Marigold
Pacific Ocean
After lunch, Helen rose to use the bathroom.
“Go after I come back. Someone has to watch our bags.”
“Mom, I promise our bags will be safe.”
Helen didn’t look so sure. She picked up her purse by the strap and slung it over her shoulder.
The plane was quiet. Half the passengers were asleep, the other half expectantly waiting for Superman to begin. As Marigold and Helen made their way down the aisle, an elderly Chinese man rose to speak to Helen.
“You look so familiar,” he said, clasping her hand. “I’ve seen you somewhere before. I can’t place it, but I know I have. Were you by chance a—”
“No.” Helen jerked her arm back. “Never.”
“But I could have sworn—”
“I’m no one.”
Agitated, Helen pressed forward, not stopping until she reached the lavatories. The encounter had clearly distressed her. Her fingers were shimmering again, losing color.
“Breathe,” Marigold said, taking her mother by the shoulders. Even through her gloves, she could feel the goosebumps rising on Helen’s skin. She was cold, too cold.
Stumbling, Helen slumped against the wall.
Pamela and another attendant rushed to help, lowering her mother to the floor and grabbing a duffel labeled First Aid Kit.
Their efforts would be futile, Marigold knew.
No amount of aspirin or CPR would revive her mother.
Thinking fast, she hurried into the galley for a cup of hot water and splashed it over Helen’s head.
Gasping, Helen jerked awake.
“What happened?” she asked, alarmed to see herself surrounded by crew. Shakily, she got up. Her skin was nearly translucent, to the point that Marigold could make out the red carpeting underneath.
“Ma’am, your face!” cried Pamela. “It’s—”
“What?” Helen whispered.
From the woman’s shock, Marigold could tell exactly what she’d seen. What several of the now clustered attendants were seeing.
She felt the color drain from her own face. That nauseous churning in her stomach vanished, replaced by a cold clench of fear.
“Never mind, ma’am,” Pamela said hastily, as depth returned to Helen’s skin. “I must have . . .” She cleared her throat. “May I escort you back to your seat and get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” Helen repeated firmly until everyone left her alone. She turned to Marigold and pointed at the lavatory as if nothing had happened. “Are you going in first or am I?”
“You go ahead.”
As Helen slipped past the folding door, Marigold gazed at the empty space where her mother’s shadow should have been.
The situation was worse than she’d feared. Bad enough that Helen had just vanished involuntarily, with scarce control over when she came back. But now someone else had noticed her becoming invisible—multiple people in fact! This had never happened before.
Marigold balled her hands, her nails biting into the thin nylon of her gloves.
Science had taught her that things didn’t simply disappear. Either they dispersed or they were changed into something else. There were always traces. Broken bits that were waiting to be reunited.
For the life of her, Marigold would find every piece. She’d put her mother back together again.