Joie de Vivre

by Micheala Lynn

  “R…really? Ah…” She had not been expecting that. She then lost her entire train of thought.

  “So, what’s up?”

  Riley smiled to herself. Lisa’s comment was so like Grace’s—the only thing missing was the doc. “I was wondering if you were busy Saturday, say around nine in the morning?”

  “Oh…” Lisa drew the word out. “What do you have in mind?”

  Riley bit her lip before continuing. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.” She hoped she wasn’t pushing it too far. They hadn’t known each other long and this was asking for quite a bit of trust.

  “A surprise, huh?” Lisa sounded more playful than dubious.

  “Yeah, an anthropological surprise.” She tried her best to keep her voice serious.

  Lisa now let out a raucous laugh. “An anthropological surprise? How could I refuse that?”

  Riley had to fight the urge to leap up and jump up and down again. Once in one day was enough. Besides, if any of her colleagues saw her, they’d probably think she had gone mad. “I promise you’re going to love it.”

  “Great, I can’t wait.” The excitement in Lisa’s voice seemed to match her own. “I’ll see you at your place bright and early Saturday.”

  “Oh, and Lisa, wear old clothes and shoes.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me—old clothes and old shoes. See you Saturday.” With that, she hung up and kicked her feet back up on her desk, a smile ear to ear. It might not be on Lisa’s Anti-Bucket list, but Riley figured she would love it nonetheless. The chance to dig in the dirt and search for historical treasure—who wouldn’t love that?

  * * *

  Lisa climbed up into the passenger seat of Riley’s dark green Ford four-wheel drive pickup truck early Saturday morning. With four doors, huge mud tires, a fierce-looking brush guard on the front and enough ground clearance to crawl over a Smart car, Riley’s truck dominated the road. The back seat was piled high with bags, shovels and various other equipment Riley probably used in the field. If Indiana Jones had had a four by four Lisa had no doubt it would look just like Riley’s.

  There was a distinct chill in the air, a gentle reminder that the better days of summer were over and autumn was right around the corner. But Lisa didn’t care. She had barely slept the night before—make that all week since Riley had called. It could be a blizzard as far as she was concerned. Once she snapped her seatbelt tight, she turned to Riley. “Okay, now that I’m here, how about telling me what this surprise is?”

  Riley smiled, a sneaky little grin, as she backed her truck out of the driveway. “Not yet. I can tell you that we’ll be meeting up just north of St. Johns with a colleague and some students from our Anthropology Club. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  “Not even a clue?”

  “Nope.”

  Lisa stuck out her bottom lip in a mock pout. But she spoiled the effect when Riley glanced over and she began to snicker. “Has anyone told you you’re a tease, Riley?”

  Riley’s eyes shot wide. “Ah…ah…I’d have to say, you’d be the first.”

  Lisa watched Riley squirm in her seat, her mouth gaping open. That’s what Riley got for keeping her hanging so long. “Well, you are. I’ve never been very good at surprises.”

  “Wow, I guess. You’re like a kid two weeks before Christmas.”

  “Oh, Christmas was the worst. I’d have to shake all the gifts, listening closely, trying to figure out what was in them. Then I’d measure them and weigh them—I’d even try to smell them.”

  “Geez Lisa, that’s hard-core. Remind me never to give you a gift early.”

  Lisa started, her chest suddenly tightening. That had been what Jessie had always said. Remind me never to give you a gift early. Just when she least expected it, it would hit her again. A little thing here, a little thing there—it was amazing how many little things throughout the day reminded her of Jessie. But as Jessie had said, seize the day, so she wasn’t going to let her down by wallowing. Easier said than done. She swallowed and shook her head. “Okay, since you’re not going to tell me what the surprise is, Riley, you can at least tell me how you got into anthropology in the first place. Was it something you always wanted to do?”

  “Not exactly. I was actually an art major until my senior year.”

  Lisa felt her mouth drop open. “Holy crap, Riley. Were you an artist?”

  Riley barked out a short bitter laugh. “Were being the operative word. I don’t do that anymore.”

  Lisa noticed the chill in Riley’s voice. If it were any colder, she’d be a machine. She now regretted bringing it up. “I’m sorry I didn’t…” She trailed off. What could she say? She had obviously stumbled onto a sensitive topic.

  Riley grunted, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Then she blew out a loud breath. “No, it’s nothing you did. Just ghosts from the past.”

  “Listen, Riley, we can just forget about it. It’s no big deal.” Her words sounded stupid. From Riley’s reaction, it was clearly a very big deal.

  “It’s okay—really.” Riley laughed, this time sounding a bit more relaxed. “As I said, I was an art major—painting actually. I did mostly scenic landscapes, lighthouses, small-town life, real Norman Rockwell stuff.”

  It was hard enough to picture Riley as an artist, but Norman Rockwell? Picasso, Salvador Dali, even Edvard Munch with The Scream, yes, but not Norman Rockwell with his overly nostalgic portraits of idealized Americana—much too light and feel-good for the deeply cerebral Riley. “How on earth did you go from that to anthropology? That seems light-years apart.”

  “Well, that’s why I chose it. I needed something light-years apart, especially after my roommate, Deana Luxford, disappeared.” Not entirely the truth but she didn’t want to scare Lisa off. It had actually been the disappearance of Deana that had driven her toward Forensic Anthropology. She wanted to help solve cold cases such as Deana’s, to piece together not only the death of the person but also their life.

  “Oh my God, Riley. Deana Luxford was your roommate?” She clapped her hands to her mouth.

  “Yeah, small world, huh? It was the beginning of my senior year at Central Michigan. Deana was working at a gas station just off campus when she was abducted.”

  “I remember when that happened. I was a sophomore at State and it really spooked everyone on campus even being an hour and a half south. They never found her, did they?”

  Riley slowly shook her head. “No, they searched for months before scaling the case back.”

  Lisa sat there stunned not knowing what to say. Then it hit her. “By roommate, do you mean roommate or you know, roommate?”

  Riley took a deep breath before answering. “No, we were a couple but back then, we didn’t really advertise it, especially around closeted Mount Pleasant. Fifteen years ago, there were still enough bigots and homophobes around town and even on campus that we didn’t really tell anyone. It’s better now but back then…” She shrugged. “Also, I hadn’t come out. I don’t know why, being an artist and all, but I hadn’t. Then when Deana came out, her nutcase right-wing conservative family had disowned her all in the name of God Almighty—I guess that’s what a respectable Baptist minister and his family is supposed to do, huh?”

  “What? What a bunch of assholes.”

  “That’s only the half of it. Her family didn’t really seem to care that she was missing. Must have been God’s wrath or some bullshit. They told the police that because of her sinful lifestyle, she got what she deserved and that I was probably the one that had something to do with her disappearance.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. They tried fingering you for her disappearance on top of it all?”

  “Yep, classy bunch of people.”

  “Oh, Riley, I am so sorry. I can’t even imagine.” She reached over and gently patted her on the arm. “I can see how that would have really messed with your art. But if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get from there to anthropology?”

  �
��In a way, I guess you’d have to thank Deana’s puritanical family.” Riley gave her a wry grin. “I was interviewed by the police—being her roommate and all. The lead detective, Sgt. Brenda Bailey could see that I had nothing to do with Deana’s disappearance and that I wanted to do whatever possible to find her. Helped that she was gay too. So, I worked closely with her for months, showing up at the police station every day to see if there were any new leads. I still keep in touch with her to this day.” Riley stared straight out the windshield.

  Lisa didn’t know what to say. Anything that came to mind seemed hollow and trite. She had lost Jessie but at least there was finality to that. Closure. To have Jessie just disappear, not knowing what happened, just one moment she was there and the next she was gone, she couldn’t imagine. So, she continued to rest her hand on Riley’s arm, a small gesture of silent understanding.

  Riley covered Lisa’s hand with hers. “So, to answer your question about how I got into anthropology, I was taking an Introduction to Anthropology class to fill some requirements for my degree. Typical art major, leaving it to the end. Anyhow, since my art had gone down the proverbial toilet, I poured myself completely into anthropology. I switched majors halfway through my senior year and have never looked back. Turns out I’m a far better anthropologist than I ever was an artist.”

  “Wow, Riley. That’s an amazing story.” She was beginning to see Riley in a whole new light. There was clearly a lot more to her. If anyone could understand loss, it was certainly Riley.

  * * *

  “Okay, hold on, we’re almost there.” Riley pulled off the blacktop onto what appeared to be a two-track, although that was being generous. The fifty-minute trip with Lisa had been refreshing. Other than with Susan and Caroline, she had not shared the story of Deana since she had moved away from Mount Pleasant, in the dead center of the state, and Central Michigan University. But with Lisa, it was different—Lisa could understand. It was unfortunate they both had tragic losses in common but in a way it felt like that drew them closer together.

  This was definitely the right place. A Michigan State University van was already parked in the small clearing. A huddle of students stood around in a circle. Grace jumped out from behind the wheel of the van. Dressed in combat boots, camouflage parachute pants and an olive drab shirt that strained across her ample chest, Grace had matched her usual fashion sense to the situation. She had even tied up her dreads with a camouflage bandanna.

  Riley threw her truck into park and hopped out. The crisp autumn breeze nipped at her cheeks, the air a few degrees cooler than when she had left her house. Lisa walked around the front of the truck and joined her, her hands stuffed in her pockets.

  “Brrrrr.” She shivered. “Damn, Riley. I’m glad I wore a sweatshirt.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll warm up quickly when we get to the surprise.”

  “Still not going to tell me, huh?”

  “Nope.” She shot Lisa a wicked little grin.

  Just then, Grace walked up. “What’s up, doc?”

  “I see everyone found the place okay. Been here long?”

  Grace also had her hands stuffed in the pockets of her pants. “Naw, just a few tick tocks. Been talking to loons and goons and taking in tunes.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant—more of Grace’s special language—but from her wide smile, it couldn’t be too bad.

  “Whoa, doc. You brought us an Amazon warrior to help out today.” She held out her hand to Lisa.

  Riley wheeled around ready to apologize, a knot suddenly in her stomach, but when she saw Lisa happily shaking Grace’s hand, she relaxed. Only Grace could get away with such a comment. “Grace, this is my friend Lisa, so be nice. Lisa, this is my clinically insane grad assistant Grace.”

  “That’s never been conclusively proven, you know.” She wrinkled her nose at Riley, still shaking Lisa’s hand. “Besides, isn’t being insane a prerequisite for what we do?”

  Riley tensed up, hoping Grace didn’t go into any detail. Lisa still didn’t know the gruesome specifics and that was probably for the best. If she did, she’d probably turn and run. But for once Grace didn’t elaborate.

  By now, Lisa was shaking her head and laughing. “Oh my God, there’s two of you.”

  “She’s got you there, doc.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Two against one, how could she argue? But before she could wage any sort of defense, a small Ford Ranger four-wheel drive pulled up beside her pickup. Dan Joslin, wiry and lean in a red flannel shirt and brown leather Aussie hat, waved out the window.

  “Hey, Riley. I’m glad you could make it today and bring some volunteers.” Bursting with energy, Dan was deeply tanned from countless hours scouring through digs all summer under the hot sun.“Let’s get everyone packed up and over to the site.”

  In the next few minutes the students piled back into the university van. Grace climbed behind the wheel. When everyone was set, Riley called over. “Okay, Dan, lead the way.” With that she slowly followed the convoy up the narrow trail.

  After about a quarter-mile of bouncing, scraping and twisting their way along the scraggy underbrush—Riley wondered about the damage to the side of her truck as well as the university van—the trail ended in front of a freshly-excavated open expanse next to a tree-lined slope, huge mounds of earth piled all along the sides. Dan pulled off and jumped out of his truck. Riley followed his lead and parked behind. A stocky man in a Carhartt overshirt stood leaning against a beat-up dump truck beside the site. Dan gave him a friendly wave and rushed over.

  Riley hopped out of her truck. The eager students poured out of the van, followed closely by Grace. “Okay, everyone pile out and meet up over by Dr. Joslin.”

  “Looks like the peeps are raring to go, doc.”

  “We don’t get an opportunity like this very often.” Riley bounced on her toes as they followed the students. She then leaned over to Lisa, nudging her with her elbow. “Are you excited yet?”

  “I’ve been excited all week. So, are you finally going to tell me what this surprise is?”

  “In a minute. Trust me, you’ll love it.” She gave Lisa a wink.

  When she reached Dan, who was busy talking to the Carhartt-clad man, Riley cleared her throat and clapped her hands loudly over her head. “Okay, everyone gather around. I would like to introduce you to Dr. Dan Joslin from the University of Michigan. His specialty is paleo-Indian life during the late Pleistocene period. And even though he’s from that other school”—she alluded to the good-natured in-state rivalry between the colleges, earning a round of laughter—“I want you to listen up and pay attention.”

  “I may be from that other school, Riley, but if I remember right, didn’t we kill you at football last year?” Dan gave her a bright smile. This was familiar ground.

  Riley quickly turned to Lisa and raised her eyebrows.

  Lisa dropped her head and slumped her shoulders dramatically. “I’m afraid they did.”

  Riley was amused. Lisa had played the part perfectly. “Okay, okay, seriously now, Dr. Joslin has invited us here today to help search for something special and with that, I’m going to turn you over to him.”

  Dan turned behind him and grabbed off the back of the dump truck a whitish brown lump the size of a small loaf of bread. Holding it high he announced, “This is why we’re here. This is the molar of an American mastodon. Jack here found it while excavating peat from this bog. Now, here is where all of you come in. We’re not sure if it’s only a single tooth or there’s more. All we know is that it came from out there.” He pointed out at the open expanse of excavated earth and wet muck.

  “How are we going to find anything out there?” Tim Johnson, the treasurer of the Anthropology Club, looked on with wide eyes.

  Riley had to admit that she had been thinking along the same lines. She hadn’t realized that they’d be searching through what looked like half an acre of freshly-tilled mud.

  Dan didn’t look concerned. “I’m glad you aske
d. What we have here is an ancient kettle lake, which is basically a bowl-shaped indentation in the ground left over from the last glacial retreat. As the glacier melted, the area filled with water. Over thousands of years the lake gradually filled in with sediment and vegetative matter, creating a bog. Eventually, because of the low-oxygen environment, the vegetative matter turned into what we call peat. Peat is harvested for use in potting soil and a variety of other horticultural mixes, which is what Jack was doing when he came across the tooth.”

  Lisa leaned over and whispered to Riley. “I didn’t know I was going to get a biology lesson today.”

  Riley also leaned in close. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Are you kidding? I love it.”

  Dan, sporting a devilish grin, waved for the group to follow. He walked down to the edge of the fresh soil where a steel rod stuck about five feet out of the ground. “We know that when the glaciers retreated, all that was left was sand and gravel, so the original bottom of this kettle lake was sandy. That’s where this rod comes in.” He pulled the steel rod from the ground, moved it a foot to the right and began pushing it back into the soft earth. “Just push it down, you’ll be able to feel it grinding when it hits sand. That will be the original bottom. Anything above that could possibly be our missing mastodon.”

  Riley could barely contain her excitement. She loved this and from the looks of her students, they felt the same way. Lisa’s enthusiasm also appeared to be keeping pace with the rest of the crowd.

  Dan continued. “Okay, I’ve done some preliminary scouting. The original lakeshore was at about this level.” He gestured a couple feet up the gradual incline. “Now if my predictions are correct, if there’s a mastodon here, we should find it fifteen to twenty feet from the shore in what would’ve been six to eight feet of water. That’s where we’ve been finding them.”

  Riley now spoke up, adopting a professorial tone. “That’s pretty specific, Dan. Why would they only be there? Why not farther out into the lake?”

  “The theory that I’ve been working on is that these are actually food caches. The paleo-Indians had no means of preserving food, so what I believe is in the winter they cut holes in the ice and used them as a deep freeze to preserve their kills. Most of the mastodons we have been finding are incomplete and show signs of butchering, furthering my theory. Now, everyone grab a rod from the back of my truck and have a go at it.”