by Seren Goode
“Hey, where is everyone? Dudes,” Jaxon yelled down from the deck. “You need to check this out.” We all followed the sound of his voice up the stairs.
Up on deck, Jaxon was clutching the edges of the newspaper. His skin was still grey, but he had an intensity in his eyes that got everyone’s attention.
“You know all the research I did to try and find which geologist they might have met with? Well, that was one of them.” He punched the paper. “Looks like someone else was doing research too…and they got there faster.” Furious, he held a fisted handful of newspaper out. Shim pulled it from him and read aloud the article he pointed at.
Friday, prominent geologist Carl Stringham died at the age of 82. Winner of the prestigious Vetlesen Prize for scientific achievement, his passing is a loss to the entire scientific community.
Well-known for his controversial theories of life on other planets and Earth’s role in the universe, he was adamant in his support of the use of meteoritics, the study of meteorites, to explain Earth’s geologic history.
“His research did more to further our understanding of the planet than any other discovery in the last 100 years. The theories he put forth revolutionized our thinking of our place in the universe,” said his research partner, Sid Cambridge.
The last surviving member of his family, Stringham is mourned by his colleagues at the Clarkton University and his research partner, Sid Cambridge.
While no foul play is suspected, the cause of death is not being released by the coroner at this time.
Jaxon pointed to Stringham’s portrait. “I have a list of dudes in the right place in the 1990s and with the right specialties. But he was the one I was betting my money on.” Waves of frustration rolled off Jaxon, and in spite of the gray pallor, he looked like he wanted to punch something again.
“Are you sure? The guy was eighty years old. He probably just died of natural causes,” Shim said.
“Of course I’m sure. And after Lincoln, do you still believe in coincidences?” Furious, Jaxon grabbed the paper back. We had all been surprised with how passionate Jaxon had become in tracking down the geologists that had met with our parents and had been happy to turn the research over to him; the search kept him distracted while we were waiting for Lincoln to contact us. I hadn’t thought he would find anything after all this time. But Jaxon had dived into it like he was possessed. He spent hours on the coffee shop’s computers and working late into the night on our borrowed tablet. He memorized the names of all the prominent geologists in the Pacific Northwest and knew most of their bios.
“This guy, Sid Cambridge, he was one too. I know you will think I’m just trying to get off this damn boat, but I think we should start with him…now.”
“Where is he?”
“Clarkton University, in Portland.”
“Well, that’s why we are in Astoria. It certainly wasn’t the easiest harbor to get to, but it’s about two and a half hours inland to Portland from here. You said there were people on your list from Seattle to Portland. But the longer we stay on this boat, the better chance someone will connect it to Lincoln and catch up to us.”
“So what are we waiting for? Let’s go to Portland,” Jaxon exclaimed.
Chapter 20
Stumptown
I woke with the fuzzy-headed disorientation I always got when I took a nap. Yawning, I stretched my arms over my head. A “Welcome to Portland” sign on the side of a building slid by the window as the bus pulled in and stopped. We disembarked onto the bricks of Pioneer Courthouse Square. As the passengers started to spread out and disperse, the twins immediately rushed to share intel they had gotten from the Clarkton University alumni they had met on the bus. The former student had suggested we hop on another bus that would cross the Willamette River and take us up to the University.
We started for the pickup spot when Jaxon put a hold on everything.
He snapped our burner phone shut. “The prof called in sick today. They say it isn’t unusual on days he doesn’t have classes.” His lip curled up in disgust, and he stamped his foot in anger. When that didn’t help, he kicked a trash can, barely noticing when the older man next to it jumped in surprised and scowled at him. “He’s scheduled for classes tomorrow. We just have to try again then.”
“We should find a place to stay,” Shim suggested
Simultaneously, Skylar and Breeze said, “We should hit Voodoo Doughnuts.” The three stared at each other. “Jinx! We win. Let’s get directions.” The twins raced off to the Visitor’s Information kiosk.
“This isn’t a vacation,” I protested weakly to their backs.
“I don’t care if we sleep in a tree or eat doughnuts till we hurl, as long as it doesn’t involve water or a boat,” Jaxon growled and followed them.
“Give me a minute. I’ll meet you back here.” Shim turned around and headed to the opposite side of the plaza where a couple of guys were skateboarding. When Shim returned, he had found us a room for the night. It was dive-y, but they liked cash and didn’t ask for ID.
The twins took over the rest of our “vacation” day, and I relished not being in a charge for a change. We followed them through the city, people watching, checking out fountains, and stopping at the brightly colored food carts at Fifth Ave and Oak Street. This was a kind of a surreal vacation from our “real life” of evading kidnappers and investigating our parents’ disappearance. Or was this real, and the running-for-our-lives the surreal? We had been on this journey long enough that I wasn’t sure anymore. But having something normal for a few days, even a few hours, felt good.
I remembered when I was nine and we stayed on land for the first time in ages. While the boat was being repaired, we had moved into an apartment for a month. It was supposed to be a glorious time. I had it all planned out in my head: no moving from berth to berth, a huge, green field in the back to roam through, and there would be other kids there. Living on a boat, I rarely got to meet other kids. I was looking forward to making friends. But the reality was much different. The neighborhood had already formed its own cliques, and I was most definitely not a part of them. My mom had always homeschooled me, but now, she had to get a job to help pay for the boat repairs. I was on my own. And since we were on land, she wanted me outside as much as possible. I spent most of that summer month sitting on a broken piece of sidewalk while a group of kids mocked me for my funny hair, odd accent, and any other weird thing they could think up. It was really just a warm-up for high school. When the repairs on the boat were delayed, meaning dad couldn’t pay for them, my misery was extended. I began to wonder—was this neighborhood my reality and life on the boat a surreal dream, or was it the reverse?
The sky was grey overhead, and a fine mist of rain started to fall. I pulled up the hood of my jacket. Sky and Breeze did the same. Shim and Jaxon left theirs down, the water soaking into their hair. I caught myself watching Shim time and again as the rain hit his head, soaking into his hair, the dampness tightening the curls at his nap. My eyes traced a drop of water coalescing at the end of a chocolate curl before dropping down to his nutmeg skin and into the collar of his shirt.
I somehow missed the unicycle pulling out in front of us, causing Shim to stop suddenly. I plowed into his back, hard, pushing him into Breeze, who knocked into Jaxon. Jaxon scowled. Breeze yelped.
“Sorry.” My face heated. I ducked my head and waited for them to start walking again when I realized we were at the back of a line of twenty people waiting under a pink sign reading, “Voodoo Doughnuts.”
The rain stopped while we waited. Breeze and Skylar tutored us on the doughnut selection; it was obvious they had done a lot of research as they kept up a discussion on the merits of our options, each word more animated, as if they were getting a high from the sugary air wafting from the vents above us. Instead of looking at the tourists in line, I watched the locals on the street. Mutton chops and handlebar mustaches. Rolled cuffs and lay
ered jackets. Cyclists with helmets and slick jerseys. Each person had their own unique style of dress complemented by creative tattoos, makeup, and retro hair. Their backdrop was the wall mural across the street that read, “Keep Portland Weird.”
“Not that I don’t love seeing the city, but why aren’t we looking into one of the other scientists? Why are we waiting around for this one?” Breeze posed the question while keeping her eyes glued to the sugary display case.
“This is the only one in Portland. We would have to leave the city, go north to the next one, and then the next one, and come back to this one at the end if none of the others pan out,” Shim explained.
“No, man,” Jaxon exclaimed. “This is the one. I’m telling you.” He pulled off his bag and shoved his skateboard out of the way. Unzipping the top, he pulled out a handful of surprisingly tidy papers.
“This is a list of all the universities and institutions that would have had geologists on staff. There are a couple of private companies in there too. Waters said they saw a ‘fancy school’ geologist so I’ve been focusing on the universities, and they are easier to track. I found every university, college, and certificate program in the region that had a geology program, found their staff lists online, matched them up with the dates we are talking about. Some of the old geezers are long gone. Can’t do nothing about that. But a few of them, based on the info I’ve found, fit what we are looking for. And Stringham, he was it, I’m sure of it. And we just missed him.” He fell back against the wall behind him and slapped a hand on the sparkly bricks. “I can’t believe we missed him.”
Shim took the papers and shuffled through, pulling out one. “So, we are waiting to see his assistant, Sid Cambridge?”
“Yeah, it’s worth it. I swear,” Jaxon said, his face earnest.
“So what are we going to do with the rest of our day?” I asked.
“You know, since we have the time, we could go check out Burnside.” Jaxon’s face lit up.
“Of course.” Shim snorted.
“It’s on the schedule.” Breeze wiggled her eyebrows and refused to give our more details about the day’s itinerary.
Jaxon was a puzzle. He usually wore his angry nonchalance like a protective cloak. But he was an excellent investigator and had dug into the research like a bulldog. This was my first trip to Portland, and the city—like the doughnuts—was a revelation. From prim and proper to weird, pristine to gritty—all the elements fit together as if they required the other to come into their own fully. Kind of like our group. I was starting to understand how my mother could learn to call strangers family.
We had long since licked the sugar off our fingers by the time we made it into the huge concrete box with an enormous red and white striped “Powell’s Books” sign on the front. Inside, it was a reader’s wonderland. A multi-level, multi-floor smorgasbord of all things print. My head did a happy dance the minute we walked through the doors, and the smell of ink and paper hit. We pushed farther into the store, past the subdued chaos of the checkout to the inner sanctum. It was quieter here, with only hushed voices and the wisp, wisp, flip of pages being turned. My pulse sped up. So many stories to read.
As I wandered around, floor after floor, I quickly and willingly lost myself and the others.
“How the hell long are we going to stay here?” With a dramatic collapse, Jaxon was suddenly lying prone on the floor with a martyred expression on his face, uttering exaggerated moans. “I’ve read all the good manga and magazines they have, had two drinks, and walked every floor. We’ve been here forever.” I checked the clock. Forty-five minutes had passed since we arrived.
“Knock it off.” I smirked.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Jaxon countered, pretending to pull his head off his neck and throw it like a bowling ball. Then he chased after it and disappeared.
Shim found me next. I was in the last row of the Science and Mathematics area. I had taken off my jacket and wadded my long hair into a messy ball on my head and was digging through books on astronomy.
“There you are.” Strands of hair flew loose when I spun around at the sound of his voice. He smiled and lowered his voice before he added, “Jaxon’s going apeshit, and I promised him a stop at Burnside.”
“He found me too.”
Shim had reached my side now, and suddenly, I felt self-conscious being alone with him in the narrow space, which was an odd reaction since the five of us had been crammed on the sailboat for so long. He was chewing on his lip when he spied something over my shoulder. “Hey, that’s what I came here to find.” He pointed up to a shelf at least three feet over my head to a copy of The Practical Encyclopedia of Rocks & Minerals. Shrugging out of his backpack, he dropped it to the floor and grabbed a footstool. Dragging it over, he stepped up, stretching as he reached for the book. He just missed it. “Damn.”
“Maybe I can reach it,” I offered.
“No way. Besides, you aren’t as tall as me,” Shim said.
“Excuse me?” I tilted my head and stared.
“Yeah, alright, you’re the same height as me.” I shook my head at his silliness. I was at least a half inch taller than him. He punched up and grabbed the book with the tips of his fingers, going Odell Beckham Jr. on the book. He latched on and held. Then the footstool tilted. He flailed, windmilling his other arm as he started to fall. I grabbed him from behind. My arm was wrapped low around his hips, his shirt riding up and my hand splaying across his stomach. He grabbed at my arm for support, and I could feel his stomach muscles clenching. I was fascinated with the contrast of his caramel skin against the pale skin of my arm. It looked like I’d never seen the sun he’d been blessed by.
He stood there, catching his breath. I suspect he was trying to get his cool back, muscles flexing as he held my arm in place longer than it needed to be. There was something comforting about Shim, grounding. I took a minute to appreciate the sensation. Before I knew what I was doing, my head dropped against his back. He smelled like fresh mint mixed with the ink and paper smells of the store. Color rose in my cheeks when I realized I was sniffing him. Oh Stars, how embarrassing. I let go.
He held on.
“You trying to save me?” He sounded teasing, but his voice was husky. “You should know I don’t go in for that white horse crap.”
I laughed. With his arm holding tight to mine, I was pressed against his hard back. The rumble of his voice in his chest sent my mind reeling.
He cleared his throat and pulled away, stepping down he said, “To be fair, I should probably tell you…”
At the same time as I asked, “So, what have you got there?” I stepped back, uncertain.
He looked like he was going to say something else, then changed his mind. “Geology.” He raised the book in his hand. “I thought maybe we could find the stone in here somewhere. It might give us an idea of where it could be from.”
“Clever! That would give us an advantage when we talked to the professors. But I should let you know, I’ve been researching that stone for years, and I’ve never seen anything like it.” I stepped back further, giving Shim room.
Shim balanced the book on an empty shelf and turned to the specimens section. I pressed in closer, and we bent our heads over the pages as he flipped through them. I pushed past the awareness of his warm body next to mine and tried to focus. Gradually, we both got lost in the book with me slapping his hand if he turned a page too quickly.
“There you are.” From down the book stacks, Jaxon stuck his head into the aisle. “It’s time. Let’s go,” he demanded. He looked suspiciously between the two of us sitting closely together, before stalking off, turning back, his eyes bulged. “Come on.”
Shim stretched his back, looping his arm behind his head and massaging his stiff neck. “Wow, how long were we reading that book?”
“I lost track of time.” I stretched beside him. “As I expected, we
didn’t find anything even close to what we are looking for.”
I watched Shim shake himself as he considered my words. “Yeah, nothing seemed like it was even in the same classification. The closest was Bloodstone, but it doesn’t have the silver.” I thought about our stones. The reddish-green color was common, but nothing had the silver threads, let alone the ability to let people talk to each other’s mind, though I’m not sure they would put that feature in a book.
“Maybe we are looking in the wrong section.” I examined the bookstore’s list of sections on a nearby sign.
“What do you mean?” Shim closed the book and climbed the step to reshelve it. This time, he managed a more graceful dismount.
“Well, maybe we should have been looking in Astrology or something in Electrical Engineering.”
“Yeah, maybe. Let’s check that next time,” Shim readily agreed. I hid my smile as Jaxon dragged us out of the bookstore.
Chapter 21
Burnside
Burnside Skate Park was a series of concrete pits lovingly crafted under a bridge. Graffitied covered every inch that wasn’t skateable. The community-maintained skate park was colorful and tidy.
Jaxon blindly handed his bag to Shim. He grabbed his board and stood on a flat slab of concrete at the edge, just off the parking lot, watching for several minutes before he rode his board down, then up the slope to where the locals hung out by the chain link fence that circled the park and introduced himself. A few minutes later, he was in the rotation, taking turns dropping into the large bowl.
Knowing we were going to be here a while, we settled onto a wide concrete ledge to the left of the concrete observation slab, out of the way, but with a great view. This was most definitely not a park for the inexperienced. There were no signs listing pad requirements or supervision, which I had seen at other parks. There were other differences too. Everyone here was in their late teens or older. We were by far the youngest. A handmade sign said, “No Bikes, No Scooters, No Booze.”