Girl in Ice(39)

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WYATT SAT GAZING thoughtfully at a dead Arctic lemming in a plastic container, desultorily reaching in with his pencil and poking at it, slowly rolling it onto its back. Vials and test tubes sat in their stands surrounded by a few of the slides I’d sneaked a look at.

“How is she?” he asked, not looking up from the motionless rodent.

“Better.”

“She put a turd in my bed this morning.”

“Guess I don’t have to translate that for you.” I gathered my snow gear and began to suit up.

“Where are you going?”

“The Dome. With Sigrid.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s on her way.”

He gave me a look that said, So where is she? then placed a slide under the microscope. Adjusted the machine, peered down.

I slipped on my boots. “Find anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“In Sigrid’s blood.”

“Her white blood cell count is a little high.”

“What does that mean?”

“Could have an infection. Could also be stress. Emotional, physical.”

“What should we—”

He turned to me. “You know, Val, you’re the one who made this into a traumatic shit show. We didn’t need all that drama the other night. Totally unnecessary. She was looking at you for cues, and all you did was freak her out.”

“You got what you wanted. Isn’t that the important thing, Wyatt?”

He gave me a raw look, removed the slide, and fished out another, dialing down the scope. “You okay to head over to the Dome without me or Jeanne?”

“Of course.”

“So sign out. You haven’t been doing that. I’m not clear on why. I’m just trying to keep everyone safe.”

I approached him, sweating in my parka in the hot, close room. The smell of burned coffee and stale blueberry Pop-Tarts lingered in the air. “I know you took my pills,” I said in a furious whisper, my rage surprising me.

“What pills?” he said, not looking up from the scope.

I forced myself to take a breath. “Don’t forget, Wyatt, you still need me here.”

“Not sure what that has to do with your pills. Sure you didn’t lose them?”

Perspiration dripped between my shoulder blades; I was dressed for ten-below-zero winds. I could feel our two hours of daylight ticking away. “Lose them?” I gestured around the room, a half-mad Michelin woman. “Where would I lose them in this place?”

He gestured at his desk, a cacophony of papers, files, specimen boxes, old computers, half-eaten Ring Dings. “I lose things all the time. I spend half my time just looking for shit—”

“Well, I’m not like you, Wyatt.” I struggled to keep my voice calm, though my limbs quaked under layers of wool and down. “I’m different.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Andy did mention—”

“I’m organized. I’m in control of, of… my belongings.”

He laughed. “That must be nice. Look, I won’t go through your stuff if you don’t go through mine, deal?”

Heat flushed up my neck, setting my cheeks aflame. I looked at the rug. “Someone helped themselves to my medication.”

He leaned back in his chair, clicked a pencil against his teeth. “Maybe you’re better off without that stuff, ever think of that? Could be you’ll have a clearer head, especially when you’re trying to work with the kid.”

The fact that he may have had a point infuriated me. “Those pills help me do my job.”

“Good to know.”

“So maybe you better take the time to find them,” I stuttered, “if you want me to be helpful.”

He gave me a long look, straightened out one leg so he could reach deep in the pocket of his overalls. “Speaking of finding things, maybe you can tell me about these.” He took out several wads of paper. One by one, he unfolded them: Sigrid’s snake and bird drawings.

“Where did you find those?”

“Jeanne was doing laundry. They were in your pants pockets.”

But I didn’t remember putting them there… I’d stashed them in an envelope and tucked them in a book… hadn’t I? I reddened. “Why didn’t she give them back to me?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure she was going to. They were lying on the counter. I happened to be walking by.”

I approached his desk. The drawings looked personal, private, a little girl’s secrets raw and vulnerable under his bright specimen lamp. I pictured the curve of Sigrid’s small back as she drew them, her concentration unbreakable.

I held out my hand. “Give them back to me. Please.”

He patted a stool near his desk, dragged it close to him. “Come here, Val. Just sit a second.”

I didn’t want to. But I did as he said.

He rested his elbows on his knees, head close to mine. “I thought we had an agreement. But times like these, finding these little drawings lying around, makes me think you’re holding back on me. And I don’t know why.”

“I was going to show them to you.”

He unfolded one of the drawings, flattened it with his hand. “What does this mean, do you think?”