar, what happened with the lawsuit, what happened with Omar.
“Does that mean everything is dead?” It’s unlike Monday to speak so figuratively, but she’s right. It feels like everything is dead.
“No,” Mama says.
“What does it mean?” Monday asks.
“I don’t know,” Mama says.
When we finally get back to our room, I don’t even have time to open the folder before Mirabel’s Voice launches into a paragraph she’s been saving all afternoon. It doesn’t seem like there could be yet more news, but there is. “Apple came to therapy. She wants to leave Bourne as soon as possible. She knows River is hiding something. Nathan forced them to move here. She said it isn’t safe. She said risking their lives. He said the whole family had to come. He said there was no point otherwise.”
We listen then sit there blinking at one another.
“Why?” Monday finally asks.
“Because it’s just for show.” My words feel dark and thick as sludge. “They could run the plant remotely like they did before, but if they bring their nice family and their growing boy, it demonstrates to anyone paying attention how safe it is now. It’s just like pretending to drink the water.” We’ve known this from the beginning, but it’s more appalling, more shocking now that the family has faces, that growing boy a name and a voice. They risked our lives and well-being, but now they’re risking their own kid’s too, and why would they do that? They’re risking River when they’re the ones who are supposed to keep him safe. His very own mother knows this is happening, and even if she’s not happy about it, she’s still letting it go on, and for the first time, including when he was getting beat up every day after school, I feel truly sorry for River. At least our mother values us above all things. If the ship has sailed on our lives and well-being, at least our mother stands on deck with us shouting at the crew to make the voyage as pleasant as possible.
“Why is it not safe?” Monday asks.
Mirabel’s hand flips up and out. She doesn’t know.
“You don’t know yet,” I say, “but maybe you can find out.” My eyes lock with Mirabel’s.
“How can she?” Monday asks.
“Next appointment.” I lick my too-dry lips. I’m anxious to get to my folder, but this is important too. “When Apple comes back, we have to make sure you’re there.”
“Maybe,” says Mirabel’s Voice, and we wait while she types. “Nora said conflict of interest.”
“Why?” Monday asks.
“Why do you think?” I can’t believe even Monday doesn’t see this immediately. “She’s been suing the woman’s family for the last two decades.”
“That is not what I meant, One. Not why is it a conflict of interest. Why did she say it was a conflict of interest instead of learning what she could from Apple Templeton and then helping the lawsuit by telling Russell?”
A much better question.
“Because Nora is,” Mirabel’s Voice begins, and we wait while she types the rest, “better than they are.”
We sit and contemplate the incontrovertibility of that until Monday can stand it no longer.
“River gave Mab a folder with an email thread between River’s father and River’s grandfather,” she tells Mirabel. “She said we had to wait for you to read it so we do not know what it says so do not ask. There is only one email thread, and River tried to get more but could not so do not ask that either.”
Mirabel smiles at me, a complicated smile, and I smile complicatedly back.
“If you are not going to read it”—Monday does not understand non-straightforward facial expressions but would not have any patience for them even if she did—“please allow me to read it.”
So I hand her the folder. I can’t bear to look anyway.
“There are three pieces of paper in this folder”—she counts them four times to make sure—“which are three emails. I will read the first email first. It is from Duke Templeton to his son Nathan Templeton. ‘WHERE ARE YOU???? WHY AREN’T YOU PICKING UP????’”
I clap my hands over my ears. Mirabel has to settle for one hand over one ear. “Oh my God, Monday”—she’s so loud I’m wincing like she’s broken some kind of sense barrier—“why are you yelling?”
“The email is in all capital letters,” she explains.
“We get it,” I assure her. “Read it regular.”
“I have to be true to the text.”
“You do not,” says Mirabel’s Voice.
Monday turns back to the folder. “The next email is a reply to the first email, and it is in a normal font, and it is from Nathan Templeton to his father Duke Templeton.”
“We know who’s who,” I say. “We don’t need the cast of characters or the voice acting. Just read.”
“Fine,” she says. “It is your loss. ‘I’m running between meetings, Dad. I’ll call you back in an hour. But please, try to relax. I know you’re anxious to get started on this, but I promise there’s no rush. I’m taking care of it, making sure everyone sees it’s safe now, reestablishing trust, spreading goodwill, offering jobs. We don’t need the workarounds. It’ll be better in the long run if we do this aboveboard this time. Besides we can’t risk a worker saying something and tipping someone off. Remember, all they have to do is look and they’ll realize. So please let me do this from the other direction.’” Monday finishes and looks up. “Tipping someone off what?”
“Tipping someone off to what,” I amend. “But yeah, that’s the question.”
Mirabel taps at her tablet. “And look where? And realize what?”
“Read the last one,” I tell Monday.
“The last one is from Duke Templeton replying to his son Nathan Templeton.”
“WE KNOW!”
“Please stop yelling,” Monday says, “unless you are quoting someone yelling.”
I lower my voice and beg her through my teeth. “Just. Read. It.”
“Okay, but prepare yourselves because there is a swear,” she warns. “‘Bullshit. We don’t need their trust or goodwill or cooperation. What we need is to get started before anyone down there finds the damn paperwork. Deeds, deals, contracts, who the hell knows what kind of paper trail, but whatever it is, we need to be well underway before anyone thinks to look for it. We don’t want that headache. Money and power buy a lot of things, but I’m telling you, they won’t buy this. They have to start by Thanksgiving, otherwise we have to wait until March. And since you can’t seem to get this done, I had to. Soonest available was 11/22, so I took it. In the old days, they did it when you goddamn told them to, but now there’s a lawyer for fucking everything. Maybe this whole thing was badly set up in the first place, but we’re not going to let it destory us.’ Now plug your ears,” Monday advises. She props the paper up on her lap so she can plug her own and screams, “‘CALL ME THE MINUTE YOUR MEETING ENDS.’”