“Heather did mention something interesting last meeting,” Cameron said. “From what she can tell, the politicians are more to blame for the fracking starting up so soon.”
Pete tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“There have been some really shady deals going on between the mayor and the safety commission. I’ve mentioned reading between the lines of the paper before, but man, it’s ridiculous now.” Cameron stood from his spot and grabbed a file folder. For the next hour, he explained what he had learned off an intern in the mayor’s office and what all of it ended up meaning in the long run. Their next plan of action, as The Environmental Crew, was to forget about the oil company.
“Not because they’re not bad,” Cameron stated again and again, “but because we’re getting nowhere with them. We need to figure out how to change the laws and sway the politicians to start a better care initiative for the land we have left.”
“I… wow,” Pete said, still marveling at the information. “I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this.”
“Yeah, well, maybe we were too zealous with our protests on the oil company. Maybe. But they were bright and shiny and easy to single out. Like Heather said, though, they were only allowed to move in because of a flaw in the law. Maybe they won’t be able to move out now, but we can prevent the bad stuff from happening again.”
Pete liked this idea so much more than attacking the company. If they wanted to make substantive changes to their world, the crew had to do so in the clear and logical way. They couldn’t do it through sneak attacks or protests, but through civil discussions and policy changes. Even Joe and Josh, some of the more radical professors in their university, had started to calm down right alongside Cameron and Heather.
“So, if we’re not responsible for the leak,” Pete said, “then who is?”
“Who knows? Maybe a competitor wanted to know. There’s been another company trying to move into the territories. Which is why, more than before, we need to work on the laws.”
“Of course,” Pete said. A competitor. It made so much more sense. It wasn’t anyone’s personal fault, but the fault of warring companies. Always follow the money; it yields the quickest answers. “How did a random company know about my tattoos and indigenous culture, though? Why would they put something like that into an e-mail?”
“To make it look like a protest group. Blame the Natives,” Cameron said, clear derision in his voice. “And you’ve been giving lectures, right? On indigenous art?”
“Yeah. But…. Oh.” Pete saw the motivation and plan in front of him. Pete had been teaching Inuit art and summarizing the most famous artists, including his father every single Thursday and Saturday. Pete’s father had designed all of Pete’s tattoos after paintings he’d done or stories he told. Someone could have easily swiped that information from a lecture or from the spotlight page on the museum website and put it into an e-mail along with a virus. Everything would have seemed more authentic and innocuous that way, while a competitor got into a company’s system and stole all they could about their upcoming budgets and expansion plans.
This whole ordeal really was no one’s fault.
And yet, Pete didn’t feel better. His fight with Jason clawed at him like frostbite and left him numb. Pete let Cameron finish his rant about the city council, before he rose to politely excuse himself.
“I should go home. You know, get ready for the lecture series tomorrow. Thanks for listening to me rant.”
“Not at all. I think this was a productive meeting.” Cameron led Pete to the door and gave him a hug, Cameron’s beard scratching Pete’s neck. “If you need me for anything, let me know, okay?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
Darkness surrounded Pete as he went in search of his bike. As he pedaled home, he touched the tattoos under his shirt over and over again. He tried to remember the stories his grandmother told him, but it only made him feel sick. Someone had taken these beautiful myths and artifacts and used them for their own twisted agenda. More than that, they’d driven a wedge between Pete and Jason.
Pete thought of the enchanted owl painting his father had done and how it often blended with the bird of hope story his mother told him before bed. The story usually made him feel better, but now, it only made him think of Micah.
Pete glanced up at the sky, wondering what star was Micah’s and if he could see it from here. Was Micah afraid of the dark like Pete was in that very moment? Was Jason holding him and showing him that star to make him feel better? When Pete was in his small one-bedroom apartment, he wondered if Jason was sleeping when he was sleeping. And if, like some kind of miracle, he could ever forgive him for leaving too soon.
Chapter Thirteen
JASON GRABBED a can of soup from the grocery shelf and put it into his cart. He didn’t even bother to read any of the labels or count the cans as he added them. He only stopped when it seemed like he had enough. Over a week had passed since the blow-up with Pete. So far the worst ramification that had come from the fight wasn’t the lost sleep or the twisting feeling in his gut every time he saw Pete’s old texts, but the fact that Micah seemed to miss him.
When Micah had asked for Pete three nights ago, and Jason had told him that Pete wouldn’t be coming around for a while, Micah’s face had fallen. He’d refused to eat his dinner the next day, stating that he’d only eat soup and cake. Jason soon grew frustrated and gave him the only soup they had in the house. Micah barely touched it since it was plain vegetable (his least favorite), but it was better than nothing. Now, Jason was stocking up before another weekend awaited them. With no Pete and no prospects of getting him back, Jason needed to give in to his son’s demands.
Soup for life. Jason sighed. Nothing else mattered.
Jason’s cart’s front basket was heaped with cream of mushroom, chicken, and celery along with some tomatoes and chicken noodle. When he pushed forward, the cans rolled into the other section of the cart, smashing a loaf of bread. Jason didn’t even register the error. He needed to swing the cart with his leg to combat the broken wheel and the now much heavier front. He nearly crashed into the person coming around the corner. A woman with long dark hair and pale skin cried out and dropped her bag of chips.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jason said, snapping back into reality. “Let me help.”
“No worries. You seem to have other things on your mind.”
When Jason handed back over the chips, he realized he was staring at Cassandra, his saintlike real estate agent.
“Oh, Cass,” he said. “I’ve never been so glad to see you.”
“Really? You thinking of buying another place?”
“No, but if you have any of that chili you made me ages ago left in your freezer, I think I’d pay you three times what it was worth.”
“Huh.” Cassandra grinned as she considered the offer. “You know, maybe I should have gone to culinary school.”
“You have my son’s vote. He keeps asking for soup, but I really think he wants the chili you made.”
“Well, in that case, let me drop some over tonight. Does that sound okay? I’ll even include the secret family recipe so you can try to make it yourself.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, seriously.”
“All part of the job.” She appraised Jason’s untucked collared shirt and wind-blown hair, along with his mismatched suit jacket over random torn jeans. “You okay, Jason? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out in anything less than designer jeans. Has the darkness been getting to you?”
“Kind of. But it’s more like my job is getting to me.”
Cassandra hissed. “Yeah, yeah. I heard about the hacking.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I saw something on the news a while ago. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes before I headed out to grab some chips before my poker game tonight.”
Jason was struck by how many questions he wanted to ask. For now, he pushed away the idea of someone who was barely five feet one inches t
all and dressed like a librarian buying Cool Ranch Doritos for a poker night. His office had shut down all discussion about the hacking, refusing to address it beyond those first few days when everyone had to remember a dozen new passwords. Since the hacking only reminded Jason of what separated himself and Pete, he’d been relieved for the radio silence. But the story still had a huge hole in it.
“What did you hear on the news?”
“Oh, something to do with another oil company. The hack looks like it was taken on by them since you guys were planning on expanding to green energy sources, in addition to fracking, and they wanted to know the expansion plans. Good for your company, by the way! Playing both angel and devil.”
Jason’s stomach dropped. Green energy? The news knew about that? Oh, no. It meant that his budgets for the expansion had been leaked, including his random proposal that no one—not even his boss—was supposed to see. Jason’s palms started to sweat and slid on the shopping cart. Another soup can fell on the loaf of bread, smashing the other side.
“Anyway,” Cassandra said. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll drop by at nine tonight, after my game. Sound okay?”
“Yeah, the little man should be in bed by then. I’ll be up. Thank you again.”
She nodded and squeezed his arm sympathetically. “Don’t worry. We take care of our own here. And I’m glad to see you’re still here. The Yukon is hard on people, especially during the darker parts. But you’re getting the hang of it.”
Jason waved to her as she walked down to the express aisle. His mind still reeling, Jason wedged his cart heaped with soup and smashed bread to the sidelines so he could scroll through his messages. He flinched when he recognized an e-mail from the museum’s newsletter and a few more from work. He opened the last one and stared in shock.
Dear fellow Eakon Oil employees,
We wanted to wait until we were sure about what happened on November 18th. Since the local news has the story now, we knew it would be good to inform everyone that Cobblestone Industries, our rival company, has been found responsible for our security breech. Sensitive information has been leaked, but we assure you that we have handled the issue. On Monday morning, we will have a meeting in conference room B where we will go over all the details, what this means for the future, and answer any questions.
We are deeply sorry if you have felt at fault during our investigation. At Eakon Oil, our security is our main priority, along with the well-being of our staff.
Please have a great weekend. We will see you all at nine on Monday.
Sincerely,
Chester Lake and Arnold Napier
A few messages from Bobby followed the work e-mail, mostly gloating about how he’d done nothing wrong. One from Mr. Napier, addressed only to Jason, made his stomach churn with nerves. He bit his lip as he opened it, bracing himself for the worst.
Jason,
Hang around after the meeting on Monday. We want to discuss your budget plans. Maybe the leak was the best thing to happen to us, because now, we already have critical praise for our efforts in green energy. Well done—but Mr. Lake wants more details. Be prepared with them by Monday.
Take care,
AN
Jason reread the e-mail several times. Did that mean his random daydreaming about green energy was actually going to work? Oh, wow. Jason needed to sit down. He couldn’t believe this, and really, given the company’s reputation, he wasn’t sure if he could buy into their sudden change of heart. Chances were that Jason’s expansion would be postponed indefinitely, but kept on a project roster so the company could always say they were helping the earth.
But it didn’t matter. Jason’s plan had worked, and somehow, this whole hacking debacle had been solved. The Environmental Crew—and Pete—were not to blame. Some doubts still niggled at the back of Jason’s mind. If Cobblestone Industries did take credit for this, then how did Pete’s symbol get on the e-mail? Maybe Bobby wasn’t getting the message quite right. When Jason opened up the museum newsletter while he was in line, the answer to his question appeared. For the museum’s special spotlight section, a photo of Pete in full costume was set with a text box explaining the importance of Inuit art in the museum’s upcoming winter schedule, along with several photos of paintings that Floyd Odjick had done.
Floyd Odjick? Jason repeated. Pete’s father? Oh. Pete had mentioned his father’s art before, but Jason hadn’t realized how famous he was. One of the first pieces displayed in the e-mail was titled The White Owl of Hope.
“Fuck,” Jason said aloud. He slammed his hand into the cart, sending some of the soup cans cascading. A few people in the queue shot him looks, but Jason ignored them. He felt like the biggest ass in history. He wanted to run out of the grocery store and find Pete to beg his forgiveness—but he still had to pick Micah up from Miss Betsy’s. Make him a dinner of cream of mushroom and then get Cassandra’s chili as a backup dinner for the weekend. There were so many things he still needed to do, and it was pitch black outside, making his need to become a spontaneous romantic even more difficult. How exactly was Jason supposed to throw himself down on Pete’s door and beg for his love when he was carting around at least seven heavy-duty soup cans?
Jason sighed as he moved through the line, paid with credit, and then got the bags in his car. He was halfway to the sitter when he realized he’d said he loved Pete. In his mind, sure, but it was still there and present like a bruise.
“Daddy!” Micah ran to him from Miss Betsy’s porch as soon as he showed up. He was bundled up in his snowsuit, along with mittens, hat, and scarf. Miss Betsy looked freezing, even in her giant parka.
“Hi little guy,” Jason said, scooping Micah into his arms. “Have you been making Miss Betsy freeze?”
Miss Betsy rolled her eyes and shrugged. “He’s getting better with the dark, so I figured he’d want to wait on the porch.”
After thanking Miss Betsy profusely for watching Micah so late, Jason strapped him into his car seat. Micah called out for his Lion King soundtrack, but Jason held off.
“I was wondering if you’d be up to go see some art this weekend, little man?” Jason asked, catching Micah’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“What kind of art? Like cartoons?”
“I’m thinking more like the white bird we saw when we first moved in here.”
Micah’s smile was legendary. As Micah talked more and more about the other birds (not chickens, Jason noted) he’d seen since moving here, Jason’s plan fell in line in his head. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter Fourteen
“ARE WE going to see Pete?” Micah bounced on the bottom of the stairs. His shoes were going to fly off this time; that was for sure. “We’re going to see Pete, aren’t we?”
Jason sighed. He’d wanted to keep that part as a surprise—or at least, not set both himself and Micah up for failure in case Pete refused to see both of them. Coming to the museum during his working hours was bold. It was even bolder taking a kid who could get upset.
When Micah’s shoe went flying, Jason clamped down on his frustration. “Okay, Micah. I need you to wear your big boy shoes.”
Micah squirmed, but eventually let Jason put on the new shoes he’d only worn a handful of times.
“I can’t wait to see Pete. I want to show him the stuff I’ve been drawing at Miss Betsy’s.”
“I can’t wait to see Pete either,” Jason said. “But I need you to be very patient with me. Daddy did something wrong, so Pete may be mad at me.”
“What did you do? Did you steal something?”
“No, but I spoke too soon. I made lots of assumptions and now, I need to show Pete that I trust him.”
Micah scrunched up his face. “What’s an assumption?”
“It’s when I say or do something before thinking it through. You know how I tell you to slow down when you run in the house? Or when you’re kicking your feet like you just did?”
Micah bit his lip. �
��Maybe….”
“Well, an assumption is what happens when your shoe flies off after kicking it, except with words. I spoke too soon without hearing Pete’s side of his story, and I hurt his feelings. Now I have to make it up to him.”
“How do we do that?”
Jason sighed, knowing that was the one thing he couldn’t answer with any certainty. All he wanted to do was go and talk to Pete again during one of his lectures. That had been how they first met, and Jason wanted to capture some of the magic of that night. Maybe going back to the start of their relationship could be like coming clean. If he went, saw Pete lecture about his father’s art, maybe he could demonstrate how serious he was about this and how sorry he was for speaking out of turn.
The worst case scenario, which Jason went over in his mind all morning as he shaved, was that he and Micah would go to the museum, see and hear Pete’s beautiful stories and art, Jason would say he was sorry, and Pete would say nothing in return, so Jason would walk away alone. That would be the right thing to do and a good lesson to impart to Micah, even if it wasn’t the happy ending Jason was hoping for.
“I’m not too sure,” Jason said. “But I know that when you’re really afraid of something, you can’t run away from it. You have to face it and talk about things. Use your words, remember?”
Micah nodded along, having heard this lecture a dozen times before from Jason. Usually it was about lying and sharing toys, but now Jason saw his own words in a new light. He and Pete could never hide their jobs from one another. Saying they’d never talk about work or global warming or oil fracking or zine making whatsoever was too ridiculous. They needed to talk about it or else it would tear them apart.
Jason did up Micah’s jacket and slid mittens on his hands before heading out to the car and strapping Micah in his child seat. Another fifteen minutes and they were at the museum. It took a while to drag Micah through to the lecture hall, since there were so many new displays that had to do with Inuit art Micah hadn’t seen, but Pete’s lecture was about to begin. The lights were already low at the back of the theater, which made Micah grip Jason’s hand harder.
Chase This Light Page 11