Her letter went on, listing Elizabeth’s accomplishments as a chemist, most of which she discovered only after reading Roth’s new article, while highlighting the injustices Zott had faced at Hastings. “Donatti reappropriated her funding,” she wrote, “then fired her without cause. I know,” she admitted, “because I was part of it— a sin for which I’m currently trying to atone by typing sermons for a living.” Then she went on to explain how later, Donatti not only stole Zott’s research but lied to important investors. She finished, asserting that while she knew Life would never have the guts to print her letter, she felt she had to write it anyway.
It appeared in the very next issue.
* * *
—
“Elizabeth, read this!” Harriet said excitedly, holding the latest copy of Life in her hands. “Women from all over the country have written to Life in protest. It’s a rebellion—everyone’s on your side. There’s even one from someone who claims she worked with you at Hastings.”
“Not interested.”
Having finished her daily lunch box notes to Madeline, Elizabeth closed the lid, then pretended to fuss with a Bunsen burner. For the last few weeks, she’d done her best to keep her head up—ignore the article, she told herself. Carry on. That was the coping strategy that had carried her through suicide, sexual assault, lies, thievery, and catastrophic loss; it would again. Except it hadn’t. This time, no matter how high she lifted her head, Life’s misrepresentation of who she was beat her back down again. The damage felt permanent, like a brand. She would never outrun it.
Harriet read aloud from the letters. “If it weren’t for Elizabeth Zott—”
“Harriet, I said I’m not interested,” she snapped. What was the point? Her life was over.
“But what about this unpublished piece of Roth’s,” Harriet said, ignoring Elizabeth’s tone. “The science-y one. I had no idea there were other women scientists—besides you and Curie, I mean. I’ve read the whole thing twice. Found it riveting. Which is saying something because you know. Science.”
“It’s already been rejected by ten scientific magazines,” Elizabeth said in a deadened voice. “Women in science isn’t something people have any interest in.” She picked up her car keys. “I’ll go kiss Mad goodbye, and then I’m off.”
“Do me a favor? Try not to wake her this time.”
“Harriet,” Elizabeth said. “Have I ever?”
* * *
—
After hearing Elizabeth back the Plymouth down the drive, Harriet opened Madeline’s lunch box, curious to see what words of wisdom Elizabeth had written this time. It’s not your imagination, said the note on top. Most people are awful.
Harriet pressed her fingertips against her head in worry. She padded around the lab, wiping down counters, the weight of Elizabeth’s depression evident in ways she hadn’t really registered before. The pile of empty research notebooks, the untouched chemical supplies, the unsharpened pencils. Damn that Life magazine, she thought. Despite its name, the magazine had stolen Elizabeth’s life—ended it—due in no small part to fraudulent quotes from people like Donatti and Meyers.
“Oh honey,” Harriet said as Mad appeared in the doorway. “Did your mom wake you?”
“It’s another day.”
They sat down together and picked at the breakfast muffins Elizabeth had baked earlier that morning.
“I’m real worried, Harriet,” Mad said. “About Mom.”
“Well, she’s feeling very down, Mad,” Harriet said. “But she’ll bounce back soon enough. You’ll see.”
“Are you sure?”
Harriet looked away. No, she wasn’t sure. She’d never been less sure of anything in her life. Everyone has a breaking point; she worried that Elizabeth had finally reached hers.
She turned her attention to the latest issue of Ladies’ Home Journal. “Can You Trust Your Hairdresser?” an article asked. “The Year of the Important Blouse” informed another. Sighing, she reached for another muffin. She’d been the one who’d talked Elizabeth into the Life interview. If someone was to blame, it was her.
They sat in silence, Mad picking the paper wrap from her muffin as Harriet replayed Elizabeth’s words about how no one had any interest in reading about women in science. It rang true. Or did it?
She cocked her head to the side. “Wait a sec, Mad,” she said slowly as an idea came to her. “Wait just a goddamn second.”