by Jung Yun
She’s wary of some of the questions on Richard’s list, concerned they’ll elicit nothing more than generalizations. Sure enough, the first three questions yield exactly that. Text straight out of a stump speech about job creation, economic development, and an unemployment rate that’s currently the lowest in the country. If Richard were here, he wouldn’t mind. He believed that good interviews required patience, and most interview subjects, particularly inexperienced ones, needed time to feel comfortable with the idea of themselves as interviewees before sharing anything remotely usable. But the longer Mr. Denny goes on, the more Elinor’s attention begins to drift. Her eyes keep wandering up to the framed vintage photograph behind his head. This one features three men in aprons standing behind the counter of a mercantile. At some point, Mr. Denny must notice her looking at it because he turns and points at the man closest to the register.
“That’s my grandfather from my mother’s side of the family. He ran the general store in town for forty-two years.”
“Your family goes way back in this area.”
“That we do. Seven generations of us, starting with my great-great-great grandfather.”
She scans the rest of Richard’s questions, irritated with herself for not preparing more of her own. She’s used up almost half of her hour with him, asking about things she already knew or never wanted to know.
“So, what else can I help you with?”
Elinor turns the list facedown on her lap, unwilling to continue referring to it. “This may be a little off topic, but something strange happened when I was on Main Street earlier today. I was wondering what you’d make of it.”
“Strange in what way?”
She explains how the men surrounded her outside the Halliburton interviews and rattles off some of the things they said and did. Mr. Denny, who has thick gray eyebrows, keeps pushing them together until she can’t see the space between them anymore.
“You sure they weren’t joking?” he asks hopefully. “A bunch of men like that—maybe they were just goofing around?”
“But if you don’t mind me asking, how is that funny? For me, it was actually kind of frightening.”
Mr. Denny nods. “You’re right, you’re right. A lady like yourself should be able to walk down the street without being treated that way.” He glances at his tie, a shapeless red knit one that has a spot of something brown on it. He scratches at the spot with his fingernail. “I’m not going to lie to you, miss. Things have been complicated around here since the boom started. A lot of these roughnecks, they’re rough around the edges. That’s probably how they got their name. They come from all over, from different cultures, different kinds of families. They’re not like us Avery boys who know it’s bad manners to talk to a woman like that.”
This is the angle that Richard eventually landed on for the article—the boom as an economic phenomenon that created a town filled with insiders and outsiders. It was an idea she understood well—the people who truly belonged to a community versus everyone else. But something Mr. Denny just said momentarily distracts her.
“Is it really bad manners, though? Or even a cultural misunderstanding? Or is it just harassment? Misogyny, even?”
He nods again. “I think the boom introduced us to a lot of issues that we’ve never had to deal with before. I mean, even some of these words … People didn’t use to go around just saying things like misogyny, you know?” He catches himself chuckling and seems to think better of it. “Anyway, as you’re probably aware, I started this job back in 2010, a couple months after the incident…”
The town council appointed Mr. Denny to replace a longtime manager who retired. Beyond this, Elinor isn’t sure what the euphemism refers to. “I’m sorry. Which incident?”
“You know, the Lowell case.”
She doesn’t know, but it doesn’t feel right to say so. She plays along as if she understands what he’s talking about, a bad habit she learned from her mother. Elinor often watched Nami pleasantly nod her way through a conversation, only to ask what the teacher meant by this or what the neighbor meant by that once they were alone. Elinor’s older sister didn’t appreciate having to play the role of interpreter. Often, Maren groaned or rolled her eyes, making no effort to hide how inconvenienced she felt by such questions. But Elinor always did her best to explain if she could. On some level, she knew why their mother acted like this. Nami didn’t want anyone to think she was dumb. People often assumed that she was, something Elinor could sense by the way they spoke to her—slowly, loudly, carefully—using simple words that even she, a small child, could understand.
“Remind me…” she trails off, her head swimming with details from all the articles she read before arriving in Avery. She’s certain she saw the name “Lowell” somewhere in the file. The first name started with an L too. Lana. Lisa. Or maybe it was Leah. “Are you talking about Leah Lowell?”
“Her name was Leanne,” he corrects. “Leanne Lowell. I think that case still causes a lot of grief for people around here. I’d be willing to bet that more than half this town—the original residents, I mean, not the transients—more than half of them probably assume a roughneck had something to do with her going missing because things like that never happened before they came. Mrs. Hildebrandt—you met her outside—she was working here back then and she said people kept calling day and night, demanding searches of every man camp in the area. And then of course that case took on … well, I guess you could say it took on some unfortunate racial overtones. But it really wasn’t as bad as the papers made it out to be. It was just a handful of closed-minded folks pointing their fingers at certain kinds of roughnecks, giving them a hard time.…” Mr. Denny trails off, watching Elinor scribble notes on her pad.
“My predecessor was stuck between a rock and a hard place, trying to make this a business-friendly environment for the newcomers while keeping the old-timers happy. It’s no wonder he decided to take early retirement and go sit on a lake somewhere.” He looks around his office, at the stacks surrounding him. A sound that resembles a sigh escapes from his mouth. “Some people may not like all these roughnecks coming to town, but it’s complicated. Everybody’s livelihoods are tied up with the oil companies now. And remember—ten years ago, we were a dying community. Whenever the high school graduated a new crop of seniors, those kids would head for the hills. They’d end up in Fargo or the Twin Cities or the army, even. None of our young people wanted to stay here until the boom.” He pauses. “Well, look who I’m talking to. Mr. Hall said you did the same thing.”
It startles her to realize that he knows this detail about her life, that Richard would even bother mentioning it to him. But it happened exactly as he described. Three weeks after Elinor received her high school diploma, she packed her bags and boarded a bus to New York, too young to know any better, too excited to be afraid.
9
Her phone rings while she’s trying to open the door to her hotel room. Elinor takes one look at the name flashing across the screen and lets it go to voice mail. Ever since she told her sister that she was coming back to North Dakota for an assignment—a mistake, in retrospect, although it was nice to have good news for a change—Maren has been calling and texting daily, insisting that Elinor visit the farm and spend some time with her family. By now, she’s familiar with all of Maren’s arguments. It’s been so long since you’ve been home. You need to get to know my boys. Tom keeps asking when you’ll come. But Elinor and her older sister aren’t close. Their interactions consist of cards on Christmas and birthdays—usually belated—and the occasional attempt at a call. If they knew each other better, Maren would realize that she’s using the worst possible arguments to persuade her. Elinor returned for an article, not for a homecoming. She feels nervous and awkward around children. And she dislikes her brother-in-law, Tom.
As she enters the room, she notices that it’s been tidied up in her absence. The comforter she sat on earlier is no longer hanging unevenly off the bed. And the little red NO
SMOKING sign is positioned directly next to the Styrofoam cup she’s been using as an ashtray, as if housekeeping is sending her a message. She opens the window and sets her recorders and laptop on the desk, trying to motivate herself to transcribe while the conversation with Mr. Denny still feels fresh. But transcription has always been one of her least favorite activities. If she could send her recordings to a service that sped through the work for a dollar a minute, she gladly would, but she doesn’t have that kind of budget to burn. Also, Richard transcribed his own interviews and strongly encouraged his students to do the same. He thought the act of listening to something over and over again would help them become more attentive, more familiar with what was being said and how.
She plays back a clip of her interview, surprised by the quality of Mr. Denny’s recorded voice. He was kind in real life, but that barely registers once he’s no longer sitting in front of her, looking overworked and slightly disheveled. What she notices most is how clearly and evenly he speaks, never searching for the right word or inserting an “um” or an “ah” to buy himself a few seconds to think. He sounds like a politician, someone who’s quick on his feet, even when the topics are uncomfortable. She replays the section when he said a woman should be able to walk down the street without feeling harassed, and for a moment, she’s glad that he acknowledged that on the record. But the longer she thinks about it, the more irritated she feels. Why are her standards for this man so low? Why was his first instinct to explain away the incident as a joke or bad manners? And why does she sound appreciative when he finally believes her instead of angry that he initially didn’t?
“Her name was Leanne,” he says. “Leanne Lowell. I think that case still causes a lot of grief for people around here.”
She opens Richard’s research file and lights a cigarette, figuring she has ten whole days to air out the room. A keyword search for “Leanne Lowell” turns up five results in a new window—news clippings in a huge folder labeled MISCELLANEOUS that she skimmed but didn’t have time to study like the others. The first article includes a color photograph of Leanne, a headshot that looks like it was taken at a portrait studio in the mall. She’s the all-American kind of pretty that Elinor used to envy as a little girl. Blond, blue-eyed, with a wide, lip-glossed smile that seems like her default expression. It’s not hard to understand why her disappearance was such big news in the area. If a woman who looked like this wasn’t safe, then who was? Elinor glances at her recorder, aware that she has to start transcribing soon. She has a tendency to let this kind of work pile up and get away from her. She takes another drag and decides to read on until the end of her cigarette.
Avery police looking for missing woman
October 20, 2010
The Avery Police Department is asking for the public’s assistance in finding 27-year-old Leanne Jean Lowell.
She was last seen jogging eastbound on Rural Route 1 on October 18 at approximately 8:00 a.m. Lowell has blond hair, is 5 foot 3, and weighs 110 pounds. She was wearing a light blue jacket, black running tights, and a red baseball cap. Anyone with information is asked to call the Police Department at 701-507-5353.
Broken cell phone only clue to woman’s disappearance
October 27, 2010
AVERY, ND (AP)—Police and residents are conducting searches throughout Avery, North Dakota, for a local woman reported missing one week ago.
Leanne Lowell, 27, left her home on Monday morning to train for an upcoming marathon, but never returned. Avery Chief of Police Stan Hauser told KVQR News that a canine unit had recovered her iPhone near her regular running route.
Police believe Lowell may have been abducted or possibly hit by a vehicle, Hauser said. The police chief added there was no evidence that her phone had been left behind after an animal attack, a scenario introduced by local fish and wildlife officials.
Family of missing woman offers reward as search continues
November 5, 2010
Authorities expanded their search on Friday for 27-year-old Avery resident Leanne Lowell, who went missing in mid-October. The enlarged search area now includes the northwest corner of the North Fork Reservation, where multiple witnesses reported seeing Lowell on the date of her disappearance.
No solid evidence has emerged to indicate that Lowell was kidnapped, authorities said. But FBI agents were called in to assist local law enforcement in the case, and an agency spokeswoman said the possibility of abduction was still under investigation.
Lowell, the manager of the Depot Bar in Avery, left her home for a 15-mile training run at approximately 8:00 a.m. on October 18. Her husband, Shane Foster, reported her missing after she failed to return. On Thursday, Foster announced a $50,000 reward to the person or persons who could provide information leading to her successful recovery.
Human remains discovered on North Fork Reservation
March 19, 2011
A WinCo Electric Company crew discovered human skeletal remains on Friday afternoon, approximately four miles west of Kittery, authorities said.
Utility workers burying cable on Route 83 discovered the body at about 3:45 p.m. The remains will be transported to Bismarck where forensic analysis will be conducted by the State Medical Examiner’s Office.
Flowers and letters have begun to appear along the roadside, fueled by speculation that the remains belong to missing local woman Leanne Lowell, who was last seen on the reservation in October.
Residents in the area will likely experience traffic delays and notice a large police presence until Tuesday. Traffic on Route 83, between Green Trail Road and Elon Road, will be closed throughout the weekend.
Remains found on reservation do not belong to missing runner
April 14, 2011
BISMARCK, ND (AP)—The State Medical Examiner’s Office released the results of autopsy and DNA tests conducted on human remains found on the North Fork Reservation last month. The results confirmed that the remains do not belong to missing Avery woman, Leanne Lowell.
Lowell, a 27-year old student and bar manager from Avery, was last seen training for a marathon on the reservation in October of last year. State Police are still investigating her disappearance as a possible abduction. Members of Lowell’s immediate family were not available for comment.
According to the medical examiner’s report, the unidentified female was approximately 30 years old and died of asphyxiation. Efforts are underway to identify her in cooperation with local authorities.
10
Richard calls at a quarter past ten. Late for him, she thinks, especially with the time difference in New York. He likes to write first thing in the morning. Usually, this means he’s in bed by nine.
“You’re prepping for Harry Bergum and Amy Mueller tomorrow?” he asks.
It doesn’t sound like a question so much as a statement. She can’t help but hear other messages embedded in it. A reminder that he’s out on a limb for her. A warning not to embarrass him.
“I’ve been at it for hours,” she says, unwilling to admit what she’s actually been doing since she returned to her room.
“So … you want to ask me anything?”
Elinor has no intention of using his materials again like she did with Mr. Denny. If she’s ever going to feel a sense of ownership over this article, she has to diverge from Richard’s script and figure out her own. Still, she tries to come up with a question, some small token of the respect or gratitude he seems to be fishing for.
“I didn’t understand what you meant here,” she says, pulling up a page of his scanned notes on her laptop. “When Mrs. Mueller was talking about her husband, you wrote ‘something going on with them’ in the margin. Do you know why you thought that?”
Richard is silent for a moment. Then he says to her sharply, “You’re not even going to ask me how I am?”
She forgot about his hip replacement. She doesn’t remember when the surgery was scheduled, whether it happened already or he’s about to go in. How strange this is, she thinks. A whole year
without any contact at all, and now he’s calling her late at night, irritated that she hasn’t asked about him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. How are—”
“Jesus. Never mind.”
His voice is hoarse, as if he’s coming down with a cold. And he’s drinking. She can tell by the sound of ice cubes clinking in a glass, the way he occasionally moves his mouth away from the phone to swallow. She wishes she were drinking with him. It was one of the few hobbies they had in common. In Richard’s apartment, a Gramercy Park duplex decorated by his ex-wife, he had a beautiful old bar cart. On the first shelf, there was a double-walled ice bucket and an assortment of tongs and matching spoons with mother-of-pearl handles. Next to them were a half-dozen rocks glasses made of lead crystal, their weight so perfect in her hand. Richard kept a few bottles of good bourbon, vodka, and gin on the bottom shelf for guests. But what he liked most was whiskey. He taught her to like it too, everything from the cheap handle of Jameson to the special-occasion bottles of Yamazaki and Hibiki that his friends sent as gifts. While no one would ever accuse Richard of being miserly, the Japanese whiskeys were apparently so expensive, he kept tabs on their fill levels, discreetly marking their backsides with wax pencil in case one of the many people who entered his home—his assistant, his cleaning woman, the maintenance man, his interns—started to help themselves. It wasn’t until after their breakup that Elinor realized she was also one of the people whose consumption he probably wanted to monitor.
She takes a sip of her warm ginger ale, which she’s been nursing for hours while sitting at her desk. The taste of it is metallic and syrupy against her tongue.
“So what did I write in my notes again?” he asks.
