Lauren turned and paced a few steps. Rowan followed behind her, sensing she needed to walk. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with exhaustion and heartache. “A long time ago, after the whole fiasco in Peru, one of the nurses at the hospital in San Diego made some comment about how what we did was all a bunch of hokum and I remember one of the others saying I was just another scientist trying to get attention.” She sniffed. “I’ve never been one who wanted the spotlight. I guess she thought we’re just on TV so we could be famous. It was never about that for me. I just wanted to find a way to do research and not have to grovel for grants. I’d rather chase monsters in the woods than put up with my brother.”
“I know you and Michael have your issues, but if we can move past this, then maybe we can show others how to do it.”
“Did you hear any of our conversation?” Lauren stopped, looking at him.
“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” he said. “But yeah ... I did.”
She turned away. “Then you heard the lame excuse ... the weak apology ...”
“I heard a man have a sudden epiphany,” he said. “If he ever thought he was innocent in all the trauma you faced, he knows now how wrong he was. He made a mistake, Lauren.”
“You’re sticking up for him?” She turned, her hair whipping around.
“I’m sticking up for you, Lauren,” he said, reaching for her hand. She gazed at him a moment, before she took it. “It takes a lot for someone to say they’re sorry, but it takes even more to accept an apology that’s 15 years too late. You have to decide; what’s more important? Being right or making peace?”
Lauren looked at him, her eyes searching as she considered his words. He put his arm around her and kissed her head. “Come on, I’ll drive you to town if you still want to go.”
* * *
Lauren had plenty of time to think about what Rowan had said. The drive was spent in silence, with only a few words as she directed him into Tahlequah. She pointed out the historic buildings and explained their significance. Rowan asked questions and she felt her anger subsiding. “So where are we going? Didn’t you want to go to the History Center?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I just wanted to make certain I wasn’t going to run into my mother.”
“I know you said she teaches classes there,” Rowan said.
“I’ve been texting George,” she said. “He’s checking to make sure she’s not there today.”
“I realize it’s a small world, but what are the chances you’ll run into her?”
Lauren lifted a shoulder, picking up her phone when it buzzed. “Okay, he says we’re good.”
“Point the way,” Rowan said, ready to take her directions.
Rowan watched her out of the corner of his eye as he drove. She was still a bundle of nerves, wound tightly around her lean frame. Conflict and chaos churned behind dark eyes. Rowan’s heart broke for her. He’d never had any kind of issues with his sister, or any of his family. Not like this.
All-in-all, Rowan’s family was unique; he knew that. His parents were still married. Most of his friends came from parents who’d divorced, and a few that had remarried. Rowan could proudly say he was friends with his big sister, and they looked forward to seeing each other at holidays or get-togethers. The Pierce Pack had a reunion every five years on the 4th of July without fail. Hundreds of aunts, uncles, cousins, and relations met in downtown Denver for food, fun, and fireworks. They’d done the whole Walt Disney Family Vacation more than once. They even had matching t-shirts made each time. He hoped to do that with Henry someday. The thought made him smile.
* * *
The visit to the Cherokee Heritage Center was a successful one. Lauren had been surprised to find her cousin Jerome working in the genealogy library. She hadn’t seen him since he was little. More surprising was the fact that he recognized her, but given her celebrity, it shouldn’t have caught her off guard. She pleaded with him to keep her visit a secret and he seemed amicable enough to the idea. He helped her find some of the documents Eleanor had told her to look for, and before she was done, she had a stack of copies and purchased a few other books on Cherokee History.
* * *
Her disagreement with Michael seemed forgotten for most of the day, but as they got in the car to head back to George’s house, Rowan could see the shadow return.
She was quiet for most of the drive. Henry fussed in his car seat and she barely even acknowledged him; she was so lost in thought. Fortunately, the car ride lulled him to sleep, and he napped for the half hour it took to get back to George’s house. Lauren had nursed him before they left, so he’d likely sleep a while longer.
She came back to herself as the car stopped in the driveway. There, her worst fear was realized. She stiffened and froze, locking eyes with the one person she had no desire to see — her mother. A false smile lifted the older woman’s face, as Lauren’s expression fell.
“Who is that?” Rowan asked, his view of her blocked by George’s truck.
“Trouble.”
* * *
“You could have called and told me you were coming,” her mother said tartly as Lauren got out of the car, slamming the door. She was angry in her bones and could feel the heat flaming in her cheeks, rising to the top of her head. “I had to hear from one of the neighbors in town.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mother,” Lauren snarled. She wasn’t, but she said it anyway. “We didn’t think we’d be here more than a day or two.”
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Grayson.” Rowan grimaced as he passed, carrying Henry into the house.
“Ms. Boudinot,” she corrected him, but didn’t seem angry about the slight. Rowan didn’t know she didn’t use her husband’s – ex-husband’s last name. “Is this my grandson?” she asked, trying to inspect the blanket-covered car seat as he passed. “Do I at least get to meet my grandson?”
Lauren crossed her arms and jutted out a hip. “He’s sleeping. You can meet him after his nap.” Michael stepped out onto the porch, catching Lauren’s eye, and her ire, as he did. Diana turned and looked at her son with a nod.
“Did you call her?” Lauren demanded of her brother. “You did call her!”
“We need to get this settled, Lauren. If we’re going to move forward, we have to sit down ... can we not have a civil conversation? We’re all adults here. I need your help, but not when you’re like this.”
George stepped out behind his younger brother. “Come in the house,” he said, when Lauren glanced his way. “It’s going to rain. You’ll get wet.”
As if calling down the skies himself, the storm opened up, but Lauren stood fast. “Fine.” Her mother turned and headed inside, pausing. “Stand in the rain all day if you want. I’m going in. Maybe George has coffee.” Michael ducked inside ahead of her.
“You know I have coffee,” George said, holding the door, leaning down to kiss his mother’s cheek.
* * *
Diana Boudinot was a diminutive woman. She looked like a dwarf among her sons, and even her daughter was nearly a foot taller. Yet, for her stature, she commanded a room when she entered. Everyone stepped aside, surrendering to her whichever chair she chose to take at the kitchen table. Of course she chose the seat at the head of the table, where George usually sat. It was a place of honor, and she clearly felt worthy of it.
Lauren was soaked to the bone as she stood in the entry way, with her hair dripping, a puddle forming around her. She shivered, but the heat still burned within her, concentrating in her face. She looked angrily at the spectacle as George brought his mother coffee and the boys gathered around her at the table. She could have stayed outside in the cold, driving rain for hours. The lightning however, demanded otherwise. Now that she was inside, she almost wished she’d stayed out.
But Lauren didn’t go to the kitchen with everyone else though. Instead, she went to find dry clothes. Rowan had laid down with Henry and was texting when she came in. “Coward.” She sneered, pulling off her wet clothes, snatching dry
ones out of her suitcase. She found the towel she’d used that morning after her shower and blotted the rain from her face, running it over her heavy damp hair. Flipping her head over, she wrapped the towel around her hair and twisted it, forming a turban.
“My mother wants to know if we’re ready to come see them,” he said.
“We’re leaving ... first thing in the morning.” Lauren had already made her mind up. “We can go to Barsoom for all I care.”
“Do I need to get a flight out or what?”
“We’ll discuss it when I’m done here,” she said. “I may need you to bail me out of jail, but I will not spend another night here.”
“Where are you going?” Rowan asked when she reached for the door handle.
“I’m going to bury the hatchet ...” Henry flinched. He lifted his head and looked blankly at his dad as she slammed the door behind her.
* * *
Lauren stopped in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, surprised to find everyone had moved to the living room. Michael and Diana were conferring, clearly in cahoots. George had the newspaper and seemed oblivious to them as he kicked back in his favorite chair. Lauren stood in the dining room, sipping her coffee. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but it didn’t matter. She was still angry in her core, and she wouldn’t go in ‘til her pulse slowed.
They fell silent when she finally entered. She sat down on the sofa across from Michael and her mother. She lowered her cup and paused to free her hair from the towel, shaking it loose before taking up her cup, folding her hands around it for the warmth it provided. She leaned her elbows on her knees and waited for one of them to say something ... anything.
“So, how’s the television business?” Diana finally quipped, looking smug.
“At the moment, I’m having second thoughts on my career choice.” Lauren sniffed, her nose wrinkling.
“Look, Lauren ...” Michael started.
“Don’t look, Lauren me,” she retorted. George glanced up from his paper, but quickly realized this was no place for him. He folded it and tucked it under his arm and slipped out silently. “Did you tell Mother I was here?”
“I didn’t have to,” Michael said. “But I did tell her about my mistake, and I’ve apologized for it ... again.”
“This?” She wagged her finger between her brother and herself. “This has nothing to do with her.” She pointed her nose at their mother. “This has to do with you ... and me.”
“Lauren ...” he started, but her eyes flashed, and he froze.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Lauren commanded. “I’m going to speak my mind and I will speak it plainly. You do not need to reply or add your commentary. You need only listen and hear me. Hear my words. Are we clear?”
Michael nodded; a look of terror passed over his features. Of all the boys, he was the youngest, having nearly ten years on her in age. He’d been the baby growing up until Lauren showed up and usurped his position of honor. It didn’t matter that his twin was three minutes older than him. Perhaps that’s why he’d always given her so much trouble; had always been the rabbit — the leader of them in all the mischief.
Lauren sat back a moment, choosing her words carefully, then began on an extended tirade ... all in Cherokee. She knew her mother would understand it all, but she didn’t think Michael had more than a fundamental understanding of the language. With the whole dictionary of Cherokee words at her command, she let fly all her pent-up rage.
Her native tongue was extremely harsh, yet melodious with a curtness. The clipped consonants sounded like the speaker was choking. There were no P’s or B’s in the Cherokee language. It was one of a few rare languages that lacked bilabial stops. Instead of using the lips, Cherokee words lay primarily in the epiglottis at the back of the throat. The frequency of glottal stops provided a unique emphasis that punctuated her anger.
Throughout her tirade, her brother looked blankly at her as his brows slowly lifted; his eyes darted to his mother, pleading for rescue. Lauren’s soliloquy continued, and her tone remained level, with a restraint he hadn’t expected. Her deep voice never raised into the soprano range she was capable of, knowing that the alto range was much better suited to convey the intent of her words, even if he didn’t understand them. The last few came with a lifted chin and flashing eyes, the words coming from deep in her throat with syllables that ended abruptly in the back of her throat, almost as if she were swallowing the sounds.
Michael looked to his mother overtly, hooking his thumb towards his sister. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
Diana appeared impressed at her daughter’s skill. “Lauren, I had no idea you had any Tsalagi. I thought they’d beaten it out of you at that fancy school I sent you to in California. As for you, Michael, you’ve had it coming, so yes. I am going to let her speak to you like that. Now, let’s have some more coffee and we can catch up ... unless you have something else to say ...” She looked at Lauren.
“I’ve spoken my peace. I have no more words to say to this one.” She turned to her brother. He looked wounded, which had been her intent. He didn’t have to know what she said to understand the magnitude and depth of her anger.
“Michael?” Diana challenged.
“I have given my apologies. I have nothing else to say.” Michael held up empty hands, unsure what else he could do or say to defuse her ire or bring an end to the long-standing feud he hadn’t realized was on-going.
This was not the first time either had said these words to one another. Their mother had interceded in their squabbles like this before, and rarely had the peace lasted more than a few minutes. “I need a fresh cup of coffee. Anyone else?” Diana announced, holding her cup out to Michael.
“I take mine with cream and one sugar.” Lauren held up her cup. She sat back and crossed her arms, watching her brother move like a whipped dog. He was wounded, physically, but he’d taken her scolding, begrudgingly.
Rowan’s words came back to her. Maybe he had come to some kind of epiphany about his failings in their relationship. For a moment, Lauren considered her own. As Bahati had pointed out, she had allowed herself to carry her anger like a stone in her heart, and while she wasn’t confident she was ready to let it go, its presence was suddenly a burden she hadn’t realized was there. She was willing to give him a moment’s grace; provisionally.
Chapter 7
“Last night you told Rowan you wanted to talk to me,” Lauren said. Henry had woken up from his nap and was now being introduced to his grandmother as she and Michael sat at the kitchen table with fresh cups of coffee. Her pulse was still racing, and the anger that had burned so hot just minutes before was only slightly cooler than the coffee.
“I’ve got a project I’m working on I’ve been wanting to talk with you about ...” he began, sitting down across from her. Their old wounds would take a long time to heal.
“Something else you want to rub in my face?” she asked. “Did you find aliens?”
Michael looked sharply at her, clearly surprised by the vitriol in her voice. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you want to rub it in my face?”
“No,” he said, hesitating. He stood, shaking his head. “I’ve never tried to rub anything in your face, Lauren.”
“I beg to differ,” she snarked under her breath as she took a sip from her cup.
“Lauren.” He turned. “I ... I think I found aliens.”
Her cup lowered from her lips to the table. “What?”
“I’m still not sure what I found.” He sat back down. “I can tell you what I think I found, but ...”
“But what?”
“I can’t be sure,” he said.
Lauren sat looking blankly at him for a moment. “What evidence do you have?”
“Signals,” he said. “Fast radio bursts to be more precise.”
“FRBs are nothing new.” Lauren crossed her arms as she sat back. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“It’s not the fact th
at we found FRBs that’s so exciting,” Michael hesitated as Rowan came in to get a cup of coffee, pausing as he overheard the conversation.
“Honey.” Lauren motioned him over. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
Rowan came over and sat down at the end of the table. “FRBs?”
“Maybe I should back up and tell you a little more about my work.”
“Uh yeah, because in case you’ve forgotten, I am no rocket scientist,” Lauren said.
A wide grin made Michael’s teeth glow against his russet skin. He had a crooked canine that gave him a slightly snaggle-toothed smile. “Good thing I am, then,” he added. Even that made Lauren smile, and she gave a wave of capitulation. “So, six years ago, I was asked to design a satellite system to pick up incoming radio waves from the cosmos.”
“A receiver?” Lauren asked.
“It wasn’t that hard,” he said. “Radio technology has changed little since it’s invention.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “You understand the principle of capacitive induction, right?”
“My PhD may be in biological anthropology, but we deal with radios and communications systems all the time. I don’t know the intimate details of how it works, but yes, I do understand the principle.”
“Well, radio waves in a vacuum travel at light speed, so radio waves through space travel lightning fast,” Michael continued. “About three years ago, I was working at the radio telescope when ... for less than a millisecond ... a barrage of radio waves arrived from space.”
“What was it? The Beatles?” She found herself channeling Rowan’s sarcasm. Even Rowan chortled at her joke.
Michael stared at her for a moment. Clearly, he was in no mood for her jokes. “We got lucky. We had all 38 of the antennae that make up the array pointed in the same direction in the sky. This was a stroke of luck that allowed us to take all that data and use it to basically triangulate where in the universe the signal came from, and how far away it was from us. You wanna take a guess?”
The Alien Accord Page 7
