6 – Chowder Surprise (Pt. 2)

 

Stellaluna crept into her spacious walk-in closet, stepping past racks of dresses and shoes. Barry rarely ever went in there. He kept his clothes in the dresser in their room. A few of his suits reserved for special occasions were set aside on one rack, along with several pairs of his shoes on the floor. Other than that, the closet was all hers.

A chest of drawers in the back corner of the closet held her underthings. It was a good place to stash her new books. Stellaluna turned on the light, and pulled the cat book out of the plastic bag. Her fingers ran across the markings on the page as she looked at the various illustrations featuring a gray cat. What did any of the words mean?

Off in the distance, footsteps approached. Stellaluna shoved the book back in the bag, and slipped it under a pile of socks in the drawer. She turned off the light and stepped out of the closet to meet Barry.

“What were you doing in there?” Barry asked.

“Counting shoes, to make sure none of the servants stole any.”

Barry’s face broke into a grin, like Stellaluna knew it would. “Smart girl. You can’t trust any of them.”

“You sure can’t.” Stellaluna’s mind wandered to the woman servant she had talked to, about books and arranged marriages. What was her name? Jessie? Despite their different social classes, they had more in common than Stellaluna would have guessed.

A servant poked his head through the open doorway. “Master Callahan? I’m sorry to disturb you.” His voice trembled. “But there’s trouble in the restaurant.”

“What kind of trouble?” Barry asked warily.

“A customer… wants to speak with you. You should come quickly.”

What could have possibly happened to make a customer request Barry? It must be something far more exciting than a bunch of books Stellaluna couldn’t read. So she wasted no time in following Barry and the servant to the restaurant.

Barry, Stellaluna, and the servant walked into the restaurant. People crowded around a table a couple sat at. A waitress stood nearby. The man seated shouted something about fingers.

Barry approached the table, shooing people out of the way. “Hello, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

“The clam chowder!” The man pushed his bowl towards Barry. “Look at that!”

Stellaluna stood next to Barry. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The man stuck his spoon in it, and fished out some sort of lumpy object covered in thick broth and clams.

“What is that?” Barry asked.

“A finger!”

“Now, how would a finger get in our food?” Barry asked.

“You tell me! I want a refund.”

“Are you sure it’s a finger?”

“Of course I’m sure. I can see its nail. Look.” The man dropped the object onto a plate, and used his spoon to push away food particles and broth, revealing what was clearly a severed finger.

Stellaluna covered her mouth, holding back a gag.

“Is it real?” Barry asked.

“Of course it’s real!” The man grabbed a fork, and stabbed the finger with it. It barely pierced the surface. “I bet if you peel away the skin, you’ll see the bone.”

Barry nodded to the servant. “Take the… finger to the kitchen and rinse it.”

The servant eyed the appendage in disgust. “Is that necessary, Master Callahan?”

“Of course. We’ll be able to tell for sure it’s real.”

The servant grabbed a cloth napkin and, face turned away, picked up the finger with it. He rushed to the kitchen with his free hand over his mouth.

Barry eyed the small crowd gathered around. “The show’s over. Get back to your meals.” As people dispersed, Barry addressed the man. "I'll be back in a minute, after I figure out what went wrong."

 

Stellaluna entered the kitchen with Barry. Not that she wanted to see the finger, but she did want to see what everyone back there had to say about it. Was it one of their fingers?

The servant vomited into a trash can, while Yannick used a fork to poke at something on the counter. He said something in German to a blond-haired male servant next to him.

“Hey!” Barry shouted at the pair, making them jump. “In this house, we speak English.”

“Sorry.” But Yannick’s tone didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

“Now get out of the way. Let me see this ‘finger.’” Barry took the fork from Yannick, and the two servants stepped back.

Stellaluna couldn’t bear to look at the thing. “You don’t think it’s real?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he slipped a fake in his food to get a free meal. After all, nobody back here is missing a finger.” Barry glanced over to the opposite side of the kitchen, where a chef had one eye on cooking food, and another eye on the drama. “Right?”

“Nobody in the kitchen,” the chef said. “I can’t count for all the other servants and workers.”

Barry turned to the three servants. “Do any of you know of anyone missing any fingers?”

“No,” they all said.

“Someone get me a good knife.”

The blond-haired servant grabbed a steak knife, and handed it over. Barry held the finger down with the fork, and dug the knife into finger, stripping away skin and revealing dead tissue. Nausea overcame Stellaluna, and she looked away.

“Yes, that’s a bone.” Barry sighed, and marched over to the chef. “How did a finger get into our clam chowder?”

“From the factory that made it? I don’t know where else.”

“Don’t you check our food for that before you cook it?”

“I’m kind of on my own today,” the chef said.

“Where do you keep the clam chowder?”

The chef pointed to a large cupboard behind him. Barry opened it. A shelf on the bottom contained cases of various types of canned soups, clam chowder included.

Stellaluna gasped. “Our soup is store bought?”

“Of course. What, you think I can afford to buy freshly-made ingredients every day that go bad the next? It is much cheaper and efficient to buy canned food. Buy them in bulk, it’s 20 ameros a can. And I’m selling it for 750!”

“But you always tell people it’s freshly made.”

“It is. Straight from the can to the stove. They should be grateful we don’t microwave our food like some places.” Barry pointed his finger at her. “Now, don’t you go telling anyone about this. Not even Zailey. You hear me?”

Stellaluna nodded, but she had a feeling it would soon become public knowledge. After all, Barry would have to come up with an excuse for why there was a finger in the food. It was better to place the blame on the factory, than have people think their workers were losing fingers. “What will you tell people?”

“I don’t know yet.” Barry picked up a can of clam chowder, and read the label. “But I am going to call this company and complain.”

“What about the customer?” a waitress asked. “He’s very upset.”

“Tell him we won’t charge him.” Barry glared at the chef. “It can come from your paycheck.”

“What!”

“Maybe you’ll learn to inspect the food before serving it.”

Stellaluna’s mouth fell. That was harsh. And the man needed the money more than Barry. “Is that necessary?”

“Of course it’s necessary!” Barry shouted at Stellaluna. He pointed his finger to the back door. “Get out! You have no business being back here anyway.” His eyes landed on the three servants. “And all of you too. Get back to work!”

 

~~~~~

 

Luke shared his vaccination concerns with Clay as soon as he arrived home, but Clay heard none of it.

“That doctor should have his license revoked!” he shouted. “Not worth the risk. It might give the kid autism. Jesus Christ. An autistic child is better than a dead one!”

Luke left out the bit where Doctor Clemens said 100% of people who get vaccinated die. “You think I should still get her vaccinated?”

“Of course! Everyone in the ESA is vaccinated. I’ve been there several times, and there’s nothing wrong with any of them.” Clay paused. “At least not medically.”

Luke nodded. If an entire country could get away with mandating vaccines, then they couldn’t be too harmful. “Maybe I will then.”

“You better do it before enrolling her in that school.”

That was another headache. Enrolling Skye in the local school. She’d never been to a school before, and he’d hoped to squeeze her into Kindergarten before the school year was out. “I’ll make her the appointment now.”

“Good. I don’t want my only granddaughter dying of measles.”

 

Luke was able to get an appointment the next day. He drove Skye up to Redding, and to the clinic.

The building was run down, eerily silent, and practically empty. One person sat in the waiting room, and there was only one kiosk to check in at. Luke did, and the ETA read five minutes. The two took seats against the back wall. Luke pulled out his phone while Skye turned around in her chair to stare at the wall directly behind them. She pressed her palm against it, over and over.

“Don’t touch that,” Luke whispered.

Skye continued touching it. Luke rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Don’t cry to me when you get sick from touching a dirty wall.”

She stopped to look at him. For a moment, Luke thought his words had an effect. But shortly after, she went back to touching the wall.

A man in a white lab coat opened a door, and called Luke’s name. Luke scooped Skye up, and followed him down a hallway.

The pharmacist led them into a room with a couple of chairs, and typical medical equipment. Luke and Skye sat in the chairs, while the pharmacist handed Luke a tablet.

“I need you to read this over carefully, fill out the forms, then sign and date it,” the pharmacist said. “I’ll be right back.”

The pharmacist left the room. Luke swiped through the first few screens, which listed warnings of all the side effects for each vaccine. He had to sign each list with his name, and check a box that said he understood the risks and would not sue the business if something bad happened as a result. A lot of it made him pause and think twice about getting Skye vaccinated. He knew his father would be upset if he didn’t. He knew plenty of people were vaccinated with no problems. He himself was one of those people. But what if Skye wasn’t? What if she got autism or schizophrenia, all because he was paranoid about her dying of measles? In the end, he signed without reading them.

The next screen he had to fill out Skye’s health information. Any allergies or medications. The name of her doctor. Emergency contacts. Family history of health issues. If she was a minor and if so, who was filling the form out on her behalf.

Then came a questionnaire asking if Skye had been sick in the last two weeks. If she’d ever had seizures. If she had Rhondo-Polins Disease. If she was allergic to latex. If she was pregnant or planning to become pregnant. Luke tapped no on each line, then signed with his finger. He selected the date right as the pharmacist returned with a small box in his hand.

He set the box aside on the desk, near a sink. “Read everything?”

“Yep.” Luke handed him the tablet.

He scrolled through it. “Looks good. So you understand all the risks and dangers of getting your child vaccinated?”

“Yes.”

“Because she really doesn’t need it. Her doctor said so himself.”

“I know.”

“Getting sick is part of childhood. I’ve had a lot of these illnesses. They sucked, but I survived them fine.”

“I wouldn’t know, because I was vaccinated,” Luke said. “I survived those.”

“Okay.” The pharmacist’s tone was doubtful as he got to work. He started by wiping Skye’s arm with alcohol. “This will feel like a little bee sting,” he said to Skye, in that voice people use for reassuring small children. “But it’ll only last a few seconds.”

Luke held Skye’s hand. But Skye didn’t acknowledged either of them. Her eyes were glued to a nearby tray of tubes and glass bottles. Good. Luke would rather her not see the pharmacist coming at her with a needle.

The pharmacist pricked the needle into her arm. Luke braced himself for tears. For cries. For screams. For Skye to at least grip his hand.

But she didn’t react in any way. She simply continued staring at the tubes as though someone hadn’t stuck a needle in her arm.

“Good girl,” the pharmacist praised. “Here’s the next one.”

Skye still didn’t flinch. Nor at the following one.

“One more shot. Then, you can pick a toy from the toy chest for being so good.”

Did Skye even know what was happening? Her attention hadn’t left the tray.

“Why isn’t she crying?” Luke asked, after he pulled out the last shot, and covered the spot with a band-aid.

“I don’t know. It’s strange, but not worrisome. Some kids have higher pain tolerances than others. Honestly, I’m more worried that she hasn’t been paying attention to us.”

“She rarely talks,” Luke said.

“Even so, what we’re doing is more exciting than a tray of medical equipment. The shyest of children would still watch us.”

Luke was just grateful it was medical equipment instead of another wall. “I guess it’s a little weird.”

“Very weird. But if her doctor didn’t find anything wrong with her, then it’s nothing to worry about.”

Luke thanked him and, while Skye rummaged through a toy chest, made another appointment for the shots that required a second dose.

“How are you feeling?” Luke asked Skye, once they got in his truck.

She answered by spinning the wheel of the tiny toy car she had picked out.

“You like cars more than dolls?”

She continued fiddling with the wheel.

“You know, talking to you is like talking to a wall. Is that why you like walls so much? Because you are one?”

She stared up at him blankly.

“Don’t you have anything to say about what happened in there?”

“No.” Skye went back to spinning the wheel. Over and over and over again.

Luke started up the car. At least she said something.