"Do you always run this many duplicates?" That was Sasha, the new lab tech. She had a way of lurking.
I glanced up at her. She held a rack of fresh pipette tips and waited for my answer, lips twitching with gentle humor.
Back to the keyboard. "I've raised teenage twin girls. If I can identify which one used my expensive shampoo based on a single hair in the drain, I can absolutely track who's dumping trash in the river."
Sasha snorted. "Remind me never to cross you."
"I wouldn't recommend it."
I finished logging the last of the readings, hands cramped but determined. After sixteen years of parenting, I'd gotten good at solving a mystery.
I pulled up the field logs and started a draft email to my supervisor, careful to keep the language cautious but pointed. "Elevated chloride, TSS, and PAHs at site 401. Suggests brine and coal-tar sealcoat run-off. Recommend immediate site visit and enforcement review." I attached the full dataset, then started reading back over the email to makesureit was all accurate when my phone went off. I reached for it, but my elbow clipped my mug, sending cold coffee sloshing straight onto a pile of printouts.
Perfect.
I snatched paper towels from the shelf and started mopping up while juggling the phone, which flashed "Mere" in bold letters. My gut dropped. The girls never called me at work unless it was bad.
I answered with one hand, still soaking up the mess. "Hey, sweetheart. What's up?"
Mere didn't mince words. "Fifi's freaking out again. She heard the voice. It was loud this time. She couldn't catch her breath, started rocking on the new bed, and I thought maybe she'd pass out."
My hands froze. The edge of the coffee puddle crept under another stack of chromatograms. "How is she now?"
"That's the weird part. I gave her the hug trick, you know, wrapped her up tight, like the therapist said. But this time, something happened. My skin went all prickly, and then it felt like—" She stammered a little, searching for the right word. "It felt like a warmth, I guess? It moved from inside me into Fifi. Right through my hands. And she stopped shaking. Instantly. She just went limp and said she didn't hear anything anymore."
A chill crawled up my back, even though the air in the lab was warm and dry.
I tried to sound calm. "You did perfect, honey. That's exactly what she needed. Maybe it's just a twin thing, you know? You girls always had a way of 'fixing' each other."
Mere let out a long breath. "I hope so. I was scared at first, but then it felt really good. Like I'd done something important."
"You did. I'm proud of you.How's Fifi now?"
"Wiped out. She's lying on the couch with a blanket. Still quiet, but calm. She wants to eat, so I'm thinking about making mac and cheese."
I had to swallow twice before I could answer. "That's great. Keep her comfy. If she wants to talk, just listen, but don't push. And if the hug trick works again, keep using it, okay?"
"Will do."
We hung up, but the worry didn't leave. If anything, it drilled deeper. Fifi's "voices" had always spiked under stress, but these attacks were coming faster now. The therapist said it was normal for teens to have rough patches, but nothing about Fifi's experience felt normal. Not to me, anyway.
I sat there worrying, phone in one hand, printouts stained and curling at the edges. Sasha peeked over again, caught the expression on my face, and wisely decided not to ask. She just set a fresh box of wipes on the bench and slipped away.
I cleaned up the mess, stacked the damaged papers to reprint later, and ran my hands through my hair. I checked the clock. Barely 2:30. My brain had already checked out.
I put everything in order. Labeled the vials, logged the last instruments, and saved all the raw files to the secure drive. I left a sticky note for the next day's tech sonobody would panic over the brine readings. Then I packed up my bag, checked my phone for messages, and headed for the parking lot.
The air outside smelled like distant rain and fresh mulch. The highway hummed in the background. I loaded my samples in the trunk and climbed in the car, fingers still tingling from the phone call.
I'd come to Laurel Gap thinking I could fix something, that maybe my expertise would help protect one tiny slice of river from the slow crawl of pollution and greed.
Instead, I was rattled. The data screamed disaster, the agency process would move as slowly as molasses, and my own daughter needed something I couldn't figure out. The guilt stayed with me, crawling under my skin, right between the nerves.
The drive home was a blur. Every time I hit a curve or crested another rise in the road, my thoughts circled back to the same problems. Brine run-off, chloride, calcium, and magnesium. Coal-tar bits drifting down the creek. And Fifi, my baby, all tangled up in a brain that wouldn't leave her alone. Mere, picking up the pieces, no complaints, always the problem solver.
I gripped the wheel until my fingers ached. By the time Laurel Gap's Main Street cameinto view, I could barely remember the drive. I just knew I needed to be home, with both girls in my sight, safe and sound.
One last stop at Sweet Dragon Bakery. I'd promised the girls before I left for work. Hell, I'd promised myself, too.
