Sophie Mae woke early Sunday morning and strolled from the delivery door where the edges of the shimmery rocks prodded her thin soled shoes. She stretched to the sky, and the crisp air encouraged her to conquer the world.

Morning dew rested on the grass and saturated the tips of her cotton flats as she walked to the nearby maze. Banging and clattering came from inside. Sophie Mae rushed behind a hedge wall before taking a peek inside. Sweat covered her brow as memories of beggars and thieves stormed her mind.

“Hello? Who’s there?” she asked. A clamor of falling metal scared her back behind the hedge.

“Miss Sophie?” Oscar D asked. “Is that you? I’m glad you’re here.”

The gardener’s physical attributes appeared normal until he blurred into a fuzzy human shape. Seconds later, he seemed to be solid again. The drops on her lids let her see how switching invisibility looked to the other residents.

“If you’re not busy, I could really use your help. I’m not so good at this sentimental stuff.”

“What can I do?” she said, helping to collect the photos.

“Myrt’s side effect of the potion troubles her. She tries to act brave, but when you have known someone as long as I’ve known her, you get to the truth of the matter pretty quickly. She hasn’t seen her reflection for months now. We’ve tried mirrors and bowls of water, but nothing works. She’s constantly asking me how her hair looks and if she has dirt on her face. Her smile is more forced than natural these days.”

Sophie Mae sat back on her calves. “That must be hard for both of you.”

“Not so much for me, but I have a solution.” He pulled a silver-framed picture from his pocket. “Myrt hid these family photos after the potion kicked in, and we realized we might not see our kids and grandkids again.”

“I don’t understand why the potion keeps you from your family?”

“The potion is still experimental. If we were to visit our children and grandkids, they’d notice we had stopped aging. Word travels fast these days, and a terrified nation would clamor for the life-extending elixir, putting them at risk.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Who would? Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Yesterday. I was trimming the ivy, and it occurred to me that I should carry Myrt’s picture in my pocket. Then when she asks me how she looks I can flash the picture. She’s looked the same forever but now has this grand illusion of being frumpy.” He cleaned the dust from the frame and placed it on a metal stand, also pulled from his pocket.

“This is one of my favorites of Myrt, and our first granddaughter, Evelyn. Wrinkles and dirt didn’t bother the child. See how intrigued they are by each other? Evelyn enjoyed being close to someone who loved her.”

“So, you want to set up these pictures and present them to Myrt?”

“My plan is to set them up along the maze, and as we turn each corner, Myrt will find another surprise from the past. Then she can see that her face is ever beautiful. I don’t mind saying I’m desperate for anything to stop all this worrying. Do you think it’s too mushy?”

“Not at all. She’ll love it. Flowers and ribbons would be nice.”

“That’s a marvelous idea. I want to do this before dusk today. We should get started.”

Sophie Mae stood. “You put the frames in the right order, and I’ll find the ribbons.”

Oscar D saluted and got to work, organizing the pictures on the bench.

Darting through the kitchen and straight to the second floor, Sophie Mae knocked on Mrs. Worthington’s workroom door.

“Come in.” Straight pins balanced in the corner of her lips as she worked on a hem. “Sophie Mae. I’m almost done with this pair of trousers for Mr. Langston. What do you think?”

She stroked the soft fabric. “They’re wonderful.”

“Did you come for a fitting?”

“No, ma’am. I wanted to ask you for scrap ribbons or fabric. I’m helping Mr. Mayville with a project.”

Mrs. Worthington poked the pins into a sewing tomato tangled in a rainbow of unused thread. She opened a closet door and lifted a wicker basket three feet in height. “Ribbons, fabric, and a few mismatched buttons. Take what you want and you may return the leftovers later today.”

“I will, thank you.”

The basket tapped against Sophie Mae’s thigh with every right step. She entered the maze and giggled at Oscar D, who bellowed out a sailor’s tune.

Dropping the basket next to him, she opened the lid and pulled out a handful of sparkling ribbons and beautiful squares of fabric.

“You’re right,” Oscar D said. “I think Myrt would love those.”

They each grabbed an armful of frames and walked to the first turn. Oscar D bent and stared at the metallic gazing ball and the reflection made his nose look three times larger. He sat the frames on the ground a picked up the one on top.

“My brother took this a week after Myrt and I first met. It was hard to take my eyes off her. We were both in our early twenties. Oh, to be that young and spry again.”

Oscar D reached into his pocket for a side table, placing the picture near the back corner.

“Where’d you get the table?”

“It’s my nightstand. I’ll put it back when I’m done here.”

Tiny hummingbirds nosedived each other over the bubbling water fountain in the next section. “Like little fighter jets,” Oscar D said. “Loads of fun to watch.”

“That’s you in the uniform,” Sophie Mae said, pointing at the next photograph. “Myrt’s next to you. Is that your first child?”

“Yes, Clayton.” His eyes misted. “Not too long after, I left them for the war. You might not know about that. The papers called it the Civil War, but there wasn’t much civil about it. I left my family behind to secure their future. Myrt was two months pregnant.

I made it home two years later and met Daniel, my second son, for the first time. He was already walking and didn’t know who I was. Many assumed the boys were twins, though Clayton was always taller.”

“Did you have more kids?”

“Yes, Mildred, but she died of illness before her first birthday.”

The pain flashing in his eyes caused her to doubt his plan to cheer up Myrt. Still, they continued through the maze until they reached the exit.

“This one goes last. In the back are my sons, Clayton and Daniel. They gave me sixteen grandchildren. We took this photo in 1925 when a traveling photographer came to town. We all dressed up in our Easter best. See how the grandkids are blurry? They complained their clothes were itchy and wiggled the entire time.”

Myrt graced the middle of the sizeable group and wore an enormous smile. “1925? She hasn’t aged a day.”

“This family is the single most important accomplishment of my life—Myrt and my children and grandchildren. Because of my desire to be with them, I’ve survived wars and disease. If there was ever a question of why, family was the answer.”

Oscar D’s mind drifted into the past, and Sophie Mae held his hand. Family was the one thing she desired but might never have.

He kissed the frame and placed it on a wooden chair. “Our outside appearance matters far less than the condition of our hearts. Do you think Myrt will understand this?”

“Maybe she already does but tucked it away. I know one thing. We better get these decorations up. She might come looking for you.”

“Oh, I got that covered. I told Myrt I wanted to spend the entire day together picking flowers, and taking a long walk through town, stuff like that. Sure enough, she dashed for her apron and said she had to clean the chicken coop.” He chuckled. “That woman can’t handle me for that long.”

George the Great had spent the last hour reading over the reports from dinner when a faint knock came from the delivery door. An older man in a dingy, three-piece suit stretched out his opened palm. “I've got a letter for Mr. Cain.”

“Who’s the sender?”

“I can’t say. Never seen him before today.”

George handed him a quarter, and the beggar tossed the letter to the doormat and hobbled from the house. The handwriting on the front was familiar. What could he possibly want this time?

Hurrying to the basement lab, George read over the terse message. Ernest wanted to meet with him. In public. His head ached at the thought. Though the two men worked closely in the lab, they parted ways after differing opinions about the invisibility potion.

Ernest, the chemist assistant, had left the Gardenia Estate months ago and tried hard to return. Feigned illnesses and a forged letter from Ms. Catherine were a few of his failed attempts. None of the residents understood his desire to return to a home where he was no longer trusted.

Golden sunlight stretched across the lab floor, and he glanced at the cuckoo clock. Forty minutes until the scheduled meeting time. He grabbed the travel box from the shelf.

“Vamoose.”

The box brought him to downtown Evenland. The streets were eerily quiet after the nightly sweep of vagrants from the city. George strolled to his destination with his invisibility up. Most people in town knew his face, thanks to the posters taped to traffic signs, blaming him for the “murder of Catherine Gardenia.”

Across the quiet road and behind the five-foot stone wall was a public park. Built just after the Great War, it was a monument to those who’d sacrificed for the country’s freedom. Now it served as a homeless encampment. Huge oaks provided shade by day and protection from the elements at night.

A man in a trench coat with a large build sat alone on a cement bench. The stench of pond water drifted toward George. Making himself visible, he flipped his collar upward.

Ernest tossed moldy bread to the sickly ducks, who pecked and ripped at each other’s feathers over the food source.

“Wild animals aren’t so different from humans,” Ernest said, staring at the rippling water. “In desperation, they’re willing to lower their standards and pursue violence to survive. Perhaps that’s why I come here when I need to think. The ducks give me perspective.”

George studied Ernest. Dark bags hung from his eyes, and a dull complexion stole his youthful glow. Though he never denied his part in Ernest’s hardships, he kept his distance just the same.

Ernest flung the entire bag to the ground, and the flock tackled it. “I bet that giant house keeps you well protected from the scourges of society. Tell me, how does it feel to be separated from the world, dead among the living?”

“I got your letter,” George said. “The papers will never believe your insane story.”

“For all your intelligence and logic, you still don’t have a lick of sense. Any normal person would’ve seen this coming. This kind of thing happens when you murder people.”

“You are the expert,” George said. “Tell me, how does it feel to live like a street rat?”

“It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your patronizing spirit,” Ernest smirked. “It’s people like you who have brought the country to a standstill. Men who grew up poor but scammed their way out of poverty. Men who no longer care for the weak and vulnerable. Hundreds are dropping dead by the week, and here you are, worried about your reputation if the potion makes a few people ill.”

Ernest started down the sidewalk but was seized by George.

“You know the potion can’t be released,” George said. “It’s not ready. Imagine a populace of desperate, invisible people. They would take advantage of others. Businesses would be looted, and the economy would collapse. Medical and charity organizations would fold without donations. My friend, consider your next step carefully. If you go to the paper with lies, I will find you.”

“And kill me, too? That makes for an even better story. ‘Man Kills Old Friend.’ I don’t fear you, circus magician.” Ernest tugged his arm free and hobbled into the curling fog.

Branches snapped in the woods as a gang of downtrodden men lurched toward him with clubs and nets in their hands. Greed filled their eyes. The signs posted around the city offered a nice reward for the magician turned murderer. Time to go.

A gigantic oak was all George the Great needed. He slipped behind the thick trunk and made himself invisible. The men searched the area, dumbfounded at his disappearance.

“He must’ve climbed it,” one man said. “We’ll smoke him out!”

A skeletal man struck the tree with a self-made torch. The blaze inched up the trunk and burst bright as the sun, engulfing the dried leaves clinging to branches. The crowd cheered and thrust their fists into the air.

George the Great stood in the middle of the road, shaking his head in disbelief. Why are they cheering? They just burned down their shelter. Those men, with invisibility potion, could burn down the city.

With his travel box tucked under his arm, he strolled back to the estate, pondering what Ernest had said about him being poor and weak. I have never lived in poverty. I lived at the university, right? In the dormitories.

The memories of his childhood seemed locked away, and even his mother’s face eluded him. There’s no time for the past. I had better monitor Ernest. He’s more delusional than I thought.