Lost and Wanted(46)

This was all Jack needed. “It’s a metaphase typewriter,” he said eagerly. “We set up the circuit here—see—and here’s the thallium—” He turned the box gently, so that I could see. It was impossible that the children could’ve obtained a radioactive poison like thallium, but the dirty clay-like lump was convincing enough to make my pulse speed up. “Jack—what is that?”

“Our radioactive source,” Jack said, but he sounded uncertain.

“But what is it really?”

“Surf wax,” Simmi said, and I laughed a little in relief. “It was in my backpack.” She looked at her father. “We used to go to the beach a lot after school.”

“But it worked,” Jack said, attempting to change the subject, as I’d noticed he often did when Simmi talked about her life in L.A.

“Okay,” I said. “You guys figured out that surf wax conducts electricity. So what does the light do?”

“Nothing,” Jack admitted. “That’s just to show that we’re doing a science run.”

“Is a ‘science run’ a real thing?” Simmi asked me.

“It’s when a machine is collecting information,” I said. “Data.”

“See,” Jack said, gaining confidence. “And then we turn on the metronome.”

I had bought the metronome with the electronic keyboard in an ill-fated attempt at piano lessons in kindergarten. Physicists tend to be musical (Neel can pick out anything on the guitar, and Arty is a proficient cellist), and I’ve always regretted my lack of ability in this area. I had hoped that his donor’s genes might predispose Jack toward music, but he had demonstrated very little interest. On the other hand, it was nice that he was using the metronome for something.

    “When the metronome clicks, Simmi—”

“Shut up,” Simmi said.

Jack stopped, surprised.

“Simmi,” Terrence said. “You can’t talk to your friends like that. I think it’s time for us to go.”

“Fine,” Simmi said. “I don’t care.”

Jack made a small sound of protest, but didn’t say anything. Simmi unfolded her crossed legs.

“But first you’ll help clean up. And apologize to Helen and Jack.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can take those for you.” I leaned forward to collect the cups, but Simmi hugged them toward her chest, one in each arm, as if they were dolls. Terrence seemed to notice them for the first time.

“What’s in there?”

Simmi’s hair was twisted into two knots on either side of her head, making her look younger than usual. “Just some toys and stuff,” she said.

“Give them here,” Terrence said, as if he didn’t believe her. Slowly, Simmi obeyed.

Terrence took the cups carefully. Maybe he thought the children were actually playing with dangerous materials. His expression when he looked inside was perplexed.

“Scrabble?”

“See,” Simmi said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s nothing.”

But Jack couldn’t keep himself from explaining: “When the metronome clicks, Simmi throws a letter out of the cup. Then we use the letters to spell the words.”

Suddenly, I understood. The Scrabble tiles replaced the teletype machine in the metaphase typewriter. The metronome was the Geiger counter. This was the part that impressed me, because the children had understood the concept of measuring intervals between events—if not the necessity for radioactive events to happen at uneven intervals, in contrast to the clicks of a metronome.

“What words did you get so far?” I asked the children.

    “Nothing,” Simmi said. “It’s stupid.”

“Maybe it’s just the beginning,” Jack suggested.

Simmi looked scornful. “Hrik fax?”

“A fax is a thing,” Jack pointed out.

“Not anymore.”

Terrence laughed. He seemed to have mellowed a little, given that the kids weren’t misbehaving in any obvious way. I began to hope that we could salvage dinner, proceed toward the lamb stew as if nothing had happened.

“But what does it do?” Terrence asked.

“You can talk to people who aren’t here,” Jack began. I gave him a sharp look—but if anything, all this was my fault. If I’d spoken to him as soon as I understood that he might be talking to Simmi about seeing her mother’s ghost, we could have avoided this moment.

“What people?” Terrence asked.

Jack looked at me helplessly. Even he knew better than to tell Terrence whom they had been trying to contact.

“There was a little confusion,” I began.

Simmi was looking out the window. It was already dark, and all you could see was the street lamp haloed against the black trees outside my window. The look on her face could have been mistaken for boredom, if she hadn’t been holding herself so perfectly still. Terrence watched her with a concerned expression.

“It’s just a game, okay?” she said suddenly. “We didn’t think it would actually work. Or at least I didn’t.”

“Me neither,” Jack said quickly. “Because we didn’t have real thallium.”