Fly by Night

by Andrea Thalasinos

  Pulling out the folded map and directions from Kyle, she tried to make sense of it. Crowds of families scooted past; some looked somewhat annoyed at her being in the way. She dialed Kyle and left a message about running late.

  The momentum of the crowd sucked her inside and spit her out like an undertow. Groups of teenagers sped past, like schools of blue jack fish syncopated with knifelike precision to dart this way and that to avoid bumping into her roller bag. She hurried past battalions of strollers the size of grocery carts.

  Looking up, she counted four levels of stores and restaurants. The ground courtyard was jammed with roller coasters, rides with swinging arms, and families with crying children holding balloons. The ceiling was glass, supported by steel girders. It was a living, breathing centipede, writhing and undulating. Sunlight streamed in to brighten gardens of pink, red, and white flowers.

  “Excuse me?” she asked a woman pushing a stroller. “Do you know where Nordstrom is?” Which was the landmark Kyle had given her. “Take the escalator to the fourth floor by Nordstrom.”

  The woman shrugged.

  A roller coaster zoomed by close enough that Amelia felt the breeze on her cheek. A full-sized Ferris wheel began turning. The swinging metal arms of a ride with a sign reading SHELL SHOCK began swooping just above people’s heads. Riders were strapped to seats, shrieking. Amelia was the only one who flinched as she raced past stunned, bewildered-looking parents. She’d wanting nothing more than to sit and gather her wits but there wasn’t time.

  Passing twin towers of SpongeBob and Dora the Explorer that reached the ceiling, she looked for a security guard, an employee, someone to ask directions.

  Lines of children wound back and forth, like airport security lines at Boston’s Logan Airport. “Huh, look, Dora,” some little kid gushed. The voice was so sweet she smiled, reminding her of Alex at that age.

  Full-sized fir trees were interspersed in the courtyard and crowds filled the available floor space. The merry-go-round, the din of voices, and noise made her head swim.

  Spotting a mall security guard, she made a beeline, cutting through a crowd of people waiting on line for pizza.

  “Excuse me,” she called. “Am I going the right way for Human Resources?”

  “Which HR?” he asked.

  “Shit.” She could have cried. “There’s more than one?”

  He nodded. “Facilities? Janitorial? Management.”

  She held up the folded paper.

  “My interview’s in a few minutes.” Her voice was getting louder. “Please help me?”

  “You want Nordstrom.”

  “I know,” Amelia said. “Can you show me?”

  “I can’t leave my post.” The guard scanned the area as if it was a test or some sort of entrapment.

  She surprised herself by choking up. “Look, I walk fast, I swear. No one’ll know you’re gone.”

  He glanced around, conflicted, and then waved for her to follow.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she called after him, keeping sight of his tall-drink-of-water frame slicing through the crowds, crisp white shirt and black security cop–looking hat with the gold-braided trim.

  At one point she lost sight of him but then spotted the Nordstrom sign. He then pointed to an elevator and even pushed the up button for her. “Fourth floor, turn to the right,” he said and then hurried off.

  “Thank you,” she called after him, out of breath. She’d tip off Jen and Bryce.

  Elevator doors opened to the executive suite. Dark and quiet, it was another world. Her ears still hummed with noise. The walls were paneled in cherry wood. A tufted leather couch looked more impressive than comfortable. Glass tables with arcs of yellow orchids flanked it. She touched one just to see if it was real. Celtic harp music played above. The moment Amelia sat down, the door of a conference room opened and a woman stepped out with hair as white as her skin.

  “Amelia?” The woman’s voice was almost a whisper as if she didn’t want to awaken anyone.

  “Yes.” She stood.

  “Hi, I’m Grace.” The woman extended her hand. “We spoke in the phone interview. Nice to meet you in person.”

  “Yes, you too.” Her hands felt airport grimy but she reached to shake anyway. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Almost everyone is.”

  Amelia’s mouth was dry and sticky, her hairline damp, and the French knot had half fallen, tugging a bit with each step. It wasn’t clear if the clip would hold through the presentation but it was too late to redo it. She guessed her eye makeup had either rubbed off or else was smeared beneath her eyes.

  “Would you like to take a few minutes to prepare?”

  “I’m fine.” She just wanted to get it over with. Afraid that if she paused for even a moment to fix her hair or check her eye makeup in the ladies’ room she’d lose the nerve.

  She quickly unzipped the front pocket of her suitcase and grabbed notes along with the flash drive for her presentation.

  The woman turned and walked toward the double doors, indicating she should follow.

  People sat making notes as she walked in. All eight looked up at once. A few smiled. All stood and reached to shake hands across the table.

  Sweat had dampened the armpits of her new blouse. She left the blazer on.

  A sudden pang hit after plugging in the thumb drive—waiting for her presentation to load. She could have cried right there, but nevertheless turned to smile at the table of judges.

  12

  TJ decided to call after a few weeks of not hearing back from Amelia after mailing the transfer of property documents as well as a cover letter he’d composed, explaining the circumstances of their family.

  He’d e-mailed again, inquiring if she’d received the documents but it had bounced back. TJ checked and the address had been correct.

  “Huh.” He was puzzled.

  “Call her lab,” Charlotte suggested. This time the number automatically switched to the marine biology department, instructing to call back during regular hours.

  TJ hung up the phone and looked at Charlotte.

  “Maybe it’s after hours,” he said and looked at the clock. Something felt wrong. It was 6 p.m. Rhode Island time. But he’d called before on Sundays, Saturdays, late at night, early morning and Amelia’s voice mail had always picked up.

  His stomach lurched. He touched his lip with his hand as he sat thinking. What if something had happened and he couldn’t find her?

  “You’ll find her, Niinimooshe,” Charlotte said, reading him as she always did.

  He felt despondent and blinked back tears. Tears surprised him. There were several calls to return—reports of wolf hunters planning to poach on the more remote reservation lands.

  For as long as he’d been following Amelia, the phone number had been the same. He looked out the office window. It had begun snowing. He turned to search the online Whitepages but found a Providence address but no phone number. The Sea Horse Laboratory Web page was still up but the phone number had been deleted.

  * * *

  It was a restless sleep that night. Between Amelia and the opening of hunting season on wolves about to begin Thanksgiving weekend, he’d thrashed about, trying to rid his mind of these worries.

  After giving up on sleep, TJ kissed Charlotte and got up. All of their five dogs stood from their beds and shook off hours of sleep, following him into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Penny.” He petted the fifteen-year-old who was still excited to see him every morning. The others were mostly strays or pups no one had wanted. The dogs stood at the counter waiting to be fed.

  He looked at the clock.

  “We’re two hours early.” He smiled. They all listened to him, sitting like good dogs, their tails wagging on the kitchen floor like windshield wipers, dispersing dog fur and other debris of the house.

  “What the hell.” He opened the cabinet, taking out all their bowls. He began to fix a bowl for each, containing the various concoctions of foods, pills, an
d whatnot that each required.

  “Okay now,” he said. “Places.” At the word, they all scattered to their designated spots that were distributed in the kitchen and breakfast nook and then turned and stood, waiting and watching as he placed down a bowl for each, beginning with the oldest first.

  Then TJ sat down at the kitchen table trying not to clock watch, though he knew it was three more hours before the marine biology department’s office hours in Rhode Island. He considered calling and leaving a message, but decided against it. What if they didn’t check messages or it took a day for someone to call back?

  He glanced over the reports of invasive species such as fireweed on the L’Coutere Reservation area; the surge in manoomin that year where the harvest of wild rice had reached record proportions. He glanced at the kitchen clock.

  He kept reading the same sentences and not making sense of them.

  After the dogs had finished and drank their fair share of water, he then walked over to the coatrack, grabbed his down parka, and slipped on his boots.

  “You guys ready?” He opened the front door quietly as the dogs rushed out, their tags jingling as they raced each other to the trail that skirted along the lake. TJ slipped out and shut the door behind him gently, as if not wanting to wake a baby. He first smelled the wind. It was an easterly wind. A chill from the cloud base made him turn.

  “Huh.” Wind from that direction always brought a storm, though he’d just checked the radar moments before. He tucked his watch into the inside pocket of his coat and followed the dogs.

  It was an inky kind of darkness, so black he almost couldn’t see the trail had it not been for the stars. They served as guiding landmarks, shadowing the outline of the cliff’s edge into the huge negative space that was Lake Superior. The place his people had been directed to more than a thousand years ago by a holy man who’d instructed them to leave the Place of the Large Salt Waters, or the Waabanakiing, and follow a trail of the miigis shells and to stop at the place where food grows on water. Gloria had chosen the lake or the Stopping Place over his father. His father had chosen the Waabanakiing, along with other things. He’d wondered about choosing place over person, which it seemed that both of his parents had done.

  Nervousness fueled his pace. Walking faster than usual his breath frosted up his glasses in the chilly November predawn, though even Penny, the old one, kept up with him. Hands in pockets, his thoughts meandered.

  He fought the urge to pull out his watch but did it anyway and pressed the light button. Only fifteen minutes had passed. TJ could have sworn it was at least forty-five and looked forward to the sunrise that would break in a few hours.

  Rhode Island was one hour ahead. He’d walk toward the Pow Wow grounds, go past a ways, and then turn around and come back. That would eat up an hour or so.

  He whistled. “This way, guys,” he signaled and veered onto the other trail. The dogs paused and then turned, excited at the break with their normal routine; the younger ones sped up to pass him.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry but Dr. Drakos is no longer here.”

  He glanced at Charlotte as she sat beside him, her hands quietly clasped together, still in the sweatpants and T-shirt that she slept in.

  “Really. Since when?” TJ hadn’t expected that.

  “Ooh…” The secretary seemed to be thinking. “A little over a month ago.”

  “What happened to her lab?”

  “The operation closed down.”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “With whom am I speaking?” the woman asked.

  “I’m a wildlife biologist and would like to speak with Dr. Drakos,” he said.

  “Are you a prospective employer?” the secretary asked. The woman sounded nervous and he bet it was about breaking protocol.

  He didn’t say no. He’d thought to say “family” but then family would know that she’d left.

  “Do you have a contact number?” he said without answering her question.

  “In that case, yes.” The woman’s voice relaxed. “She’ll be happy to hear from you. You can reach her at Sea Life in Minneapolis. I don’t have a forwarding address as of yet—”

  “Sea Life?” he said. “Mall of America, Sea Life?”

  Charlotte made a funny face and then clapped her hands together.

  “We’re in Providence, Rhode Island, sir,” the woman said. “So I’m not familiar with Minnesota—I just know she’s moved to Minneapolis.”

  “Would you happen to have a number?”

  “I can’t give out her personal number, but I have a general number for Sea Life information.”

  “That’ll do, thank you.”

  TJ wrote down the number and sat mesmerized. She was only three and a half hours away by car.

  “In Minneapolis?” Charlotte asked.

  He nodded, not sure what to make of it.

  “At the mall?” she asked, filling the teapot under the faucet to make another pot of coffee. “The place we took the boys all those years ago?”

  He nodded and looked back at the number he’d scratched down on the side of some of his papers.

  “You’ve got that conference down there next week,” Charlotte said.

  He nodded and slowly looked up at her.

  13

  It had been September of Amelia’s sophomore year in college, months shy of the one-year anniversary of her parents’ death, when she met Christopher Ryan. Amelia had been selected for participation in the Semester by the Sea program, usually reserved for seniors.

  Ryan, a visiting professor of marine biology from California, was prematurely gray, wore rumpled clothing, sported a reckless attitude along with a beat-up Jeep with a canvas roof and no doors. His skin was deeply tanned from being outside, didn’t give a shit about convention, and had quickly become everybody’s favorite. Amelia’s command of marine biology came under his notice and she was asked to become one of his ad hoc helpers.

  After the first two weeks he and Christina Kingsley, the other professor, invited her along with them after class to Nathan’s for hot dogs. The three of them had sat at the counter as Amelia listened in awe about their dives and explorations of deep ocean trenches where volcanic activity had prompted the growth of strange wormlike creatures living near the heat vents deep in the ocean floor.

  “You know, Amelia,” Kingsley began. She and Ryan could have been siblings. No makeup, hair pulled straight back into a ponytail, tiny button earrings, windburned face with no regard to appearance. “Stick with your studies and you’ll be doing work like this.”

  Chris Ryan nodded as he tipped back a Heineken.

  * * *

  A week later at the end of the day, Professor Ryan asked if Amelia could stay behind to help with docking the boats and preparing slides for tomorrow’s lab class.

  Amelia lit up. She worked alongside the grad students and Dr. Ryan as they pulled in the rest of the booms and buoys and shored up the equipment until the next day.

  He started walking to his Jeep, keys jingling as he stopped.

  “You gonna go eat?” he asked.

  She looked at her watch and shrugged. “Nah, looks like I missed dinner again.”

  “Well how ’bout dinner at Nathan’s again? My treat for helping.” He placed both hands on his chest and bowed in apology.

  “Professor Kingsley coming too?”

  He took a few steps, craned his neck to look toward the parking lot. “Car’s gone; looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  Amelia looked at the empty space.

  “That is, if you can stand me.” He’d said it in such a disparaging way that she felt at ease.

  She hoped there would be enough to talk about and felt odd at being singled out. The man had a shiny gold wedding ring that made her feel safe and she chided herself for being skittish. After all, he was old enough to be her father.

  She looked around to possibly drag someone else along but the
other students were gone.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, chalking up her reticence to the fear of long silences with a professor.

  During the twenty-minute drive, conversation was easy and they’d chatted about one of the boat engines that kept conking out. Laughing about how fifteen of them had been stranded in the sound until one of the grad students came out in a Zodiac to help restart the engine.

  Amelia rattled around in the Jeep since it didn’t have seat belts, a canvas top, or doors, so she held on to the dashboard as they hit bumps to keep from being thrown. The vehicle looked like it belonged somewhere out in the field. Huge tires, racks welded in places that held all sorts of marine tubing and equipment.

  * * *

  They sat at the counter, each picked up a menu.

  “Order whatever you want, it’s on me.”

  “Wow, thanks.” She ordered franks and fries.

  “No fish sticks for you tonight, young lady.” He looked over the top of his menu and smiled. “Bring me a Heineken,” he said to the waitress. “Getting enough time to get your work done or are you fighting off boyfriends right and left?”

  “Right,” she snickered. “A few students go out to the Hamptons afterward, but most of us stay behind and catch up.”

  “So I take it you’re serious, not one of these girls who wants to grow up to be a dolphin trainer at SeaWorld.”

  His eyes narrowed. It surprised her. He’d been so encouraging to students no matter how many mistakes they made; she wondered if it was all just an act.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with being that if a person wants to,” she said.

  He smiled with closed lips at her comment, looking amused and pissed off at the same time.

  “I-I want to do work like you and Dr. Kingsley, be a professor somewhere.” She felt foolish as she took a sip of the Coke that the waitress had just set down along with the food.

  “Boy, I bet your folks are darn proud of you.” He turned on the stool to study her, finishing off his Heineken and motioned to the waitress to bring another.