Mapmaker

by Mark Bomback

  Outside, the bright sun glared against the concrete parking lot. I got on my bike and rode down the bike path half a mile away to Silvia’s Polish Café, a small place right off the bike trail next to Trailside Ice Cream and the River Bend Dance School. I left my bike on the crowded bike rack. Now I thought I could turn my phone on. I watched anxiously as the screen lit up. I was sure Connor would have gotten back to me by now—I hadn’t checked my phone in one long hour and thirty-five minutes.

  There were two new voice mails.

  No texts.

  The first one was from Beth.

  “Hey there.” (Hey there was her way of trying to sound cool and casual even when she was checking up on me.) “You must have gotten back late last night. I didn’t see you this morning. Just checking in to see if you’re okay. Will you be in for dinner tonight? I … anyway, have a good day at work. See you later.”

  The next voice mail was from an 802 number I didn’t recognize right away. The only thing I knew was that it was from Vermont.

  “Tanya! Hon!” yelled Rebs.

  My heart squeezed thinking of her at the Norwich summer camp. I imagined her … swimming, eating in the cafeteria, teaching arts and crafts in the rec hall—where the air smelled of citronella bug spray and sun block, and the floor was always damp from the kids trekking in with wet bathing suits from the lake.

  “We barely have cell service up here! It’s like Little House on the Prairie. I have to walk to the ‘town’ post office to get any cell reception. That’s why you haven’t heard from me, like, every single day. We’re having a counselor party Friday night we seriously want you to come. Call Blaney, she’s driving up with some of her friends from Smith. You’ve got to come. Luv ya, mean it.”

  I nodded as I hung up, forgetting that she couldn’t see me. Blaney was Rebs’s older sister. I would call Blaney as soon as I figured out why the hell Connor hadn’t shown up today at MapOut. Actually, scratch that: I would call Cleo first, with or without Connor. He still had not returned my last pathetic text and now I was in a shame spiral, regretting I’d ever sent it. Obviously I had a semi crush on him. Maybe he’d lost his phone? Maybe he just wasn’t texting me back. It sucked, but sometimes you have to be a realist.

  I’d copied Cleo’s phone number from my dad’s old phone into mine the night before. It was a New Mexico area code: 725.

  I took a deep breath. I don’t know why I was so nervous exactly. This was one of my dad’s oldest friends. True, I hadn’t seen Cleo since she came to Amherst four years ago. She was tall and thin with long, wavy, sun-bleached hair. She reminded me of the models in the Sundance Catalog my mom used to order clothes from. Plus, she loved horses and was a great equestrian—a nature girl, but also kind of tough talking. She had light brown skin and freckles. I remembered that when we went out to dinner, she always ordered a double bourbon on the rocks. It had never occurred to me that my dad would have an affair with Cleo for the simple reason that Cleo never showed any interest in him. My dad was fine looking, but when I pictured Cleo with a guy, it was George Clooney.

  Now that I thought about it, Cleo had never mentioned men at all, nor had Dad ever mentioned a man in her life.

  I dialed the number and pressed my phone to my ear, counting the rings. My phone felt hot. Three rings, then a woman’s voice picked up.

  “Hello?” It was Cleo, no question.

  “Cleo? It’s Tanya, Michael’s daughter.” There was a pause on the other end. For a moment I thought we’d been disconnected. “It’s Tanya,” I repeated. “Michael Barrett’s daughter. Um, I’m calling because—”

  “Please don’t call this number again.”

  “What? Cleo?”

  She had already hung the phone up.

  I felt as if I were falling. I pressed the number again, the phone spinning in my clammy hand. Not even a single ring. The call wouldn’t go through. She had blocked it.

  Harrison’s black Audi pulled into the parking lot just as I was locking up my bike.

  I wondered if Connor was in the car. I couldn’t see anything through the shaded windows. It was 1:04 P.M. Was Harrison returning from home or had he driven back to Boston after his late-night meeting at MapOut? Would he have seen Connor? Did he know where he was? I lingered, taking my time clipping my helmet to the handlebars and retying my shoe. Waiting for Harrison to get out of his car. But the car doors remained closed, the engine continued to run, the dark windows sealed. The sun reflected off the black hood. He was sitting in his air-conditioned car with the windows rolled up, talking on his phone.

  After a few minutes I gave up and walked into the MapOut office. The cool, overly air-conditioned air reminded me of being on an airplane. I wished I could go back outside. It was a beautiful day, not too hot or humid. My dad was big into conservation and unless it was boiling he would never turn on the AC. On a day like this he would have just opened the windows.

  1:12. I knew the time because Alison, the receptionist, announced as much.

  “We really try to keep the lunch break to forty-five minutes,” she commented. “It’s policy.”

  “I was only gone an extra eight minutes.” I tried to make light of it, to smile at her.

  She continued to look at her computer screen. “It’s policy,” she repeated. “If everyone added eight minutes to their lunch break it would equal X number of hours of lost work over time.” All of a sudden she looked up with a smile and winked at me.

  I stared at her. There was no way I could respond to a wink even if I wanted to win this argument. Without another word I made my way back to my desk. The pile of input data next to my computer looked as though it had doubled in height since I was last at my cubby an hour ago. At first I thought it was my imagination. Then I saw the yellow Post-it: Harrison needs these finished by end of day. Thanks! Alison. She had signed it with a smiley face.

  Was Harrison kidding about these pages? Even if I was on schedule with yesterday’s work, there was no way I could realistically finish by the end of the day. I pulled her Post-it off the pile and crumpled it angrily in my hand.

  A text came through on my phone. I immediately checked, expecting a response from Connor. It was from Rebs.

  Hi T! Blaney driving up tonight @ 9. Hitch a ride with her! Tote desp. for you to come!

  Staring at the pile of work on my desk, I regretted that I’d ever applied for this job in the first place. I wished I was with everyone else at Camp Norwich lifeguarding on the lake. I wished I’d never seen Connor again, never seen his dad, never second-guessed Beth or my own father.

  Yes I want to come! I frantically typed back. Give Blaney my # and tell her I’ll pitch in for gas and beer!

  I smiled as I waited for Rebs to reply. I felt as if a weight had been flung from my shoulders. Here I was, just a normal girl, joking around with a friend, on her way up to party for the weekend. I could almost pretend it was true. I could make it true. I would. I stole a quick glance around the office. The front desk was empty. Alison wasn’t there. A pen lay at an angle over a white pad of paper with the MapOut logo printed across the top. The ever-present can of Diet Coke sat beside the keyboard.

  I was about to leave when the doors of Harrison’s office opened. I hesitated. Was it guilt? But why would I feel guilty? He was the one who’d lied about his whereabouts last night. No … I froze because I hoped I’d see Connor.

  Alison stepped out. The doors swung shut behind her.

  “Can I help you?” She adjusted her rectangular blacked-rimmed eyeglasses and smoothed her skirt as she sat down in her swivel chair.

  I suddenly realized I’d been staring at her. I was about to explain that there was no way I could finish the pile she had left for me, when the doors opened again. Harrison walked out of his office.

  “Tanya.” He smiled, opening his arms to me. This was the way he’d always greeted me, with a hug. “Do you have a minute?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  He looked surprisingly fresh-faced, clean shaven�
��in a pale blue button-down and jeans. I could still see the crisp lines from where the shirt had been pressed. I could smell the familiar mint-spice scent of his aftershave that lingered around him. It reminded me of my dad; he used the same brand. It always had the effect of making me want to take one step closer to him.

  I followed him into his office: a bright corner room lined with ceiling-to-floor windows. A modern brown leather sofa sat against the wall, across from his stainless-steel desk, with two chairs facing from the other side. In the other corner was an old video arcade game from the ’80s. PAC-MAN.

  “Does that actually work?” I asked, dazzled by the whole setup. In comparison, my dad’s office was like the supply cupboard. I instantly regretted having opened my mouth. Harrison had no idea I’d been in my dad’s office.

  “Have a seat, Tanya.” He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  He gripped the arms of his chair as he sat down. His smile was gone. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was even graver. “You know your father made me your legal guardian.”

  I blinked at him. Those were the last words I was expecting to hear. I’d always assumed Beth was my legal guardian. She was the one who dealt with feeding me, housing me, providing me with spending money. We may not have communicated, but she was there. I shrugged again, not sure how to answer.

  “It’s a responsibility I take very seriously. You also know I love and care about you deeply. In fact, I think of you as my own daughter. My second child. So I need you to be honest with me. Understood?”

  In the bright light from his office, I could see the large dark circles beneath his eyes. I could also see he had tried to disguise them with powder or cover-up. It looked normal from a distance but in this light, up close, the streaks were visible. This all felt very wrong, all of a sudden, his putting me on the spot. He’d lied to his own son about where he was. What the hell was he trying to hide, anyway?

  “I have a few questions to ask you,” he continued. “All I want from you is the truth.” He leaned forward. “Can you promise me that, Tanya?”

  “Okay.” My throat felt thick, heavy.

  “What time did you leave work yesterday?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No need to panic. Okay. So someone had ratted on us. (And I already had a prime suspect: Alison.) I was being busted for sneaking out early. That was fine. I could handle this.

  “Sorry. Yeah. I left early. It was a really nice day and—”

  He held his hand up to stop me. “What time did you return to MapOut?”

  “Um … this morning. I’m not exactly sure … like around ten.”

  His eyes met mine, holding them. “The truth, please.” His voice was calm but I could tell he was upset. He clenched the arms of his stainless-steel chair as he waited for an answer.

  I repeated my first answer. “Around ten A.M.”

  Harrison shook his head. “You and Connor came back to MapOut at 10:42 last night and you left at 11:56.”

  I froze. I felt a queasy rush as the color drained from my face. We’d been caught. Who had seen us? When did they see us? If they knew when we came and left, obviously they were spying on us the whole time. Why hadn’t they confronted us?

  I blinked several times, unable to speak. He turned the large computer screen on his desk to face me. On it was a list of ten-digit numbers. Telephone numbers. All the employee telephone numbers all with times and dates next to them.

  “You’re clocking your employees by their phones?” I gasped.

  His features softened. “That’s right. That’s why lying won’t do you—”

  “Is that actually legal?” I interrupted.

  “Is the punch card legal?” Harrison asked, but he no longer sounded upset. A smile flickered across his face. “Look, Tanya, you’re not in trouble. But I want you to know that I can’t help you unless we’re honest with each other.”

  I tried to smile back, to appease him somehow, but I felt as if I were suffocating. My dad would never have allowed something like this. It was creepy. Why was Harrison so paranoid about his employees’ comings and goings? But then it hit me: he really did have something to hide. There was no other explanation.

  “Where’s Connor?” I asked.

  Harrison stood and turned to the window, gazing out at the parking lot, the bright green leaves casting shadows over his face in the summer breeze. “I need to trust my employees. What you and Connor did was illegal. I know you were trying to hack into your dad’s computer. Connor already told me.”

  I shook my head. This was wrong. I had already been caught in a lie. Maybe this was a trick question. Did he already know we’d been successful? How much had Connor told him, if anything? No. No way. I couldn’t believe he’d tell his father a word, not after he’d made me swear to keep silent. It was best to tell the truth as far as I possibly could. I tried to laugh it off, but the sound died in my throat. “Well, yeah, see Beth thought my dad was having an affair with his old friend Cleo. You remember her?”

  “And what did you find out?” Harrison asked, his back still turned to me. “Was he having an affair?”

  I held my breath. If he could track people from their phones it was possible—unlikely but possible—he might have some way of reading texts. Had he read the texts I’d sent Connor? I should have been smarter than to be so explicit. I wracked my brain, trying to remember exactly what I’d written. There was a chance that Harrison didn’t know the whole truth.

  Harrison shoved his hands in his coat pockets and turned around. “You are aware that breaking and entering is a serious crime—as is hacking. As owner of the company I would owe it to my shareholders and investors to prosecute you and Connor. I would be legally and ethically obliged to do so.”

  “But I didn’t find anything out!” I practically shouted. “I couldn’t get past the third password.” So much for telling the truth. On the other hand, he’d just told me that I had nothing to be scared of, and now he was threatening to file criminal charges? That would put an end to my college applications, to any future jobs. I felt that invisible weight I’d just shed talking to Rebs clamp down on me, forcing me through the seat, through the floor, under the earth. Who would help me? I didn’t have a mother or father. Would I need a lawyer? Would I go to jail? How serious was this? What had I done?

  I wasn’t really a crier. I mean, I did cry, but I usually held it in until I was alone somewhere. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the magnitude of what he was saying, but I didn’t have any strength left in me. Wetness stung my eyes. I looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling, but it was hopeless. This was a different kind of crying. I wasn’t sad or upset; I was afraid.

  “Tanya, sweetheart.” I felt Harrison’s hand on my shoulder.

  Everything had gone wrong today. And all because of a stupid bet with Connor yesterday afternoon. But no, that was unfair—to both of us. I wished I had never snuck out with him, wished I’d never trusted a word that had come out of his mouth. I forced myself to look up at Harrison.

  “Like I said before, I care about you like my own child,” he said. “So I’m not going to tell the police. I’ll give you a second chance. But you need to make up for the hours you skipped out with Connor yesterday. I’d like you to be part of MapOut’s future. I know your dad would have wanted that, too.”

  He reached across his desk and handed me a tissue. I couldn’t bring myself to thank him. “You have a talent,” he went on. “You always have. Remember the bird’s-eye view drawing you made of your house and yard? Of your dad’s work shed? All the measurements were exact and you were barely out of kindergarten.”

  I wiped my eyes with the tissues. He had pretended he was going to prosecute me—but why? To scare me? To make me cry? To show that he had much more power than me?

  “You’re a paid employee like everyone else. Make up the hours and we can put this behind us.” He sat back behind his desk and swu
ng his screen around so it was facing him again. “You need guidance, Tanya, you have to know what you did was wrong. Not only wrong but against the law. I’ve been much easier on you than I have on Connor.”

  “Where is Connor?” I asked again. My voice was scratchy but clear.

  “En route to California. He hopped on an early flight on a whim. He missed his girlfriend. I’m still annoyed, but I respect his decisions. Besides, I’d like to open an office out there, and I’ve tasked him with finding MapOut a new office space.”

  For a second, I thought I misunderstood. “When you say en route …?” I couldn’t finish my own question.

  “He’s gone back to California. He missed his girlfriend.” Harrison said. He dug in his pants pocket for his cell phone and started scrolling through it.

  Gone. I wanted to get up, to run from the office, but I felt stuck to the chair. Time seemed to stand still. Connor didn’t even say goodbye. He’d told me he’d come back to be with me. That was the last thing he’d said. It didn’t matter how much he hated phones; he wasn’t that much of a creep. I knew it. It made absolutely no sense. Unless …

  Unless things were better with his girlfriend than he’d hinted; unless he didn’t want to jeopardize his future by breaking into his dad’s office with a sort of regular-looking girl from his childhood; unless he was embarrassed by the confession he’d made and wished he could take it back.

  “Do we have an understanding, Tanya?” Harrison asked. He didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “You probably should get back to work.”

  I nodded mutely and left before any more tears could come.

  At my cubicle I counted the pages. I felt numb. Maybe I could work hard, forget Connor, finish this project, and save some face here. Refocus on doing well and getting into a good college. I could be done by 8:00 P.M. After that: escape. From everything. I needed to see my friends. To get away from all this, even just for two days. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Connor. Maybe he was on the plane now. Maybe he would call or text me when he landed. Maybe he would apologize for being a liar and a coward.