But then Zott had to go and ruin everything by doing the one thing neither of them could afford for her to do. “Here,” she said, plopping her lab key in his coffee. “Keep your damn job.” Then she threw her ID tag in the trash, dumped her lab coat in the middle of his desk, and stormed out, taking all those big words with her.
* * *
—
“You got four phone calls,” Harriet was saying. “The first was about becoming a Nielsen family. The other three were from a Walter Pine. Pine wants you to call him back. Says it’s urgent. Claims you and he had an enjoyable conversation about food—or no, no, I’m sorry, about lunch,” she corrected herself, checking her notes again. “Sounded anxious,” she said, looking up. “Professionally anxious. Like a well-mannered person, but on edge.”
“Walter Pine,” Elizabeth said, gritting her teeth, “is Amanda Pine’s father. I drove to his office a few days back to talk with him about the lunch issue.”
“How did the talk go?”
“It was more of a confrontation.”
“Violent, I hope.”
“Mom?” a voice said, appearing in the doorway.
“Hi, bunny,” Elizabeth said, attempting to sound calm as she encircled her gangly child with one arm. “How was school?”
“I made a clove hitch knot,” Madeline said, holding up a rope. “For show-and-tell.”
“Did everyone enjoy it?”
“No.”
“That’s okay,” Elizabeth said, pulling her close. “People don’t always like what we like.”
“No one ever likes my show-and-tell stuff.”
“Little bastards,” muttered Harriet.
“They liked that arrowhead you brought in.”
“No.”
“Well, next week why not try the periodic table? That’s always a crowd pleaser.”
“Or you could try my bowie knife,” Harriet suggested. “Let them know where you stand.”
“When’s dinner?” Madeline said. “I’m hungry.”
“I put one of your casseroles in the oven,” Harriet said to Elizabeth as she heaved herself toward the door. “I need to go feed the beast. Call Pine back.”
“You called Amanda Pine?” Madeline gasped.
“Her father,” Elizabeth said. “I told you. I visited him three days ago and got the entire lunch business straightened out. I think he understood our position, and I am certain Amanda will not be stealing your lunch ever again. Stealing is wrong,” she snapped, thinking of Donatti and his article. “Wrong!” Both Madeline and Harriet jumped.
“She…she brings a lunch, Mom,” Madeline said carefully. “But it’s not normal.”
“That’s not our problem.”
Madeline looked at her mother as if she was missing the point.
“You need to eat your own lunch, bunny,” Elizabeth said more quietly. “To grow up tall.”
“But I’m already tall,” Madeline complained. “Too tall.”
“One can never be too tall,” Harriet said.
“Robert Wadlow died from being too tall,” Madeline said, tapping the cover of The Guinness Book of Records.
“But that was a pituitary gland disorder, Mad,” Elizabeth said.
“Nine feet tall!” Madeline emphasized.
“Poor man,” Harriet said. “Where does someone like that shop?”
“Height kills,” Madeline said.
“Yes, but everything kills eventually,” Harriet said. “That’s why everyone ends up dead, sweetheart.” But when she noticed Elizabeth’s mouth drop and Madeline slump, she instantly regretted her words. She opened the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning before rowing,” she said to Elizabeth. “And I’ll see you, Mad,” she said to the little girl, “when you get up.”
This was the schedule she and Elizabeth had worked out ever since Elizabeth had returned to work. Harriet took Mad to school, Six-Thirty picked Mad up from school, Harriet watched her until Elizabeth got home. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She extracted a slip of paper from her pocket. “You got another note.” She gave Elizabeth a meaningful look. “From you-know-who.”
* * *
—
Mrs. Mudford.
Elizabeth already knew Mudford didn’t approve of Madeline. She did not approve of the way Mad could read, or the way she could kick a ball, or the way she knew a complicated series of nautical knots— a skill she practiced frequently, including in the dark, in the rain, without help, just in case.