Spirit Story - Chapter 2
Spirit Story - Chapter 2
Mara’s phone vibrated against the counter. She ignored it. Personal phones were permitted in the documentation area, not at the active bench, and hers was currently lying facedown beside her notebook where she had left it forty minutes earlier.
It vibrated again.
Daniel looked toward the sound. “Popular today.”
“Apparently.” A third vibration followed. Daniel raised his eyebrows.
Mara finished recording the control lot number before removing her gloves. She dropped them into the waste container, washed her hands, and walked over to the documentation desk.
Three messages. All from a number she didn’t recognize.
Is this still Mara Ellison?
The second had arrived less than a minute later.
If not, please tell whoever this is that I apologize for the weird question.
And then:
If yes, this is Claire Bennett and I cannot believe you still have the same number.
Mara smiled. That surprised her enough that she read the name again.
Claire Bennett.
She hadn’t seen Claire in— Mara did the calculation automatically. Nine years.
Possibly ten.
They had gone to school together, survived two years of chemistry together, and spent an entire summer working at the same frozen yogurt shop where Claire had been fired for giving away more toppings than she charged for.
After college there had been occasional birthday messages, then Christmas messages, then the modern version of friendship in which two people watched one another’s lives happen through photographs without actually participating in them.
Mara typed back.
Still me. And apparently still the same number.
The reply came almost immediately.
OH MY GOD.
Then:
I found you.
Mara stared at the screen.
You had my phone number.
Three dots appeared.
Don’t ruin this. I FOUND YOU.
Mara laughed.
Daniel’s head appeared around the side of the instrument. “There it is.”
“What?”
“A human emotion.”
“Go away.”
He disappeared again.
Claire’s next message arrived.
I’m in town.
Mara straightened.
Since when?
Yesterday. Leaving tomorrow afternoon. I was going to be a normal person and give you several days’ notice but apparently I remain incapable of planning.
That, Mara thought, sounded exactly like Claire.
Some things survive adulthood.
RUDE.
A moment later:
Are you working?
Mara looked through the glass toward the instrument.
Yes.
Until when?
Five.
The dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Come see me.
Mara smiled.
At five.
No. Now.
She actually laughed.
Claire, some of us have jobs.
I also have a job.
Then you understand the problem.
I understand that you are probably standing under fluorescent lights surrounded by tiny bottles while numbers hold you hostage.
Mara looked around.
That was irritatingly accurate.
She typed:
They’re vials.
Claire responded with a string of laughing faces.
Then:
This is exactly what I’m talking about.
You haven’t talked to me in almost ten years. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
I know you.
That stopped her. Not because it was profound. Claire had probably typed it without thinking. Still, Mara looked at the words for a moment. Another message appeared.
You’re cooped up with numbers and samples too much. Come have coffee with me.
Mara glanced toward the instrument again. The batch was still running.
Can’t. I’m waiting on results.
This time Claire’s response took longer.
Of course you are.
Mara frowned.
What does that mean?
It means sixteen-year-old Mara would have skipped class with me.
Sixteen-year-old Mara had poor judgment.
Thirty-eight-year-old Mara sounds boring.
Mara gasped softly.
Daniel looked over. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You look offended.”
“I’ve been called boring.”
He considered her for half a second. “By whom?”
“Claire Bennett.”
“Don’t know her. I like her.”
Mara turned the phone facedown.
Daniel came around the instrument. “No, no. We’re not finished. Who is Claire Bennett?”
“Someone I went to school with.”
“Friend?”
“I haven’t seen her in years.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mara picked up her pen. “Yes. A friend.”
“Who is currently calling you boring.”
“Apparently.”
“And you’re proving her wrong by…” He looked at the worksheet in front of her. “Reviewing control documentation.”
“I am working.”
“The machine is working. You’re staring at it.”
“I’m monitoring.”
“You’re staring professionally.”
Mara gave him a look.
Daniel grinned.
Her phone vibrated again.
He nodded toward it. “Go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Why?”
“Because the batch isn’t finished.”
“I know.”
“And the original result was anomalous.”
“I also know that.”
“I want to see whether—”
“Mara.”
“What?”
“I am also an analytical chemist.”
She stared at him.
“I know how to read the results.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It feels very much like the point.”
She glanced through the glass.
Daniel followed her gaze. “If it fails, I’ll call you.”
“I don’t want you to call me.”
“Fine. I’ll text.”
“I mean I don’t want it to fail.”
“Oh.” He nodded solemnly. “I’ll explain that to the instrument.”
Mara tried not to smile.
Daniel held out his hand.
“What?”
“Your worksheet.”
“Why?”
“So I know exactly what you’re looking for.”
“You already know.”
“Yes, but taking the worksheet will make you nervous enough that you’ll stand here arguing with me for another six minutes.”
She handed it to him.
He looked pleased with himself.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her phone vibrated.
Daniel pointed toward it. “Claire.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s Claire.”
Mara picked it up.
One coffee. I promise not to keep you.
Then, before Mara could answer:
Please?
Mara looked at the time. 2:46. She could leave early. She had enough accumulated time that no one would care, and Daniel was fully capable of reviewing the batch.
That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that she had started something and wanted to know how it ended. She looked through the glass again.
Daniel sighed. “You know the sample doesn’t care if you’re here when the result comes out.”
“I am aware that the sample doesn’t have feelings.”
“Good. We’ve made progress.”
“The second run—”
“I’ll check it.”
“The control—”
“I’ll check it.”
“And if the values—”
“I will text you the results, including the actual numbers, because I know if I just say ‘everything looks fine’ you’ll develop an eye twitch.”
“I do not have an eye twitch.”
“You will.”
Mara hesitated.
Daniel softened. “Go see your friend.”
She looked down at Claire’s message. Nine years. Possibly ten. Tomorrow afternoon Claire would be gone again. The sample would still be here, that thought felt oddly disloyal, which was ridiculous.
It was a vial.
Mara typed:
Where are you?
Claire answered so quickly she must have been holding the phone.
YOU’RE COMING?
I asked where you are.
That’s basically a yes.
An address followed. Mara recognized the café. It was fifteen minutes away.
She looked at Daniel. “One hour.”
“Take two.”
“One.”
“Live dangerously. Ninety minutes.”
“I’ll be back before four.”
Daniel shook his head. “Hopeless.”
Mara gathered her things, then stopped. “Make sure you—”
Daniel raised the worksheet without looking at her. “Go.”
She took three steps.
“Mara.”
She turned.
“If anything interesting happens, I promise I’ll tell you.”
“Immediately.”
“Immediately.”
She nodded. Then she left. Behind her, the laboratory continued exactly as it had before: ventilation humming, refrigerators cycling, instruments measuring, numbers accumulating one careful decimal place at a time.
Mara had no reason to think anything important was waiting for her outside it. As far as she knew, the only unresolved question that afternoon was sitting inside a machine. And Daniel had promised to text her the answer.
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