Lakewood(18)

“I think I’m coming down with something.”

“You look like you’ve lived a million years.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Her mom made chicken soup. They sat side by side in Lena’s bed, watching TV. Lena rested her head against Deziree’s shoulder. On the phone, someone pretending to be Lena had said, “I love you, Mom,” every day. That person had conversations with Lena’s friends, sent them pictures and weird GIFs. No one had realized it wasn’t her. Deziree’s hair smelled like coconut, her skin: roses. It could be like this all the time soon.

On the phone, Dr. Lisa explained Lena’s cover position would be working for a trucking and warehouse company, Great Lakes Shipping Company. It would be a brand-new business in Lakewood. Floor 1 would look like a regular truck dispatch space with offices and cubicles and a warehouse. The second floor would have conference rooms and areas set up for the studies. The third floor and basement were off-limits.

“So, I have to learn how to be a dispatch operator?”

“No. Well, you’ll learn enough about it to have conversations. And every day, we’ll give you a card with what happened during your workday to use when you speak with friends and family.”

Deziree walked by, knocked on the door, and said, “Dinner in ten.”

All her coworkers, the ones in the office and the warehouse, would be in the experiments with her. Truck drivers would be dropping off and picking things up, but most of them would not be affiliated. Lena would have to be vigilant about how her actions appeared to others.

“Why have real truck drivers near this?”

“We’ve thought of everything, don’t worry about it.” The doctor cleared her throat. “The town is small, and people like to talk. We wish it could be simpler, but no one will believe you just moved to Lakewood.”

“What should I wear?”

“The town is small, and people like to talk,” Dr. Lisa repeated. “So dress like you’re going to church. Like you’re trying to impress someone’s mom. Ugh. As long as you don’t dress like you’re going to a club.”

Lena couldn’t tell if the doctor was stressed out or if she had sized her up and was having second thoughts about her maturity or her age—or maybe someone had forced her to make the hire. Everything she could think of to reassure Dr. Lisa seemed like it would only make the doctor certain Lena was a bad decision.

“Got it.”

“Here are your phrases for tomorrow. Silent butter. Corkscrew Idaho. Careless Regulations. Violet. The order is important this time.”

Lena repeated the phrases back once, twice.

“Great.”

“I need to be there by nine tomorrow, right?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Lakewood had patchy service. Lena waited, but the call was over. She still hadn’t finished packing. The clothes on the floor were pinching at her hands, the unmade bed and makeup scattered around were flicking at her eyelashes.

“Steaks,” Deziree yelled.

Dinner looked great—steaks, baked sweet potatoes, a big salad, a bottle of cheap champagne resting in a bowl filled with ice cubes.

“I’ll get the silverware,” Lena offered. In the kitchen, taped to the front of the refrigerator was a Don’t Forget list with Lena’s new address and a description of the job she’d be working. When her mother’s back was turned, Lena scribbled on the sides: I love you. Call me anytime. Make all bill collectors contact me. I can come home. I love you. Don’t paint the whole house without talking to me. She drew hearts around all the things that looked harsh, hoped it softened them. On the refrigerator Lena taped a note to Miss Shaunté with all the essentials and a small bonus check.

When Lena returned with the silverware, Deziree patted her hands and arms as if she were going away for years. She kept repeating the name Lakewood. At first, she said the word as if it was an unknown or an unexpected ingredient. Snails? Are you sure? Snails? Lakewood.

“It’s fine, Mom, everything’s on the fridge.”

“Lakewood, Lakewood, Lakewood, Lakewood, Lakewood, Lakewood,” Deziree said, clawing at her own face, her voice getting higher with each iteration.

Lena grabbed her hands, held them firmly but gently. “Let’s eat.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Halfway through the meal, Deziree spat out a piece of steak. It landed on the table, narrowly missing Lena’s arm. Deziree stood up.

“Mom?”

“The spirit loves raw potatoes.” Her eyes were focused on the wall behind Lena. Deziree waved her hands as if a cloud of mites was swarming around her head.

The refrigerator hummed. Lena wasn’t sure whether to keep eating, wait for it to pass, or to do what her grandmother would sometimes do: describe exactly what was happening and try to ground the moment’s details. We’re just having a nice dinner, Deziree. The steak is medium-rare. The sparkling wine is very dry. It’s 7:38 at night. Your sweet potatoes are incredible with the chili sauce you made. Our life is about to change, but we’ll both be great.

Deziree sat down in her seat quickly.

“Mom?”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Mom.”

“Will you please just accept this lie, so we can have a nice dinner?” Deziree’s voice came out clear.