Tiera got off at the West Jordan City Center station, determined to walk the rest of the way to the studio. It would take about a half hour, but that gave her plenty of time to make her phone calls.
Tiera took a deep breath, then pulled out her phone. She tapped on Senator Frank’s phone number from John’s email, and waited.
“Senator Julia Frank’s office, this is Allison speaking,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Hi Allison, this is Jessica—from Senator Daniel Lowe’s office—I just wanted to confirm Senator Frank’s meeting with Senator Lowe this week?” Tiera tried her best to sound kind of bored.
“Let me see . . . ” Tiera could hear Allison typing on the other end. “Um—I’m sorry—what day this week? I don’t have anything about a meeting with Senator Lowe in Senator Frank’s schedule.”
“Really? Let me double-check with Senator Lowe really quick.” Tiera’s heart was pounding, but she pulled her phone away from her face and pretended to speak to the senator as she walked down the busy street. Luckily there was no one nearby to think she was crazy.
“I am so sorry, Allison, his meeting was with Senator Gonzalez! G an F are right next to each other in the alphabet—I must have gotten them mixed up. Thank you though!” Tiera tried to channel “frazzled” now.
“No problem! Have a great day!” was all Allison said before hanging up.
So it definitely isn’t Senator Frank. Let’s try Gonzalez. Tiera pulled up her email again, then hit Senator Gonzalez’s number. It took her secretary a little longer to answer.
“This is Utah State Senator Barbara Gonzalez’s office; this is Peter speaking. How can I help you?”
Tiera had to push her nerves down again. “Hi Peter, this is Jessica from Senator Daniel Lowe’s office. I just wanted to confirm Senator Lowe’s meeting with Senator Gonzalez later this week.”
“Sure,” Peter said slowly—Tiera could hear him typing in the background. “Did you mean their lunch tomorrow at noon? That isn’t exactly ‘later this week.’”
“Yes! Sorry—I’m not at my desk right now. I was on my way out and I just remembered that I forgot to call and confirm.”
“That’s alright. Have a great—”
“Oh! There’s one more thing!” Tiera decided to add something to her plan.
“Sure,” Peter said expectantly.
“Senator Lowe has been speaking with a journalist from the Times recently—a Ms. Jasperson. He wanted me to make sure it was alright if Senator Lowe and Senator Gonzalez’s meeting was mentioned in an article Ms. Jasperson is writing. It will be fairly general coverage of the religious freedom bill.” Tiera held her breath, hoping this would work.
“Let me ask her—can I put you on hold?”
“Sure.”
“Alright.”
Tiera then waited through the longest three minutes of her life. She tried to smile at a dog she passed on the sidewalk, but from the look on its owner’s face she was probably grimacing.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes!” Tiera said a little too eagerly, then tried to calm down. “Yes, yes I’m still here.”
“Uh, okay. Senator Gonzalez said that’s alright, and that she—um. She ‘doesn’t have anything to hide.’” Peter sounded like he was apologizing when he said that last bit.
“That’s great! I’ll—um—be sure to let Senator Lowe know,” Tiera said awkwardly. What kind of work relationship do these two have, anyway?
“’Kay. Have a great day!”
“Thanks! Bye.”
Tiera looked down at her phone and squeezed her eyes shut. Damn it. Why did she have to have a male secretary?
Tiera cleared her throat, then called Senator Lowe’s office.
“Senator Lowe’s office. This is Julian.”
“Hi Julian,” Tiera began, pitching her voice low and hoping to sound as manly as possible without being completely obvious. “This is Peter from Senator Barbara Gonzalez’s office. I just wanted to confirm her lunch meeting with Senator Lowe tomorrow at noon.”
“Right—Peter, was it?” He sounded a bit confused.
“Yes,” Tiera said, making sure her voice was still low.
After a moment, Julian spoke again. “It’s all set. Did you need anything else?”
“Actually, yes,” Tiera said, plowing ahead before Julian could hang up on her. “Senator Gonzalez thought it best that I inform you that their meeting may appear in a Times article. A local correspondent—Tiera Jasperson—has been in contact with Senator Gonzalez about the religious freedom bill they’ll be discussing tomorrow. Senator Gonzalez wants Lowe to know that she—uh—she has ‘nothing to hide.’” Tiera waited, wondering if she should have tacked on that last part. She really just wanted some confirmation that they were definitely going to discuss the bill in their meeting. She still wasn’t positive that Goldsmith had been referring to Gonzalez during that bathroom phone call, so she thought the additional bait wouldn’t hurt.
“Right,” Julian said, sounding embarrassed that he had to relay something so passive aggressive. “I’ll let Senator Lowe know. I can assure you he has Senator Gonzalez’s best interests at heart.”
Sounds like Julian is aware of Lowe’s plans for tomorrow. And he didn’t refute what I said about the bill. Tiera decided that was confirmation enough. “Thank you. Have a nice day,” she said, hanging up before Julian could respond.
Tiera looked aimlessly down the street, letting what she had just done sink in for a moment. Yes! She laughed, surprising herself by how genuinely excited she was about this piece—something she hadn’t felt for her work in a long time.
A few kids in white karate uniforms—the karategi or gi, depending on how much time you had to say it—filed past Tiera on the street. Their lesson must have just let out. Most of the students at this studio were kids, but there were still a few adults, like Tiera—and most were working on becoming a Black Belt. Almost all of them had at least started when they were kids, though. Tiera started when she was 13—she had just been adopted by her foster family then, and they were encouraging her to explore her interests. Thank goodness too, because karate soon became Tiera’s main coping method for her anxiety.
As she approached the studio, Tiera could see through its large glass windows that Sensei Fremont was inside. A few straggling students huddled around him, probably discussing the lesson that just let out, so when Tiera entered she only nodded to him before passing the dojo and going to the back, where she had special permission to keep her things. By the time she had changed into her gi and reentered the main studio, Sensei Fremont was alone.
Toting her padded red sparring gear, Tiera bowed before stepping onto the carpeted floor of the dojo, then walked to the center of the room and knelt before tying her blue belt around her waist. She then stood up and bowed to the American flag pinned on the wall. She remembered when this was awkward, but now it was only familiar.
“You know, Tiera, I expected you to show up a bit more when you paid for that knife defense package. Now I’m lucky if I see you even once or twice a month,” Sensei Fremont berated her warmly. He was a kind man, balding and a little on the portly side—but strong—so he easily came off as fatherly. Tiera had been training with him since she was 18, so, even though she had no issues with her adoptive father, she definitely considered this man a father figure in her life. I just kind of suck at being a daughter figure, I guess.
“Maybe you should let me practice using the knife instead of just defending against it then—there’s only so much I can take before I’m bored out of my mind,” Tiera teased him as she began strapping on the her sparring helmet and gloves. She knew karate was all about self-defense, but she wasn’t against defending herself with a knife in hand.
“Alright, fine. If you can dodge everything I throw at you today, then I’ll give you a few pointers on how to incorporate knives into karate. But remember, it’s all—”
“Defensive, I know,” Tiera said, smiling. “I don’t plan o
n mugging anyone at knifepoint—don’t worry.”
After a 15-minute warmup, Tiera spent the next half hour practicing defensive maneuvers against Sensei Fremont, who was wielding a plastic toy army knife. She was able to keep the knife away from her most of the time, but the plastic point poked her stomach more times than she was proud of. Sensei Fremont, sensing a weakness, started exclusively going for her stomach, letting her practice how she was supposed to catch his arm and twist it away. After she had done it right several times, he stopped.
“Has it been a whole hour already?” Tiera panted, looking for the clock on the wall. It was 4:47, and they had started around 4:00.
“No, I just think you’re ready for something different.”
Tiera’s face lit up. “I get the knife?” she asked hopefully.
“You get the knife,” he confirmed. “But just so you can know better how to defend against an assailant that knows how you’ll block their moves. If the person is familiar with karate, they won’t attack you the same way I’ve been attacking you.”
“Right,” Tiera said. They spent the last ten minutes of her lesson going over what offensive maneuvers an informed assailant might use, then how to block them. Tiera didn’t have much time to practice, though. I really should visit more often.
After her lesson, Tiera took a bus back to the TRAX station—she was too hungry to waste any time walking. She took the red line the whole way this time, staying on the trolley until she made it to the 900 East Station, just a few blocks west of the University of Utah.
Tiera had to suppress her hunger as she passed a Village Inn restaurant and headed south. I have food at home I have food at home I have food at home, she thought to herself. She tried to distract herself by looking at the old homes she passed on the way to her apartment. I guess I should call it a house. She shared rent with a roommate, so it was hard to think of the small house she lived in as a house, and not an apartment.
Finally hitting Lowell Avenue, Tiera turned left and walked until she hit a dead end. There, at the end of the street, was her little shared home—a one-story craftsman made up of varying shades of brown. Natalie, Tiera’s roommate, once joked that it was a brown house for a brown girl—then she apologized profusely for fear that what she had said had come off as racist. Tiera didn’t really mind, but that’s when she started to jokingly ask Natalie racist questions—like “Can I touch your hair?” or “Why are all white girls’ booties so small?” We have a good time.
Tiera fumbled through her purse for her keys before unlocking the door and entering the house. She kicked off her shoes, then walked purposefully through the living room and to the kitchen at the back of her house, where she made and ate a tuna sandwich. After showering, Tiera was ready to get to work.
Typing it out on her laptop, the article really didn’t take that long to write. Now that Tiera didn’t have to think up convoluted ways to explain her sources, it was pretty easy. The problem was that, once Tiera had put down all of the information she wanted to share, she started second-guessing herself. By the time Natalie got home from her shift at the university hospital, Tiera had rewritten and rearranged dozens of different parts of her article, and now she was just staring blankly at the screen.
“What’s up?” Natalie said in greeting, throwing her bag on the couch nearest the front door. She probably would have just gone to her room, leaving Tiera to her work, but then Tiera responded.
“Is ‘meet’ really a word?” Tiera didn’t take her eyes from the screen. “I mean, it is. Right? It’s not like ‘meat’ or anything—like chicken or beef or whatever. M. E. E. T.”
“Oh my heck, Tiera. How long have you been staring at that?” Tiera wasn’t sure if Natalie sounded more concerned or exasperated.
“‘Heck’—now that definitely isn’t a word—or it shouldn’t be,” Tiera smiled, tearing her eyes from her laptop and looking at Natalie for the first time. She was wearing teal scrubs, her blond hair tied up in a simple ponytail. “Can you read this for me, please? It’s my article for the Times. I’ve been looking at it so long that I might be making it worse at this point.”
“Plenty of people here say ‘oh my heck,’ it’s just you who doesn’t,” Natalie defended herself. “And sure, just let me eat something first. And I need to get my laundry started. And I want to shower.”
“If you do it now, we can go to The Cheesecake Factory, my treat . . . ?” Tiera tried to tempt her.
Natalie froze. “Even dessert?”
“Even dessert.”
“Alright, but we’re going tonight. I’m hungry enough to eat an elephant and I don’t want to waste my hunger force on leftover pasta,” Natalie gave Tiera a stern look, walking toward the desk where she was seated.
Tiera looked at the clock on her screen. “You’d better hurry then, because it’s already eight o’ clock.” She’d have to look up how late The Cheesecake Factory was open tonight—it was a Thursday, so probably not that late.
“I’m on it.” Natalie promptly pushed Tiera out of the desk chair and started scanning her article.
While Natalie was reading, Tiera found The Cheesecake Factory’s website. “Oh! I guess you can pace yourself—they’re open till eleven—”
“Done!” Natalie announced, turning the chair to face Tiera. “It’s very informative and professional, but you manage to keep from sounding like a dry academic. Also, wow! I wonder if the bill will go through now?”
“We’ll see, I guess,” Tiera said, surprised at how fast Natalie had read it.
As if reading her mind, Natalie shot her a sassy look and said, “So what? I can speed read. How do you think I made it through nursing school? Now let’s go! Cheesecake awaits!”
“Well let me send it first!” Tiera smiled, hunching over Natalie and her chair to send the article to her editor. Once it said “sent,” Tiera could feel herself relax—and she hadn’t even noticed how tense she was before.
“Well put your shoes on!” Natalie complained, impatient.
“Okay, okay!” Tiera made for the front door where her shoes waited for her. “Do you want to take the TRAX or—?”
“I’ll drive!” Natalie said, reaching for her purse and jingling the keys inside. “I can’t believe you’re treating me to dinner just for reading your article.”
“It was for reading my article instead of going through your evening routine, actually, but you’re welcome,” Tiera said as she shoved her flats onto her feet, then headed out the door.
Tiera and Natalie locked up and got into Natalie’s car, a silver Toyota Camry. In 15 minutes they were parked in the City Creek underground parking garage, and mere minutes after that they were under the dim lights of The Cheesecake Factory’s waiting area.
While Natalie stood in the line to put her name on the waiting list, Tiera sat down, looking around at the earthy tones of the restaurant—its yellows and reds and browns blending together in the low light. The sinuous contours of the interior made her think of swirls of chocolate in some sort of dessert, and Tiera couldn’t help but study the many cakes and cheesecakes in the glass case across from her.
Eventually Tiera’s gaze wandered toward the windows near the entrance of the restaurant. What she saw outside stopped her breath—and nearly her heart, too.
Walking down the cobblestoned path in front of the entrance were two figures, both dressed in white jumpsuits with matching helmets tucked under their arms. As if sensing her stare, one of them turned and looked through the window, locking eyes with Tiera.
It's him.
Chapter 3
A flood of emotions returned to Tiera’s consciousness—she had been trying to ignore what had happened to her the night before, at least until she had time to deal with it. At the same time, an almost compulsory curiosity overtook her, and she slowly stood up, eyes still locked with the strange man outside. Tiera was sure it was the same man as before—he had the brown buzz cut and everything. But as soon as he saw that Tiera was heading for the resta
urant door, the man turned to his companion, a gruff, older-looking man with the same buzzed hair, only white. The younger man must have said something, because they both turned and hurried away from Tiera and toward the busy shops of the City Creek Mall.
“The wait is 30 minutes,” Natalie said, suddenly at Tiera’s side.
“Good,” Tiera said, then she took off after the strange men.
Tiera got a few “Hey!”s and “Watch it!”s as she ran through the double doors of the restaurant and into the crowded shopping center outside. She was glad the men were wearing such a noticeable color—she almost lost them in the throng several times, but a sudden flash of white always brought them back to her attention.
“Tiera! What are you doing?!” Natalie shouted from behind her.
“I’ll be right back! I have to talk to someone!” Tiera didn’t even turn around, afraid she’d lose sight of the men again. She chased them in inside and alongside a semi-indoor creek—the City Creek Mall’s namesake—that ran through the main wing of the mall, and she was forced to cross its tiny bridges whenever a group of people blocked the path on either side.
“Who do you need to talk to?” Natalie panted from beside Tiera, startling her. Tiera hadn’t realized Natalie was following her, as focused as she was on catching up with the men in white.
“See those guys running up there? The ones in white? Almost at the exit?” Talking made Tiera have to breathe a lot harder, so she tried to use as few words as possible. She was starting to feel her muscles burn.
“I think so.” Natalie left it at that and the two of them ran, listening to the sound of water, shoppers, and their own labored breathing. Tiera saw the men dart through a crowd of people waiting to cross the street that cut through the mall, then they turned right, running parallel to the street.
Are they going back to where they were last night? The Joseph Smith Memorial Building was only a block north of here, and that street ended at a T right in front of the building. Tiera ran faster—she didn’t want them getting away again. Not without answering some questions.
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