“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????’”