by C. A. Farlow
Jamie’s comment seemed exceedingly prophetic, given her introspection before his arrival. Age-old survival skills kicked in and she emotionally stepped back. Caution warred with acceptance. Maybe she was letting him in too far. Where does he get off commenting on my work habits?
Letting irritation creep into her voice, she replied, “Where were you last night? I thought we agreed to finish the last of the aqueous probes?”
Jamie waved his hand, shooing away her comment like an annoying bug. “Probes, smobes, is that all you can think about? I was out last night. I needed a break and decided to explore. There are some terrific bars in Denver, you know. Or maybe you don’t. I decided to sample the local color last night and relax a bit.”
Trying to regain her composure, Lauren said, “I haven’t got time to enjoy the Denver bar scene. Unlike you, I've got work to do!”
Jamie appraised her and Lauren felt his gaze sweep across her. Did I fool him? No, of course not, but he undoubtedly noticed my rising irritation. Look at that smirk. No, he isn’t fooled. It was times like these when she wished she’d opted for the solid oak desk rather than the glass library table that held her computer systems. At least oak would’ve provided something solid to hide behind.
But Jamie let it go and turned back to the tangle of cables. “Fine, let’s finish the probes.” They had designed two different ones: one set would sample the sediments on the lake bottom and the other would gather water samples. “We’ll need to get the casing design finalized and off to the machine shop. They’ll need at least a week to complete them but we’ve got to decide on the size.”
Lauren heaved a sigh of relief as the moment passed and Jamie was once again all business. Jamie’s thoughts were now fully-focused on the design challenge ahead of them and off of her personal life, or lack thereof. She turned back to her monitors and showed Jamie the preliminary designs she had completed last night. She easily slipped back into her professional persona and moved onto the next steps of project preparations. Another small emotional conflict averted, maybe.
Chapter Four
WITH THE LAST DOWNHILL turns of Rabbit Ears Pass behind her, Lauren tried to stretch in place behind the wheel of her SUV. Her planned three-hour drive from Denver to Steamboat Springs had become a seven-hour marathon, and her tall body was not happy with the prolonged cramped position. A fierce winter storm had blown up over the northern Rockies during her drive. She left Denver in sunshine and moderate temperatures only to plunge headlong into whiteout conditions on the western side of the Continental Divide.
Lauren thought about the last two months with increasing pride. Her previous projects had required long stays in isolated camps, but there were always lots of people around—camp workers, project scientists, guides, clients, and the indigenous populace. The locals always arrived shortly after camp was set, curious about the happenings in the small cities that Geodynamics created in the middle of nowhere. But this project was just the two of them, her and Jamie. They had created custom-designed equipment, written new monitoring software, built underwater monitoring systems that could function in near freezing water, built data-storage units that would survive subzero temperatures, and collected all the winter mountaineering equipment they would need to survive in the wilderness area while deploying the monitoring equipment.
This drive was the first time she’d been alone in two months. Chuckling, she realized it wasn’t always just the two of them. Jamie quickly made friends with neighbors in Lauren’s building, people she had never met even after living there six years. Granted most of those years were spent overseas, but Jamie had been there less than a week and had given a dinner party for the neighbors. And what a party it was—great food, better wine and local craft beers—spirited conversation filled his leased loft. Lauren laughed more in those few hours than she had in the last year. Jamie was a terrific host—congenial, open, welcoming.
But it was what happened after the party that unsettled Lauren and caused her to reflect on her life every day since. She was washing the dishes and enjoying the view out Jamie’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Unlike her loft that faced the mountains, this loft faced east with a view of downtown Denver and then onward towards the eastern plains. The lights from the neighboring buildings twinkled cheerfully in the darkness. Jamie was gathering trash and other party detritus in large garbage bags, when he said, “I’m impressed, you really opened up. I learned more about you tonight than in the last ten years. I had no idea you did a residency in pediatric oncology.”
Suddenly the twinkling lights didn't look so cheerful. Their twinkling morphed into pulses that seemed to take on a staccato beat. Tiny lights beating. And then some started to go out, turned off, signaling the end of the day. Tiny hearts beating and then not, signaling the end of another life. Shut off as easily as flipping a switch.
“So when are you going to tell me about Johns Hopkins? You never talk about your medical career. How could you give up all that to work analyzing dirt?” Jamie filled the trash bags. He missed the tears that slowly tracked down her cheeks. Tears of regret, tears of loss, tears of failure. She didn’t answer. Jamie left to throw the trash bags away.
Jamie’s return from the trash chute didn’t register. Lauren was still counting the beating rhythm of the lights, counting those still on, counting those going out—one by one. And there wasn’t anything she could do to stop them from going out or keep them beating.
Lauren heard Jamie dig through the freezer. “I’ve got some Rocky Road left. Want some?”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t, she was lost in the memories of tiny hearts stopping. Lost in memories of Johns Hopkins and pediatric oncology and her failures.
“Rocky Road, it’s your favorite.”
I don’t want any ice cream! I want the hearts to keep beating, can’t you see that?
“Lauren? Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?” He moved to take her hands out of the water to check. “Come on what’s going on? What did I say? What’s happening?”
Slowly Lauren turned her head to look at Jamie. “Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was me. I couldn't help them. I couldn't stop their deaths. It was all my fault.” Her tears now fell in steady streams, dripping from her chin.
“All your fault? I doubt that. I can’t believe you did anything wrong.”
“You’re right. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I didn’t do anything right either. I couldn't defeat their diseases. They all died. As my father said, ‘I’m a sorry excuse for a doctor.’” She looked away, back to the lights.
“I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re the smartest person I know, Lauren. I know you did your best. You are the best.” Jamie tried to appease her but confusion was written across his face.
“But my best wasn’t good enough.”
And that comment led to a night of sharing her worst fears and nightmares, emotions and events that Lauren had never shared with anyone but her grandfather. How she gave up pediatric oncology and switched to trauma. At least there she only needed to stabilize the patient, and then they were someone else’s responsibility. A sorry rationalization at best. But not knowing what happened to patients long-term didn’t allow Lauren closure. So she left medicine. She took her knowledge of oncology and applied it to learning about the potential environmental triggers of the cancers that were killing her young patients. She got a PhD in environmental chemistry to try and identity potential hazards in the environment. If she could determine what hazards existed, and how they turned on a physical response in cells, determining what caused them to go berserk; then maybe, just maybe, she could stop the triggers? Clean them out of the environment. Stop the deaths.
She was thankful that Jamie sat silently and just let her talk. He didn’t judge or rationalize or admonish. He just listened. He seemed to realize how important it was to do that. It was a special moment for both of them. It was an experience that neither of them would forget. Lauren had shared the confrontations with her pa
rents. How they criticized her actions and decisions. How they said she was wasting her life. Jamie couldn’t believe how callous her parents were and said so. It was an evening that cemented their friendship and maybe something deeper—reinforced their respect for one another.
Shaking her head to clear the memories, Lauren turned her thoughts from new friends to old. She’d met Sharon and Susan at an INESCO world heritage site in Australia. Sharon had fallen and twisted her ankle, and Susan wasn’t able to manage an injured Sharon and all their backpacking gear. Sharon was small, about five feet tall and less than one hundred pounds. Susan knew she could carry her out if she didn’t need to take water and other gear. Lauren found them sitting under a gum tree arguing about what equipment to leave and what they’d absolutely need to make it back to the car park.
Lauren quickly stepped in, assessed the badly sprained ankle, and volunteered to carry all the equipment and water. They got Sharon back to a medical facility. As a thank you, the couple treated Lauren to two nights at the Park Hyatt in Sydney.
Lauren would never forget that trip or their fortuitous meeting. Sharon and Susan were her only non-work related friends and they continued to be over the years. Often after Lauren completed a project, she would stay with them in Steamboat. They provided her with a quiet space to renew and recharge, but she realized she never returned their hospitality. Maybe after this project, she could invite them to Denver for a weekend. Share some of her life. Take Susan to the zoo. She’d love that.
Lauren quickly navigated through the center of Old Steamboat on her way toward Sharon and Susan’s ranch. Sharon was well known throughout the Yampa Valley as the founder of Steamboat Heritage, a group set on saving the valley from overdevelopment. They tried to balance economic growth with environmental impact. Susan was a veterinarian and always seemed more comfortable with the animals she treated than their human owners.
Turning on to the ranch access road, Lauren began the climb up toward their homesteader cabin. The blowing snow could not hide the signs of construction. Holes, large enough to swallow half her SUV, pocked the road, and she had to slow down to protect the electronic equipment she carried in the back.
A break in the billowing snow revealed an unexpected sight—the cabin was gone. Lauren stopped her vehicle to gaze up at the multi-storied log home that sat in its place. Wow, what a change. Lauren knew this was a project that took a long time to complete and reinforced how long it had been since she last saw them. Guilt gnawed at her. She felt disappointed in herself for not being a better friend. For not keeping in touch and sharing in all these wonderful changes happening to her friends.
Wind howled, sending white tornados whirling around Lauren as she made her way from the warm SUV toward the house. The wind cut through her light fleece jacket and she was chilled by the time she arrived at the entrance. Finally making it to the mahogany double doors, Lauren blinked snowflakes from her eyes and raised her hand to knock, but Susan opened the door before she could. She was encircled in a fierce hug. The hug eclipsed the missing time between these old and true friends. Lost in warmth, Lauren smiled and hugged her friend back.
Chapter Five
SNUGGLING FURTHER INTO THE warm, flannel-covered shoulder, Lauren sighed, "Dr. Stanley, I presume?"
Laughing, Susan replied, "Dr. Beckwith, is it?"
"That's Doctor Doctor Beckwith to you, and you better not forget it!" Lauren pulled away from the hug and surveyed her friend. Taller than Lauren, Susan had a large muscular build, probably earned from all the vet work she did. Snowy white hair fell about her face in a rustic shaggy cut. She looked like one of her furry friends. Her face was creased from the many laughs she shared with friends and family.
Susan grinned. "How are you, kiddo? Still out discovering how corporations are stealing, pillaging, and polluting? Trying to make them stop?”
Lauren nodded her head as Susan summarized her job. “Doing my best.” Lauren swallowed hard as the memories of her evening discussion with Jamie flashed in her mind. “Just gathering the facts to illustrate what’s really happening.”
"So you say.” Susan laughed and slung an arm around Lauren’s shoulders. “But neither of us will survive to tell our tales if we don't get out of this storm." Susan led the way into the brightly lit foyer, closing the doors behind them.
Looking up and up and up, Lauren spoke as she took in the dynamic structure. “This is amazing! I can't believe it. This is more a castle than a log cabin in the woods. You guys did a terrific job." Overhead, massive Douglas fir logs held up beam-trusses, which rose to meet at the peak of the central hall three stories above them. Tiered balconies wrapped around this great room where the upper floors looked down to the ground floor.
Susan shrugged. "No matter the scale, it’s still home, kiddo. And we’re glad you’re here, and in time for dinner, no less. You know how Sharon gets if dinner is late. Her stomach can't tolerate any delay."
“I know, I know. How she keeps her girlish figure with as much as she eats is beyond me.”
“So true, my gal can really pack it in when she’s hungry and she’s hungry most of the time.” Susan laughed at her own joke. “How was the trip up from Denver?”
“Fine until I crossed the Continental Divide and hit this blizzard. It was a difficult drive and I’m looking forward to some rest. It's been non-stop since Sarawak, and now we are starting a new project. I feel like I’m still jet-lagged and not sure where I am.”
Susan ushered her further into the house. “I know the feeling. I still feel like I’m on European time, and we’ve been back a week. Do you have any bags? We have the things you left from your last visit upstairs. We set aside a room on the third floor just for you. Just like in the old house. "
"Only a duffle with some personal things and then all the gear, that can stay in the SUV. I’d like to bring the electronics in, though. They can stand low temperatures, but I don't want them to gather condensation on the inside of the casings if temperatures fluctuate too much."
"No worries, just follow the lane around the house to the garage. I’ll open the third bay from the right. Your SUV will fit, no problem. Bring anything you need into the house through the side door. I’ll see you there.”
After parking the SUV in her assigned spot, Lauren grabbed her duffle and headed through the side door. The entrance opened into the kitchen, a large room filled with warmth and the aromas of cinnamon and clove. A center island of oak and granite dominated the space. Susan was elbow-deep in a bowl. Looking up as Lauren entered, she waved a flour-covered hand. "Get over here, will you? I need you to tip the bowl so I can pull the dough out."
Never comfortable in a kitchen after all her cooking mishaps over the years, Lauren cautiously approached the island.
Susan rolled her eyes. "Come on, neither the dough nor I am going to bite you. Get your butt over here."
Laughing at herself, Lauren grabbed the large porcelain bowl and held it on edge while Susan rolled the dough onto the flour-covered surface. "You know I don't cook, so go easy."
"The big bad jungle explorer is afraid of a kitchen and a bit of bread dough.” Susan laughed. “I'm surprised you don’t starve to death. Or do all those pretty interns take care of you?"
Lauren felt a blush creep up her neck and warm her cheeks. "No pretty interns. Cooks for sure, mostly male and usually toothless, and definitely not my type. Interns aren't allowed out in the field."
Susan winked. "Too bad. Nothing fun to look at."
"What's not fun to look at?" Sharon’s voice floated over to them.
Gasping, Lauren and Susan spun around, flour flying into the air, coating both of them in fine white powder. Lauren’s heart pounded. The woman always seemed to be able to sneak up on people.
"Guess I did walk in on something then. You guys look guilty as hell. What did I miss?” Sharon smirked.
Lauren dusted off some of the flour. "Sharon. How are you? Still sneaking up on people I see.”
Sharon moved ac
ross her kitchen to stand next to Lauren. "Not so fast. You can’t deflect my curiosity that easily. What did I miss?”
Lauren towered over Sharon's diminutive frame. "We’re discussing toothless cooks in the jungles of Sarawak."
Sharon tilted her head, tapped her chin, and grinned. “I thought I heard something about pretty interns and tropical breezes."
Grabbing the smaller woman up and spinning her around, Lauren laughed. “For your information, we’re discussing my lack of cooking skills and toothless cooks.” Lauren carefully set Sharon down. “I’m so glad to see you! It's great to be here.”
Sharon smiled sympathetically and patted her side. “Well, we’ll take good care of you and put some meat back on those bones. You know Susan won’t let you go hungry.” Sharon moved around the island and cuddled her partner. “Will you, honey?”
Susan encircled her shoulders and pulled her close. “Honey is it? I see where this is going. You’re just trying to butter me up to make sweet bread for dinner instead of rolls.”
“No not really, just trying to acknowledge your amazing culinary skills. But buttering up could have potential later.” Sharon wiggled her eyebrows at Susan and giggled.
Shaking her head, Lauren smiled, she was used to being ignored when these two got going. After several long minutes, she said, “All right, guys, still here, remember me?” Lauren sketched a small wave but they continued to ignore her. “My room’s on the third floor, right? I think I’ll head in that direction.” Lauren knew Sharon and Susan were lost in their moment, so she took her leave and went in search of her room.
A mumbled, “We’ll eat in an hour,” followed Lauren out of the kitchen.
“I should have left a trail of bread crumbs, so I can find my way back to the dining room. This place is huge,” Lauren muttered. The halls stretched on endlessly, and she was just about to call Susan on her mobile for directions when a black, tan, and white ball of energy tore around the corner.
