It was quiet for a few minutes. Well, maybe more than a few minutes, her wine glass was empty. They all turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Brandon and Melanie emerged on the landing, arms full of little clear lexans.
“Becky, they keep orienting themselves.” Melanie put one Tupper on the table with a small thunk. “Look.” She turned the Tupper and sure enough the little rana moved his front legs hand over hand and shuffled his back feet as the container moved, constantly keeping his nose pointed in the original direction.
“Melanie, I told you not to rotate them.” Looking to her parents for backing, Becky sighed.
Before her folks could put in their two cents, Melanie continued with her mini-lecture on the orienting process of frogs. She picked up the lexan and softly but quickly shifted it onto its side, leaving the inhabitant on his back. She put it on the table again, and up the little guy went, onto all six legs, squat and ready.
“That’s exactly what they’re supposed to do. So stop tormenting my frogs.” And to think she had spent this morning arguing for bonuses for the little Dr. Moreaus.
Melanie ignored her. “Now the four-legger.” She scooted over the container marked with the normal masking tape from its spot at the end of the table. Now center stage, the little rana performed, hand over hand, back legs shuffling, while Melanie rotated the container. Then she flipped him onto his back and set the Tupper upright in line with the three six-leggers.
And Becky saw it.
What Melanie and Brandon had seen. She barely paid attention to the little guy as he flipped himself up off his back and into ‘ready’ stance. It wasn’t what he did. It was what he didn’t do.
The difference was obvious. This time Becky grabbed one of the downstream frogs, flipping her softly onto her back, and as the little rana struggled briefly then expertly flipped herself upright, even Mr. and Mrs. Sorenson were getting onto their feet.
Her Dad spoke first. “Are they supposed to do that?”
“No, Dad, this is definitely new.”
When the four-legger hopped up, he faced whichever direction was easiest. No matter what she did, each time the six-leggers came to a stop, they faced the same way they had previously. All three of them, always the same direction, all the time.
Without speaking, each family member grabbed one lexan, and separated them to different rooms, hollering out. “Same way!” “Toward the bed!” “Facing the sink.” It didn’t matter though. All the phrases meant the same thing.
She left the Tuppers on the floor while scrambling down the stairs, her family close on her heels. With breath held tight, Becky flipped the light switch. All the little six-leggers were staring straight at her. Oriented the same direction as the ones upstairs. Her voice was weaker than she meant it to be. “What direction are they facing, Daddy?”
“Northwest, looks like.”
Greer walked into the lab like he owned the place. Which was silly, David thought, because he did. “Hey, pretty boy, what’s up with your stones? Tell me something interesting, because I’m footing a helluva bill for that shut-down day.”
“It’s good.” It was better than good, but David went back to perusing his pieces. He didn’t even bother to correct Greer about the ‘stones’. It was just said to annoy him anyway.
“Dude, you’ve got to give me more than that.”
David didn’t even look up. And that was the wonder of Greer. He always meant what he said just as he said it. You never needed to see his face. “All right, you are on par with Hell Creek.”
“Excellent.”
Yup, he didn’t need to see Greer’s eyes to know that the sarcasm flowed in rivers.
“Now how about something I can use?” His friend prodded. “I want information that I’ll find worthy of shutting down my dig for a full day, and I want it in complete sentences.”
He looked up, gauging what to give away and what to keep. “Well, you’ve got the iridium layer at the KT boundary, just like you were hoping. Only here, it’s better than Hell Creek because you’ve got a rapid lay down. Which gives you as close to full-on proof as you’ll ever get that the dust cover directly coincides with the dino die-out. It’s real thick at the KT, tapering off over the next several hundred years. No glass or ash content that the lab can discern-”
“You just said ‘the lab’, that means you didn’t do my analysis yourself.”
Shit. Explain, explain. David took a steadying breath. “Well, I couldn’t get it done in the time frame you wanted. The lab here did it and I oversaw it. It’s good work.”
Greer nodded slowly. “Our agreement was that you do the testing, but you farmed it out. So tell me what was so hellfire important that you shut down my dig and then blew me off for it?”
This time David looked up. “You don’t tell anyone.”
“Fine, but you tell me.”
Making his way into his office, he closed the doors behind Greer.
“Your dig is a hotspot. A magnetic jump point.”
Greer raised his eyebrows, “Do go on.”
“Every so often, a long time, even by geological standards, the earth’s poles shift . . . swap places. It happens that certain spots shift first, then the theory is that when a critical mass of hotspots, or altered areas, is hit, the poles snap. Bam! And it’s all over. North is south, south is north and all that, magnetically speaking. But no one’s seen a magnetic hotspot on the KT before. It might explain the slight discrepancies in die-out times better than the asteroid theory alone.”
“And you weren’t going to share your dinosaur theory with me?” Greer leaned forward on the desk, eyes blazing, and David wasn’t quite sure how to fill in the empty logic hole he had left. He was going to share, just not now.
“Listen, Greer, I’m still not positive. These rocks are good for it, but I need to get more. You know, most geologists never see a hotspot like this. My Dad was one of the few who did. I always look for it-”
“Jeez, Carter, that chip on your shoulder must’ve been what stunted your growth.”
“Thanks, fuckhole.”
Greer smiled, “You’re welcome.” It would have sounded very genuine if not taken in the context of following the word fuckhole. “What are you going to do when the old man kicks off?”
He shrugged; it had been a question that plagued him for many years. “Same as I’ve been doing. Sit around, live off my Dad’s money and his name.”
“Dude, I’m going to let you in on something, because I think I’m the only person who likes you enough to tell you.” Greer shook his head, but David knew that last part was true. “You are the only one who thinks you’re getting by on your Dad’s name.”
“Yes, but you don’t have all the facts. My Dad bought my way into Princeton when my grades weren’t good enough.”
“Oh, so sad, and boo hoo, and suck me. You’ve proven your worth on your own since then.” Greer sighed, and that meant that the conversation was finished. “So when are you going to get positive about this theory and let me in on it?”
“I have to go to the Appalachians next.”
“Pray tell, why?”
“Because, I was scrounging old files, looking, and three years ago there was a KT dig there. Wharton took his top dogs and then got furious when they got back because the specimens were all mislabeled. He even dismissed three of his graduate students over it. But, I’m guessing now that it might have been another hotspot. And that, my friend would make a great paper.”
“Who are you taking on this secret dig?” Greer’s arms were crossed over his chest.
“I don’t know. I only just started thinking about going back to check it out this morning. Those are the specimens I was looking over out there. By the way, they have the same iridium strata as your Warren Fault pieces. – Hey, do you want to go to Tennessee with me?”
There were three slow blinks of his eyes. “I’m a black man. Why in the hell would I want to go to Tennessee?”
“Greer, this is the new mille
nnium. No one’s going to make you jump down, turn around and pick a bale of cotton. I’m pretty sure they’ve gotten rid of that ‘separate but equal’ stuff, too.”
This time the eyes blinked once.
David smiled, “What you really have to be afraid of are the cabbages.”
“I need to fear leafy greens now?”
David shook his head. “It’s the name for the inbred, backwoods folks. They were called cabbages because the inbreeding led to large heads and equivalent mental capabilities.” The more he tried to convince Greer to come the more he realized that Greer was ideal for the spot. “Come on. They found bones. . .” He trailed off, using something Greer would enjoy as bait.
But Greer sighed. He was a smart fish, and he recognized that the worm had a hook jabbed in its back. “Haven’t your paleo guys checked it out yet?”
“Nope, there are just bits and pieces, and because they thought all the specimens were mislabeled, when they got back Wharton was furious and just threw everything into storage, calling the dig a complete waste.”
“What kind of bones are they?”
That question began to make David hopeful. “I don’t know, I’m not a paleontologist. But you’re welcome to look them over, they’re sitting right out there on the lab table.” He stood and opened the door letting Greer out into the main lab again.
They didn’t speak. Working side by side, shuffling around the lab, getting a book or a test kit here or there. After a deep intake of breath Greer uttered the first words in two hours. “Damn, this could be crap or it could be a goldmine.”
Carter just nodded. He’d had the exact same thought.
“All right, answer me honestly.” Greer squared up to David, a good nine inches taller and with all the dignity David felt lacking in his own moral fiber. “Is there a chance that these are just mislabeled specimens? That the students didn’t know what they were doing and none of this info is correct?”
David nodded. “I wasn’t on the dig. I didn’t know any of the students other than a few faces I saw in class as undergrads. I’d have to say that there’s a possibility it’s not even KT. But it appears that all the specimens are mislabeled. I have to go check it out.”
Greer nodded slowly then pulled out his palm pilot. “How long do we need?”
“Two to four weeks. No telling ‘til we get there.” Carter went back into the lab for his own schedule, cool as a cucumber, but inside wildly excited that it was Greer going with him. No one knew his shit like Greer. “The major work is already done. But the site’s three years old. It’ll take some reworking and we won’t have any students.”
David looked for a reasonable chunk of time when he could go. Most of these digs were planned months in advance. “If we just need to confirm what we have, it’ll be short, but if we find new pieces, we’ll be longer, you know how it is.”
“When?”
“A.S.A.P.”
“Then I have to head home now. Explain all this to my ever-so-understanding wife. Find a way to make it up to her. Then I can leave two Mondays from now.” His head was bent low over the palm pilot and he tapped at it rapidly with the little stylus. “But I have to be back at my place one month later.”
David picked up his red marker and drew a line through the dates Greer mentioned, noting that he had drawn through two staff meetings and a dinner with the head of the department, and all sorts of other stuff that would have to be moved. “Looks great.”
“Are you expecting U Wisconsin to kick in funding?”
David shook his head. “This is a private venture. It’s the only way I know to not have to write a paper explaining my suspicions and then wait an eon while they decide to give it back to Wharton who fucked it up in the first place.”
“Daddy?” It didn’t sound as snotty as it could have. It was from Greer and there was no malice behind it.
But David shook his head again. “Nope.” He took a deep breath. “I’m touching my trust fund for this one.”
“Really?” Greer’s eyebrows rose. “Then I’ll fly in baggage and try not to eat.”
“Nah, we’re going nice all the way. Once I touch it, it’s touched. It’s about the principle, not the amount. But this will be worth it.”
Jordan let the water sluice down over him. He had been right, which usually made him pretty happy. Except when his prediction had been a solid ass-whupping. When he had gotten to town, even before he had unpacked, he had driven in ever-widening circles from his new place, looking for a gym.
The first evening after joining, he’d met Martin. So they had signed up for racquetball together, and every Wednesday, except when he’d been in Florida, they had played. Jordan had come close quite a few times, but he had beaten Martin only once. The workout was good and the challenge and standing date was better.
If he was ever going to be in good shape and have a healthy sex life it would be now. He had avoided relationships through med school, focusing on his studies and what few one-night-stands he could manage. It worked well and didn’t distract much, but didn’t keep the johnson as happy as he’d have liked.
He cranked the water hotter, something he hadn’t done before receiving his gas bill just yesterday. He could afford it. And today he had earned it. God, he ached. So he stood there, hands flat on the slick tile, one leg straight, the other bent in calf stretches. After a few seconds he switched legs.
His mind wandered to Jillian in her tub, surrounded by white bubbles. He’d seen her place. Her tub probably had the same yellowing tiles with cracked caulking that his did. But in his imagination it was a pristine white claw foot.
It got bigger. Room for two. He added Marla from UCLA. One of the other med students. Two years older than him and hotter than hell. She hadn’t had time for any of them, as she was hell-bent on a surgeon out of residency and with his loans already paid off. But she was in his tub right now in his head. With Jillian nonetheless.
By the time the shower water turned colder, the tub was a hot tub. And included his high school crush, but with bigger boobs, Angelina Jolie, and Marcy the tech from earlier today. All kissing each other. And . . .
Shit.
He had to face two of these women tomorrow. The water was cold and he thought that the phone was ringing anyway. So he cranked the faucet off and grabbed for one of the two towels he owned. Wrapping it around him as he ran, he dove to catch the phone before the machine picked up. He didn’t get to look at the caller ID even, “Hello?”
“Jordan.”
It was his Dad. And that in itself was odd. They weren’t estranged, just not close. If it wasn’t a holiday, they didn’t talk. So instantly he was alert for problems. “Hey, Dad, is something going on?”
“Yeah,” It was a sigh, low and long, like when his dad talked about Mom. “Eddie died.”
“Oh, no.” The weight in his chest took him by surprise. He and Eddie had rarely seen each other since they were children, and Eddie had always seemed ill at ease after Jordan had gone off to pursue medicine and Eddie had left high school early to go into construction. In the ten years since he’d been out, Eddie had made a name in Lake James, built himself a nice house, married a cute girl and had a daughter. Then got leukemia. “I thought he was in remission.”
“Well, they thought he was better, that he was going to make it. He put the weight back on. Grew some hair, was fine. . . we thought.”
Jordan wracked his brains. He couldn’t talk medicine with his Dad, but he had with Eddie. They had finally seemed to be on more even footing, and Eddie now spoke some med-lingo from his time in the ‘slammer,’ as he referred to the hospital. He had seemed fine at the family Fourth of July picnic, only a few months ago. “So, do you know what happened?”
“Don’t think anyone really does. He got some stomach flu. Next thing you know he’s in a coma and then this morning he died.”
That didn’t sound like anything Jordan had ever heard of. He wanted to drill his Dad. Get answers. Because that sure didn’t make a
shitlick of sense.
“Funeral’s Friday. You should be here.”
“I will, I’ll be there sometime tomorrow. I’ll call and let you know when I get in.”
And that was the end of the conversation. He stood with the cordless phone loose in his hand, shoulders slumped, one hand running down his wet face.
In a few moments he was on the line with Jillian, briefly wondering if she was also wrapped in a towel, bothered mid-bubble bath by his call. But the thought was momentary at most. Her sympathies were heartfelt and he was told in no uncertain terms to leave for the funeral right away, she’d be fine inspecting the latest staph infection by herself. She even offered to drive him to the airport. He almost told her ‘no’, then thought better of it. Between low level pay, student loans, and now a last minute plane ticket, he could use the savings from not parking.
Next he called Landerly and left a message. Then hopped online, and even called the airline, getting all the requirements for the grievance discount. Thank god for credit cards. Lord knew, none of it was in his account right now.
Becky protested. “You’re trying to distract me from my frogs.” She sounded like a petulant teenager and she knew it. But that was the politics of the professional academic world. Gain your footing and hold on for all you’re worth.
“Rebecca, what, really, have you found out about those frogs?”
“Nothing unusual-”
“Exactly. So I don’t understand why you are so determined to miss out on this great opportunity.” Warden sat back in his chair. If he was the villain in a film, he would look just like this. Only creepy music would be playing in full digital surround sound.
She hadn’t told any of them about the directionality of the frogs. Probably because she couldn’t explain it. And she didn’t want anyone else explaining it before she found a suitable solution. Not that she had found even an unsuitable solution in the last week. Her mouth opened, but there wasn’t anything to come out. She closed it again. Biodiversity was her job. She traveled all the time to collect and study animals. She would pack all her frogs home first. They would be in better hands with Brandon and Melanie, even if they would be slightly tormented.
Resonance Page 4