by Pamela Davis
"Well, yeah. She is beautiful and you have been living together in Africa for a year now. That's what you said, right? A year?"
"Yeah, a year. But we weren't 'living together' in that way, not the way you mean. We were dealing with different parts of the tribe, doing our own things. I don't know. I guess she is beautiful, but I never really noticed that much."
"Never noticed? How could you not notice? Those long legs and hair. She really is very pretty, Nathan."
Nathan admitted, "Well, yeah, she is. But you've got to understand how it is with Alex and me. We are total opposites in some areas--"
"Well, so are Lisanne and me!"
"But it's not just that," Nathan continued. "She's like a sister, you know?"
"A sister. Huh," Andy said with raised eyebrows.
Nathan laughed. "Yes, a sister. We really do have a brother-sister type of relationship. At first we were students together, each dating different people. Then we were more like work colleagues, but after a while over in Africa, it just sort of evolved into what it is now. I don't think she's ever been attracted to me. And I honestly don't think I have been to her."
"Well that surprises me," Andy said.
"Yeah, I guess it does seem strange," Nathan said, stopping to sip at his strawberry milkshake. "Man, did I miss strawberry milkshakes in the Kalahari!"
Nathan paused, and then said, "You know it's strange how we all do that. Talk about 'before' like there is some kind of dividing line. But it doesn't feel to me like we are in the 'after' phase yet."
"Yeah," Andy mused, "it's like we're in the middle, the beginning of the middle. It's all so strange."
"You're right. It really is. And here we are, trying to set up our community here, our enclave. With my sister's husband as our leader...along with that cat, Perceval. It's important that we have a leader, one that we can all live with. John seems to be it, by default. But I think he'll do a good job at it. What interests me more is where his daughter is going to fit into the picture."
"Samantha?" Andy asked, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
"Look, I don't know much, but from what I've picked up on so far, Sam has information about the future. More than all the animals, except maybe that Perceval. She knows about things that will happen, things that aren't disasters. She knows things without having to dream them. What will that mean for a society that develops around someone with those skills? What will her function be? Her father is the leader of group, but will he rely on her information about the future? Most governments, most societies, at least in this day and age, don't have psychics on the payroll! Not for real, anyway. And she's just a little kid. Do you realize what the implications are for the future? Will she be the only one who has these skills? Or will all children develop them? Will we eventually have a culture built around the abilities of psychics? Will it turn into a kind of religion? Will we move from a democracy to a theocracy? We just don't know right now where it's all going."
"Wow, I hadn't given any of that any thought. But hey, wait a minute, you're a cultural anthropologist, right? This is right up your alley. So, you don't have it all figured out yet?"
"Nope, not a bit. But I will say that it's fascinating to watch and to be right in the middle of it, to see what develops. What an opportunity!"
Wryly, Andy said, "I can think of several things to call all of this besides an opportunity, Nathan."
Nathan laughed. "I can get carried away thinking about it. I guess we should focus on what we came out to do today--the water problem."
"Yeah. Not as interesting as figuring out the future, but imminently more practical. I'll go get those maps of the sewer system from the car. Here!" He thrust the last hamburger patty at Nathan. "You get to become Waldo's best friend for the moment."
The Mall in Branson, Missouri
Rachel walked out of The Gap, struggling to fit all her bags in one hand. Janine followed her out the door, still in awe at how much money Rachel had just spent.
"Are you rich?" she asked tentatively, rescuing a bag of lingerie from Victoria's Secret as it fell to the floor.
"What?" Rachel smiled. "No, not rich, but I have credit cards and I'm not afraid to use them. Especially since they'll soon be worthless--at least, according to my brother. I had a good-paying job and I have good credit, so I guess I've got a lot of money to spend and a short time to get rid of it."
Janine motioned to a bench a few stores down and they walked over to it and sat down. "Whew! Shopping is a lot harder than I thought it could be," Janine said. "I feel kinda bad about spending all your money, Rachel."
Rachel waved a hand in the air. "Forget about it. That's what I'm trying to do. Trying to forget about losing my job. Forget about the fact I'll never see New York again. Never see a Broadway play again. Never walk through the Museum of Modern Art. Forget about the fact they'll probably have me peeling potatoes and cleaning fish before all is said and done. Let's just be glad I have the money to spend. We've gotten some really great stuff."
"I never had such good clothes before," Janine said shyly. "I can't wear some of these to clean up after the horses. I mean that sweater and the lacy blouse and the dresses! They'd just get ruined."
"Hmmm. Well, maybe you're right, but a girl has to have some decent clothes when it comes time to dress up. And I'm sure eventually we'll have those times. My mother will insist upon it! And the one thing you have to understand about buying clothes is that you want to get good quality, no matter what you're buying. It will last longer. And I think that will probably become an issue for us." She frowned. "But you're right. We need to get you some work clothes. Let's head over to Sears and get you some Levi's and t-shirts. And I guess we'd better get some for me too." She stopped and looked straight ahead into the store in front of them. "First though, we are going right into that shoe store there and get us both some shoes."
"Do you think they have work boots there? And cowboy boots?" Janine asked hopefully.
"Honey, this may be Missouri, but it's Southern Missouri. We're in the Ozarks. In other words, we're still in the South. Believe me, they'll have boots."
An hour later, Rachel happily paid extra to have their shoe orders delivered to the house in Cape Fair. Actually, the mall had a service to deliver from all the stores, but she'd only just found out about it. Divested of bags, and ready to do more damage to her credit cards, Rachel looped her arm through Janine's to continue the semi-argument they'd been having in the store.
"I hear what you're saying. I've been hearing you the whole time we were buying shoes. But, Janine, every girl needs a pair of perfect black, strappy high heels. It's mandatory for every woman. And we have to buy them now because who knows if they'll ever be made again, right?"
Janine nodded slowly. "I guess so. But we got so many shoes!"
"Look, if there aren't going to be any more shoe stores, we have to get them while we can! It's done. Settled. Let's move on. Sears is just right up there."
Her cell phone rang. Rachel answered to hear John ask, "Are you guys okay?"
Rachel said, "Sure we are. Janine and I are shopping like there's no tomorrow. Which I guess is the whole point of everything you've been saying. What's up?"
"Oh, we just had a bit of a scare with Harmony. But she's fine. They're all fine," John replied.
"All? Did something happen? Is Mother okay?"
"Actually Gracie's at the same mall you're at. I sent her out alone with my car, but I want you guys to hook up and stay together if you can find her. We're having a meeting of everyone tonight. But I don't want anyone out alone before then."
"John, you're scaring me! Is something going to happen?" Rachel demanded.
"No, no, I'm just overreacting to a situation that's already been dealt with. Go shop. Have fun. Wait--here's Jess. She has some sizes to give you. Just be home by six for supper."
"Okay...Hi, Jess, let me get a piece of paper..." and she began scribbling notes of clothing sizes and shoe sizes on the back of a check.
Janine watched her new friend and felt like she was in a dream. Never had she seen anyone shop like Rachel! She was a whirlwind in the stores, grabbing clerks and within minutes having them all jumping to do her bidding. She was always nice and polite, but there was an air of authority about her as she ordered people around, a confidence that Janine couldn't imagine possessing. And she was funny. She'd had Janine in stitches as she imitated first her boss in New York, her mother, and then John. But she didn't understand about the high heels. And Janine thought maybe she'd have to tell her.
"There, finally, she's off the phone," Rachel said. "Jessica didn't sound too happy. I think she and John had a fight. Just what we need. But we are under orders, orders mind you, to buy even more than we have so far. I guess Branson isn't going to do so well in the next week or so. I think we can get men's work shirts in Sears, too, and--"
"Rachel," Janine blurted out, "I've gotta talk to you."
Rachel stopped and turned to look at her. What a face, she thought. This kid could have made it in New York. Rachel had worked with models quite a bit in her job, and she knew classic bone structure when she saw it. But now that face was all scrunched up and looked ready to cry.
"What's wrong, honey? Do we need to sit down for this?" Staring at Janine for another moment, Rachel nodded her head and said decisively, "Yes, I can see that we do. Okay, we're getting ice cream and taking a break," and she marched Janine over to the ice cream stand.
Seated at the small round table a few minutes later and spooning pistachio ice cream into her mouth, Rachel said, "Okay, spill it. What's wrong?"
Janine took a deep breath and said in a quavering voice, "I don't want to wear the high heels, Rachel."
Rachel cocked an eyebrow at her, and said slowly, "Well, okay, kid, you don't have to wear them if you don't want to."
"But you bought them for me! And they cost so much and I--"
"Hey, hey, what's all this about?" Rachel asked, alarmed as a big fat tear rolled down Janine's perfect face.
"I was a hooker. For a year. After I ran away from home. From my mom's boyfriend. The one who raped me. My pimp--he made me wear high heels every day on the street. If you didn't, you'd get hit. And Sherry said I never had to wear them again. But then she died. I loved her and then she died." And then Janine pushed her ice cream out of the way, put her head down on folded arms and sobbed.
"Oh! Oh, my word. Oh, you poor kid!" Rachel said softly, horrified at the thought of what this sweet, young girl had gone through by the age of sixteen. At sixteen, Rachel had only been allowed to stay out until eleven on weekends, and Gracie's firm discipline and steely glare at the boys pretty much insured that she didn't have sex until she was in college.
Fumbling with the napkin dispenser on the table, she finally ripped out a stack and shoved them at Janine. "Here you go, kiddo. It's going to be okay, I promise. And you never have to wear high heels again, ever." She sat there watching Janine cry, and then moved her chair around the table to be next to her and put an arm across Janine's shoulders. Fighting back her own tears, Rachel said grimly, "In fact, I will kill anyone who ever says you have to wear high heels. I swear I will."
Janine laughed weakly, her tears subsiding. "Oh, I hate crying!" Janine said, snuffling into the paper napkins and then wiping her face. "Now I'm going to look all ugly from crying so hard."
Rachel shook her head. "Kid, you could never look ugly. Trust me on that. Now, do you want to talk about it? Do you, I don't know, do you need to see a doctor or anything?" She floundered helplessly in the conversation as Janine started slowly to smile. "Well, I don't know! I just want you to be okay. I can already tell, even though we only just met, that you are a great person. And it sounds like you had some pretty awful breaks in your life. Awful things were done to you. Oh, Janine, I'm just so sorry that this happened to you!"
"Besides Sherry, you're the only other white lady I ever told this to," Janine said shyly.
"White lady. Hmm. Sounds like in a storybook, 'Here she comes, the White Lady, Queen of the Land'!"
"You know what I mean," Janine said, giggling.
"I know, but me being white or you being African-American, does that really matter?" Rachel asked.
"It does to some people, believe me!" Janine said strongly.
"Okay, I know you're right. But I don't think it matters in our group here, do you?"
Janine thought about it. "No-o-o," she said finally, "I don't get any of those vibes from anyone in the group. And Sam says her parents even invited Max to live with them."
Rachel noted the slight tone of awe that accompanied that announcement. "Well then, there you go," she told her.
"And I don't need to see a doctor--" Janine began.
"Oh, god, I'm sorry I said that! That was stupid. Just ignore the stupid things I say, okay?" Rachel pleaded.
"No, actually, it wasn't a bad question, but I've been out of that business for a while now. And I always got checked by doctors at the clinic real regular. Tested for AIDS and all that stuff. I'm okay, really I am."
"I believe you," Rachel said quickly. "And thank goodness you were smart about that and were so careful. Because now you have this really important job with the horses, and we'll all be depending on you."
"Really?" Janine said, surprised. "You really think people will depend on me once more grown-ups get here?"
"Absolutely. I know my brother thinks so. You have a connection with the horses, Janine. Not everyone will, according to that Mrs. Philpott. In fact, it's possible that nobody else will have the horse connection. So you are a very valuable person in our little group." Rachel noticed the slight straightening of Janine's shoulders and how her head came up a bit at hearing that. Yes, she thought, the kid needs some confidence badly, but she'd get it. Positive reinforcement. She probably needs some psychotherapy too. But who knew when or if that would be available? It would just be up to her. If she could talk corporations into spending millions on stupid ad campaigns, Rachel knew she could help one young girl believe in herself. Rachel could talk anyone into anything. And this time it would be for a good cause. There had to be some good come out of this end of the world business.
Washington D.C., Oval Office
Dr. Sheffield Hutton wondered how long it would take the Secret Service guys to shoot him if he just reached across the coffee table and throttled the President. Probably not long and being obsessed with preserving his own well-being, he resisted the urge.
"Sir, I understand that your wife had the dream again. I heard you the first time. And the second time. But we still don't believe the Mississippi is going to flood."
"What about the rain?" the President asked in a deceptively mild tone.
"Hurricanes do move inland, sir. This one does appear to be following the laws of nature and doing just that. But as a hurricane moves inland, it weakens. The rains will die down and we won't have anything to worry about. You'll see."
"Hutton, can you tell me whether or not this hurricane is weakening as it moves inland?" the President queried, his voice going up a notch in volume.
Dr. Hutton realized he was tugging at his tie, which felt too tight around his neck, and willed his hands to be still. "Sir, we are getting conflicting reports. Some reports do say that the storm is not, in fact, growing weaker. However, we don't believe those reports."
The President leaned forward from his seat on the sofa. "And just why, Doctor, why don't you believe those reports?"
"Well, sir, they are anomalies. They don't fit the normal pattern of behavior of any hurricane in history. Therefore, they are incorrect. Aberrations, if you will, in equipment and possibly human error."
The President wondered whether or not the Secret Service would shoot his science advisor if he asked them to do so. "Hutton, I want you to listen to me and listen good. You are not, I repeat not, to ignore reports that indicate the storm is still at full-strength inland. You will consider those reports in any recommendations you eggheads make to me. You w
ill consider the impact of this hurricane moving inland without any signs of weakening. You will theorize about the results of that scenario and the impact on the Mississippi River. And you will, Dr. Sheffield Hutton the Third, formulate a strategy for me in the next twelve hours to deal with the potential flooding of the Mississippi River! Do I make myself clear?" the President ordered, his voice rising to a bellowing roar.
"Yes, sir," Dr. Hutton agreed with resignation.
"You're dismissed," the President commanded.
The Secret Service agents watched Dr. Hutton walk through the secretaries' office and on down the hall. They fantasized about Hutton making a threatening move toward the President. Just one wrong move.
San Juan Islands, aboard the Rhondavous yacht
Mayor Dusty Dubois settled herself squarely on the couch in the salon on board the yacht. What she wanted was a shot of whiskey. What she got was a cup of tea with lemon, a concession she was making only because her stomach didn't like boats. Her seasickness usually subsided after a few hours on the water, but she wasn't taking any chances. Not with this crowd.
She watched as Margaret stood talking with the Captain. All that red hair was now pulled back into a ponytail, which made the tall woman look younger. Margaret had been so tense on the plane and the car, and then yet another plane, all the way to the yacht. Once she set foot on it, the lines of stress eased from her face and she smiled for the first time in hours. Of course, she could afford to smile, Dusty thought, aggravated. Margaret wasn't the one paying over $3,000 for this little jaunt to see the some whales. No, that cost was being borne by Dusty herself. After traveling with them all the way from Houston to Arizona and then from Arizona to Washington State, she had to admit to just a small sense of delight at the consternation of Maria and Zack when they realized they didn't have the money for the yacht. And, of course, it had to be this yacht. Margaret insisted. Margaret, who evidently was out of money for this trip, after paying extra for keeping the pilot flying and the plane in the air.
Dusty smiled inwardly, thinking of Maria's little temper tantrum on being informed by the credit card company that her network was no longer allowing her to charge travel expenses on her company card. Yes, that was one news reporter who wasn't going to see air time soon, if ever. Dusty was not fond of reporters. She tolerated them, she manipulated them, but she also loathed them. They made her life as mayor so much more difficult than it had to be. And all those morons in Houston, so-called journalists, tried to insinuate there was something 'odd' or 'sinister' or even, god forbid, 'perverted' about her relationship with Alan. Her right hand, and the best friend she ever had, almost smeared by the Houston papers. Well, she'd put a stop to that--but it hadn't come cheap. Fortunately, she had 'more money than God,' her favorite line from the movie Steel Magnolias, a title she could claim for herself, and she certainly had more money than any newspaper or reporter in Houston, Texas, so she wielded her power and her money until the press backed off. But reporters--she never let it show, but she just couldn't stand them.