“Yeah, right,” Colden said.
She was not happy with her own tone, but she was having a hard time overcoming her petulance.
“No, it’s true,” Drew said, pointing his beer bottle toward Dix. “I read that, too. Guy even got his act together. Said it really turned him around. He’d just been bitter and miserable and jealous of her success. Felt marginalized by it. Silly, but common enough.”
Colden didn’t say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing.
“Might be worth a shot,” Dix said, looking at her. “You could just talk to him. Not like you’re accusing him. Like you’re requesting his help.”
“The damsel in distress,” Colden said. “Classic.”
“No,” Dix said. “The woman in charge of her own life. You have nothing to lose by trying,” he added.
“That’s not entirely true,” Sally said. “He might escalate. If he feels threatened.”
“I can handle myself,” Colden said. “It’s not like there’s been or likely to be any physical contact.”
“If he did escalate, then maybe we’d actually be able to bring a case,” Drew surmised. “But I think that’s an awfully big risk. To you, Colden.”
“Yes, but if we don’t do something, as you’ve pointed out in the past, he may find another victim. Someone without the same resources I have.”
“You mean someone without skills in martial arts and firearms?” Drew said.
Colden glared at her father. She had never told Drew these things about herself. He must have. He shrugged and smiled at her.
“I hear you are also good with a bow and arrow,” Drew continued. “But I wouldn’t recommend that approach. Let us torture him legally, if need be.”
Colden couldn’t tell if Drew was trying to get her to soften her mood, or if he was just perennially cheery. She busied herself with folding and refolding her napkin.
“In any case, I recommend we sit tight for a bit. Maybe I can get more info,” Drew said. “Colden, you should try to avoid him, and if you can’t, be as neutral as possible, and document whatever misbehaviors you can.”
Colden opened her mouth to say something but didn’t know what to say. She didn’t like all this planning and activity and directives going on around her, about her. Daisy started whining. Colden stood up, thankful for a reason to stop the conversation.
“I’ll go,” Dix said, stopping her with a hand on her arm.
“No,” she said. “I’ll go. She’s my responsibility.”
Colden almost said, “She’s my fault.”
Drew took the guest room and Colden the sofa, where she’d been sleeping for the past week so that she could be close to Daisy and the door. She slept fitfully, waking repeatedly to bad dreams she could not remember. As the sky outside the windows moved from pitch black, sprinkled with the shiny salt of stars, to the soft gray of a predawn summer day, she gave up on sleep, tossed back the blankets, and put her feet on the floor. Daisy thumped her tail and opened her big mouth, panting her good-morning greeting.
What a happy girl, Colden thought. Nothing bothers her. She holds no grudges.
She opened the dog’s crate and felt her tongue on her fingers.
I should take a lesson from her, Colden told herself.
They went outdoors, where the heavy dew soaked through Colden’s sneakers and caused Daisy’s legs to slip out from underneath her. She sprawled and panted, then gave up and rolled onto her back, pumping her three legs in the cool air. Colden gave in as well and laughed as she rubbed the dog’s velvety stomach. They wandered slowly in the low, morning light, Daisy sniffing happily at invisible things. Colden wondered what images those scents conjured in the dog’s mind, what she was finding and experiencing with her nose. She wished she had a fraction of this dog’s sensual sensitivities.
The house was still, everyone asleep, when she came back in. She quietly fed Daisy, returned her to her crate, and made coffee.
Now, Colden thought, would be a good time to look at the data cards she’d pulled that day that Daisy got injured.
She hadn’t had the heart or time to review them so far. She expected disappointment, and she’d had enough of that recently. She’d use this quiet hour before anyone else was up to skim through them and get that small chore off her to-do list.
Shafts of yellow light were streaming in the windows by the time she heard footfalls in the hallway. She was sitting at the dining room table, her laptop open, her cup long empty, when Dix came and stood behind her. She smiled up at him and pointed to her screen. He was silent as she toggled back and forth through half a dozen images.
“Sally needs to see these,” he said.
He left Colden and got coffee to bring to his wife, and then they both came back and sat at the table. Colden angled the laptop so that they could see and move between the images. Moments later, Drew joined them. Colden smiled at the sight of his hair standing up in different directions and the pillow crease on his cheek. It was a welcome contrast to his usual good grooming.
“Wow,” he said as he sat at the table and ran his hand over his head. “Haven’t slept that well or long in forever. Helps when there aren’t car alarms going off outside your door.”
“Coffee?” Dix asked.
“I’ll get it, thanks,” Drew replied without moving. “What are you all looking at?” he asked instead.
Dix sucked his teeth.
“What? What is it?” Drew asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Sally said.
“Something from Larry? More Sasquatch images?”
“No, not from, Larry,” Colden explained. “Although Sasquatch seems to be a theme in my life these days.” She directed his attention to her computer. “These are pictures from some game cameras I set up out in the mountains. I was hoping to find a hybrid species, a cross between a wolf and a coyote. There’s been some reports of an unusual animal out there. But the cameras picked up something else instead.”
“A different sort of unusual animal,” Dix remarked.
Drew stood so that he could see the laptop.
Colden toggled back and forth between several images. A large, hulking figure filled a corner of one picture. An image from a greater distance showed it was not a Bigfoot but the back of a man. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and pants, a backpack hanging from a shoulder. His hair was black, straight, and unkempt, and it appeared long uncut. In one image, he was hunched over, with only the curve of his shoulder showing. In another, he was standing, something in his hand, hanging from a rangy arm.
“Rabbit,” Dix said, pointing. “Bet he got it in a snare.”
“Like the one that caught Daisy,” Colden said.
“Is that legal?” Drew asked.
“No, not legal,” Dix said. “But sometimes necessary.”
“Sometimes people are just plain hungry,” Sally added.
“Bet he’s our vandal, too,” Colden said.
“Wait,” Sally said as Colden flipped through the images. “Go back. Can you zoom in?”
Colden stopped on a picture that showed a part of the man’s face. He was in profile, his head turned over his shoulder as if he’d heard something. He had a patchy beard. His hair hung lankly over his broad forehead.
“Jeez,” Sally said, staring fixedly at the screen, her eyes darkening with concern.
“What?” Colden asked.
“Sally?” Dix urged.
Sally raised her finger to the screen and stroked the man’s face.
“I think I know who that is,” Sally said. “His parents have been looking for him.”
Sally swore them all to secrecy and explained what she knew of the situation. The young man and his sister had been in foster care. Biological mother was an addict. Meth. Alcohol. Liver blown all to hell. Noncompliant with any and all services offered. Biological father was who knows. The brother and sister got adopted as teens. The adoptive mother was a bit of a type. Mousy, weak, emotional. Had been trying to have ki
ds for ages. Decided to adopt so that she could “do some good.” The father was a blowhard and a jerk. Everyone knew that. No secret there. But they were financially comfortable, had a big home, and it’s not like anyone else was stepping up to adopt these kids, what with their age and background. All the home checks went fine. The kids were sort of shut down, but that was normal in these situations. The girl started doing well in school. The boy was more withdrawn, quiet—nothing strange about that. He was a Boy Scout, and she was a cheerleader. The family went to church.
Then, last fall, the father ended up in the hospital with a head injury, cuts on his face, bruising. Like he’d been in a fight. He wouldn’t say what had occurred, wouldn’t press charges against anyone. No one would have thought much of it because this guy had made enemies in business and among his employees. He was also not above throwing a few punches himself. But at the same time, both kids disappeared, stopped going to school. Again, the parents would not offer any details, just said there had been a family argument, it was a private matter, all families had their problems, and the kids simply overreacted, ran away. All they wanted was to find them and bring them home. Friends of the kids were interviewed. There was some rumor that the girl might have gone to Canada with a secret boyfriend or something. The son had seemingly vanished. Maybe he followed her. No one seemed to know. The case was open, but the leads had all dried up. The parents may have hired a private investigator. She wasn’t sure.
“Think he’s been out there this whole time?” Drew asked.
Sally shrugged. “Maybe. Wasn’t with any of his friends. They wouldn’t have been able to hide him for this long if he was. My suspicion is that he and his father got in a fight, and he left. Must be afraid to come back. Afraid of his father or of the cops.”
Dix whistled softly.
“It’s entirely possible to make it out there. Especially if you have basic backcountry skills,” he observed.
“And aren’t above stealing some canned goods and warm sleeping bags,” Colden added.
“Good thing it was a mild winter,” Sally said.
They all stared at the picture on the screen.
“I think I’ve met him before,” Dix said. “That workshop I gave to the high school kids on carpentry and furniture building. He was there. Nice kid. Hard worker. Very quiet. Very reserved.”
“Do you know his father?” Colden asked.
“Mostly just by reputation,” Dix said. “He’s the sort of guy I try to avoid.”
“There’s got to be a good reason, good to him, anyway, why he’s hiding out there, beyond just one fight, physical or not, with his father,” Drew said. “The home life must not have been all chocolate chip cookies and warm milk, or he would not have bolted. He wouldn’t stay out as long as he has if he had a warm bed to return to.”
“How do we help him?” Dix asked. “Can’t imagine calling the cops is the right approach.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” Sally said. “He was a minor when he took off. But he’s not anymore. That’s affected the state’s interest in the case. It seems he’s had a birthday in the midst of all this. He’s now an adult, so he can technically do whatever he wants. He’s a missing person, but he doesn’t need to be brought back to his parents. And he probably doesn’t know that his father, for better or worse, seems to have softened his stance toward his son.”
“Yeah, but if he’s been stealing things,” Drew said, “there’s that.”
“We don’t know if the thefts were made by him,” Dix said. “Nothing stolen was very expensive, in any case. Not like he’s up for a felony.”
“Technically, he’s overstaying his time camping. That’s pretty serious,” Colden said sarcastically.
“I wish I could just talk to him,” Sally said. “If we could just talk to him, we could figure out what’s going on and get him the help he needs. Hopefully track down his sister, too.”
“Need to do it in a way that won’t spook him,” Drew said.
“We can find him,” Dix said. “Colden and I can. If she can get us back to where the snare was, I bet we can find where he’s hanging out. He’s met me before. I think he’d trust me.”
“It’s weird, though, Dad. I’ve been in that area so much over these last months. Traipsing all over the place. And I’ve never seen a trace of him.”
“You weren’t looking for him,” Dix pointed out. “You know how easy it is to disappear in there.”
“I want to come with you,” Sally announced.
Dix and Colden shifted in their seats and looked away from her.
“What?” Sally asked, taking offense.
“It’s going to involve a lot of backcountry hiking,” Dix said softly.
“Maybe even, you know, camping,” Colden added in mock horror.
Drew looked from face to face, trying to get in on the joke.
“Bugs,” Colden said, smirking. “Dirt. Ick. Squatting to go pee.”
Sally crossed her arms over her chest.
“The wild outdoors is not exactly Sally’s favorite place to be,” Dix explained to Drew after he kissed the top of his wife’s head.
“Well,” Drew said, “perhaps even more important is that—no offense, Sally—you’re part of the system. A system that failed him. If he trusted social workers and foster care, he would likely have reached out to someone he’s worked with before instead of running away.”
Everyone was quiet. Colden wondered at Drew’s wisdom on these issues. All that pro bono work he’d done.
“You’re right, Drew,” Sally said, sighing. “Poor kid. Can’t come out or won’t come out. Thinks no one wants him, he has no one to trust, and he has nowhere else to go.”
Colden had to head to Albany for a departmental meeting. She would make it a quick trip. Sally was doing some research on the case while she was away, and then Colden and Dix would go out looking for the young man in the woods.
Brayden, Sally had told them. His name was Brayden.
Colden was not looking forward to Albany. She was never looking forward to Albany but especially not now that there was a good chance she’d see Larry. Drew’s advice was in her head, to lay low and remain neutral, but all she wanted to do was confront Larry. She wished she had a smoking gun, some piece of incontrovertible evidence she could pull out of her backpack and wave in his face. She’d been considering reaching out to Liam to see if she could tease any more information out of him, but she didn’t know what tone to take. She wanted to keep it casual and light, to keep doors open between them, and she also wanted help but didn’t want to admit that she wanted help, and she didn’t want him to know exactly why she needed help. She started and deleted an e-mail several times. Finally, she forced herself to tap him a quick note and hit “Send” before she had time to overthink what she’d written.
Hey,
How are things in the ’coptering world? Do you know yet if you’ll be our pilot for moose surveys this upcoming winter? You guys are such pros. Anyway, on a slightly different topic . . . was wondering what you meant about Larry. Just checking cuz the world of research and academia is often enough scarier than the wild animals we study, right?
Hope you are well. Thanks.
Colden
She’d sent the note more than a week ago, but Liam had yet to respond. She got down to the city, went to her meeting. It was all pretty standard planning stuff. Schedules, classes, granting opportunities, interns, graduate assistantships. Budget cuts. Colden offered to help with a couple of big grants and agreed to cover another professor’s intro-level biology class when she was on maternity leave the following spring. Larry was there, but he said almost nothing. Colden avoided eye contact with him. When the meeting was over, she grabbed a pile of paperwork from her mailbox, went back to her office, and sat down to read through it all. She was deep into a long treatise from the IT department on updates to the online class portal when a voice came from behind her.
“Nice of you to offer to work up those grants,” Larr
y whispered. “That should ingratiate you to the department head even more than usual.”
Colden turned her chair, crossed her arms, and set her expression.
“Can I help you with something, Larry?” she asked.
“No, as a matter of fact, you can’t,” Larry said. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do for me.”
Larry stared at her. Colden stared back. He didn’t look well. His eyes seemed watery, his face bloated.
“Nice computer,” Larry said, his eyes flicking over to her MacBook. “Daddy buy that for you?”
Colden stared at him.
“Christmas presents? Along with your Patagonia parkas, boots, and backpacks?” Larry sneered. “You and all your designer gear.”
Colden opened her mouth to correct him, but no words came out. Her parka was Patagonia, but her boots were not. Brand-name gear wasn’t exactly “designer.” Not really. It was about ensuring quality. It was about getting the best tools for the job. In the backcountry, good clothes were essential to staying warm, dry, and on the job. Patagonia didn’t even make boots, did they? She’d looked at Patagonia packs but didn’t like the feel of them. The one she’d bought, well, truth be told, it was even more expensive. But it was important. She needed it. She used it all the time. It had to be comfortable, durable, well made. An image of the stiff, woven birch packs that natives and early explorers had used flashed in her mind. Good enough for them. But that was then. This was now. Of course, she’d take advantage of the best-quality equipment. Why was she even thinking all this nonsense about brands and logos? Why was she so defensive, even to herself? She remembered Larry’s outdated and inappropriate clothing when he’d tried to come with them. Jealous. Out of his element. Bitter. That’s all this was. She remembered what her father had said. Just talk to him.
“What’s wrong, Larry?” she asked him. “Why do you care what kind of coat or computer I have?”
He glared at her.
“I don’t care about you or your damn computer, or your silly little projects and grant proposals. You’re just playing at science as an excuse to take nice long walks in the woods and fly around in helicopters. The rest of us actually have to work hard and make sacrifices to do, you know, real science, Colden. And then we get no credit because we’re not spoiled little rich girls that the university hopes will donate big bucks back to the program someday,” Larry hissed in an angry whisper.
Beneath the Trees Page 19
