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a hundred years from Monday
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Fifty-Five
A few days later, Kori was pulling out in Ruth’s minivan when Jack cruised up the driveway, forcing her to slam on the breaks to avoid a head-on collision. He stepped out of his car, an impish smile on his face, and walked over to the driver’s side. She looked beautiful.
“Better watch where you’re going,” Jack said. “You could hit somebody.”
“Better you than me.”
“Nice to see you, too.” Kori stared straight ahead, ignoring him.
“How come you haven’t returned my calls?”
“You called?”
“Very funny, Kori. What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been calling you all week, is why I ask, and I know you haven’t been home because I’ve driven by a dozen times. Then last night one of my buddies says he saw you and some flunky out having dinner.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you lip-locked a friend?”
Kori shrugged.
“Answer me, dammit.”
Kori stared at the woods to the side of the house. Jack yanked open the driver’s side door and pulled her out by the arm.
“Ow….”
“Oh, now I have your attention….”
Kori shook loose from his grip and stalked off across the lawn. Jack ran ahead, hampering further progress.
“What in God’s name has gotten into you? Why are you so angry?”
“Because you’re a self-centered bastard. You waste your time watching sports when you could read a book. You prefer a night of drinking with your friends to the movies with me. You have no interest in my work. But most of all, because you wouldn’t go to the Goddamn public meeting with me!” She said the last with such venom that Jack thought she was going to strike him to hammer the point home, but she just turned on her heel and walked back toward the car. He stared after her, dumbfounded, before running to catch up.
“I’m sorry. If I’d have known it meant so much I would’ve gone with you.”
“You did know.”
“I didn’t. I swear. Come here.” Jack pulled Kori in and hugged her to his chest. “I miss you. Please don’t do this.”
Kori raised her face to him.
“Besides. Robbie told me to take care of you.”
Kori grimaced and shoved Jack as hard as she could. He lost his balance and fell backwards.
“And Robbie told me to watch out for you,” she said, “but not the way you think. Anyway, Robbie’s dead. Gone. Just like you. Just like everybody.”
Jack jumped up and grabbed the back of her neck. He pushed her chin up and kissed her gruffly. “It would be a shame to lose what we have.” He wound his arms around her and whispered in her ear. “To walk away just so you can be the first to leave is a horrible waste of time. Sometimes there are things bigger and more satisfying than an indulgence of your pride.”
“Like what?
“Like happiness.”
“Oh, pull-ease”
Jack released his grip and took a step back, putting air between them. “Are you afraid to be happy with me?”
“I was happy with you until I saw what an egotistical prick you are.”
“C’mon, Kori. This is stupid.” He kissed her again and this time she responded with her mouth and her body. After a minute, she released him. He was electrified.
“Alright. You win.” She reached out and gave his dick a little squeeze. He shivered at the touch. “Call me, say, a hundred years from Monday. That should put us squarely in the next lifetime.” She strode to the van, slamming the door after her.
Jack watched as she put the transmission into all wheel drive and drove through the small forested grove to the side of the driveway, pulling out onto the road before he even registered what happened.
➣➣➣
Jack walked around to the back of the house and, hearing music, followed it to the barn. He banged on the door, but Gil didn’t hear him over the bass. He peeked in the window and saw Gil holding Max up by his front paws and dancing to the Bacon Brothers, Philadelphia Chickens. Jack knocked on the window and when Gil saw him, he screamed and dropped Max to the ground.
Gil lowered the volume on the stereo and opened the door. “You can’t sneak up on a person.”
Jack laughed. “It’s not like it was hard.”
“Where’ve you been?” Gil demanded.
“Home. At work. Out. You want a list?”
“Why not here?”
“Your sister’s not talking to me.”
“So what? I’m talking to you.”
Jack tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders and gave Gil a lopsided smile. “Gilly.”
Gil looked askance at Jack, set his lips in a grim straight line, and closed the door.
“Gil, come on,” Jack said, knocking again.
Gil locked the door and turned up the music.
to be continued. . .
copyright 2012
little secrets
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Fifty-Four
Three nights later, the doorbell rang and Gil and Max ran to answer it. Chris Kane stood at the door with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small bag of gourmet dog treats in the other. Gil turned toward the stairs and yelled: “Kori! Time to go.” He turned back to Chris, hand on the knob, body blocking the doorway. He did not invite him in, just stared at him while Max sniffed the bag.
“Oh, yeah,” Chris said. “These are for Max.”
Gil opened the bag and without taking his eyes off Chris, tossed a biscuit in a high arc. Max made a mad dash across the room, snatching it from the air. One corner of Gil’s mouth quirked up when Max took the first crunching bite, but his gaze didn’t waver.
Kori appeared and Chris sighed from relief and appreciation. Kori smiled, waved and disappeared into the kitchen. After a few more moments, Gil took the flowers and went to join his sister, but when Chris took a step to follow, Max ceased his crunching and growled.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” Chris heard her say from the kitchen. “Do me a favor and put these in water?” He heard the smacking of lips as cheeks were kissed.
“Avery should be home by ten. Gil needs to go to sleep by then.”
“Awww, Kori,” Gil whined.
“Alright. Ten-thirty.” Apparently that pleased Gil because Chris heard no argument.
“You be careful now.”
An older female voice. One Chris couldn’t identify.
“I will.” Another kiss. “Thanks, Aunt Stella.” Ah, yes. The neighbor.
“Well, whether you’re early or late, you know where you’ll find me.”
“Asleep on the couch and pretending not to be.” More laughter and then she was standing before him, smiling.
“What are you doing in the doorway?” Kori asked, the smile brightening.
“Waiting for you. What else?”
Kori laughed and he grabbed her arm and led her away.
➣➣➣
“The more you delve into this stuff, the more that comes up,” Aunt Stella said. She and Gil sat at the kitchen table each with the remnants of a glass of milk and the cookie crumbs to go with it. Aunt Stella shuffled a deck of Tarot cards, tapped them tight and placed them in front of Gil. “That’s why people keep all their little secrets and don’t want to bother with them. It’s just too much for some to think about.” She smiled at Gil. “You’re still young, though. How many secrets could you possibly have?”
“Now what do I do?” Gil asked, impatient.
“Cut the cards three times to the left and then stack them up again on the pile to the right.” Gil did as instructed and waited on Aunt Stella’s next move. “We’re just going to do a short past, present, future reading right now rather than go through the whole song and dance of a lifetime reading. Although…” She placed a hand under her chin and played with an errant whisker, something her eyebrow tweezers had missed. She furrowed her brows, further accentuating the small, almost scar-like indentation that had formed over the years in the center of her eyebrows as a result of this exact facial expression. “Nah, let’s just do this.” Waving a pudgy hand to erase all contrary thoughts, she placed it on top of the cards, fanning them across the table before Gil. Although Aunt Stella had several Tarot decks at home, she preferred Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot Deck as it conveyed more of a feeling of beneficence on the reader than say, the Egyptian Tarot which was to her mind overly preoccupied with the twin themes of death and destruction.
“Pick three cards and place them right to left facing down.”
Gil acquiesced and looked up, doe-eyed at Aunt Stella, waiting for the next instruction. She pushed the remainder of the deck together in a pile and set it aside. Had any of the clergy members, all males, of the Greek Orthodox Church to which Aunt Stella belonged been here to witness such adroit familiarity with the work of Satan they would have blushed crimson and then blue for lack of oxygen. But despite the ecclesiastical indoctrinations of the church, it could not, for all its gumption, usurp such traditions, steeped in mysticism and superstition, that had survived among Greek women since the seers and high priestesses of the temple brought to light the oracles at Delphi.
“You know, my mother had the Sight. She could tell you who was on the phone the minute it rang.”
“Wow. Really?” Gil asked. “I wish I could do that.”
“You can. You just need focus. And some training.” Aunt Stella tapped the first of the three cards Gil had turned over. “My sister inherited my mother’s gift. She can read the cards just by looking at them. Not me, though. I need the book.” She flipped through The Tarot Book, by Angeles Arrien, its pages worn and rounded from overuse. She placed her hand reverently on the cover and closed her eyes. “My second bible,” she said, opening her eyes. “Shall we start?”
Aunt Stella picked up Gil’s first card. “This is your recent past.”
“Why didn’t you get your Mom’s gift?”
“It only goes to one woman in the family, usually the first born, but that varies. The others get some things, sympathetic leanings and what not, but usually only one gets the whole enchilada.”
The enchilada reference triggered a visceral reaction and Gil’s stomach grumbled loudly. Aunt Stella pushed her basket of treats his way and looked up the first card in the Angeles book. Gil pulled out a white-chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookie, so loaded with nuts that there was barely enough dough to hold the cookie together.
“What happens if there’s no girls?”
“Sometimes it skips a generation. Although boys can get it, too, if that’s what you’re asking. And sometimes it does run through the male line. Your father’s told me more than once about your grandmother. Apparently she had it. I think he was always a little disappointed that he didn’t have a full-fledged dose of it, although he was very intuitive, especially for a man. Still, he didn’t rise to your level.” Aunt Stella reached across the table and squeezed Gil’s hand. “He was so proud of you.”
Gil pulled out another cookie.
“That’s enough now. You’re not going to be able to sleep.”
“Yes I will.” He bit into it while Aunt Stella read Gil’s first card.
“The Six of Swords. Excellent. And not surprising, actually. The Six of Swords represents science.” She showed Gil the page in the book depicting the card as if that were sufficient to prove its meaning. “Objective communication is represented by the planet Mercury. See it there at the top. Then there’s Aquarius at the bottom, and it’s associated with ‘originality, innovation and pioneering work.’” She squeezed Gil’s arm and smiled. “This is good, Gilly. It symbolizes the creative mind that pulls ideas from unexplainable sources of inspiration and communicates them in a way people can understand without feeling threatened.”
“It’s the TDU! You see the TDU in the cards!”
“Right there in a full-color spectrum of light,” Aunt Stella said. Gil allowed himself a moment’s smile, but replaced it with a stern countenance.
“Does it say how it’ll do?” He bounced the heel of his foot up and down, the ball of his foot stationary on the floor, a habit born of nervousness.
“Hhmmmm. I’m surprised.” Aunt Stella raised her eyebrows at him. “You usually don’t care about those things.”
Aunt Stella locked eyes with him, a penetrating gaze; he looked down and studied the lines on his hands. She moved over to his side of the table, turned his face to hers.
“You’re not your father. You can only do what you can. I know you feel the burden of trying to save the world for him. And your mother. You can’t help but get that from your parents. But Gilly, you’re only ten, honey, and practically still a baby.” She squeezed Gil then released him so she could look in his eyes. “He’ll be proud of you no matter what you do.” Aunt Stella placed Gil’s head on her massive chest and he shed a few silent tears.
“I thought you said you weren’t psychic?” Gil said, sitting up to wipe his eyes.
“Well, maybe just a little.” Aunt Stella blushed and smiled. Gil reached for another cookie then stopped in mid-swipe and looked up at Aunt Stella first, the question in his smile.
She sighed. “Alright, but that’s it.”
Gil stared at the Six of Swords as he chewed. “What else does it say?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you turn over another one?”
He flipped a card to see a man hanging upside down, bound at the ankle by a snake hanging from an Egyptian Ankh. He dropped the card. “Am I going to die?”
“Ah, the Hanged Man,” Aunt Stella said. “No, you’re not going to die, but you have to forget about everything you are if you want to move past the ego to a place where things really start happening. Break old habits. Release your fear. You’ll do great things.”
“But I don’t feel afraid of anything. I mean, sometimes I’m afraid of ghosts, but only the ones I don’t know, and sometimes the dark, but only if Max isn’t around.” At the mention of his name, Max raised his head, opened his mouth, revealing a full set of molars, and yawned. Gil scratched him behind the ears. Max put his head down and went back to sleep.
“How about this? The only limitations on you right now – since this card deals with the present – are those you put on yourself. Capice?”
Gil nodded. “What’s the last one say? The future card?”
“Turn it over.”
Gil popped the last bite of cookie in his mouth and flipped the card.
“The Seven of Wands. Excellent.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means stand by what you believe. Don’t compromise and trust your intuition.”
Gil sighed, folded his hands on his lap and looked at the cards. “Do they say anything else? Because I’m not sure I understand.”
Aunt Stella smiled and reached for the deck. She handed them to Gil who wrapped his hands around them. “Concentrate,” she said. He closed his eyes for several moments and then put the cards on the table. “Now fan them out and pick one.”
Gil flipped over a card from the middle of the deck, “The Star,” a card from the major arcana. Aunt Stella smiled.
“More of the same, Gilly. Get out there. Do something wonderful. Be the gateway for the light to come through you and out into the world. And don’t be afraid to shine.”
“Is that it?” Gil put his hands under his chin and slumped in his chair. “Aunt Stella, how can I do this by myself if I’m only ten?”
“What about Avery? Can’t he help you?”
“Yes, but…” Gil looked around behind him to make sure Avery hadn’t suddenly appeared out of thin air, and whispered to Aunt Stella, “I think I need more help than that.”
“I don’t know, Gilly. Let’s see.” Aunt Stella pointed to the cards. “One more.”
Gil scanned the row of cards, his eyes running up and down, his fingers barely touching them until of their own volition they seemed to stop and hover about one card. Aunt Stella nodded and Gil turned over the card.
“Ah, that’s what you were looking for.” Gil stared at the card: “The Prince of Disks” depicted a man with a strange helmet sitting in a chariot being pulled by a bull. “The architect has arrived.” Aunt Stella consulted the Arien book. “See that double helix right there? It indicates an ability to build new worlds.” She stopped and smiled. “Gilly, meet your new partner.”
Gil stared back and forth between Aunt Stella and The Prince of Disks for a full minute before speaking: “Thanks, Aunt Stella.” He threw his arms around her, kissed her on the cheek, and went upstairs to bed.
to be continued. . .
copyright 2012
clean drinking water
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kori and Jack lay huddled together, partially-clothed, a single throw covering them. A soft click preceded the quiet, familiar musings of NPR’s Terry Gross. They had failed to draw the curtains before retiring for an hour or so of love and sleep and Jack cracked one eye open and peered out the window into the expectant night air. Snow flurries added to the soft blanket already on the ground and he groaned at the menacing, orange-grey sky. He rolled over and checked the alarm.
“Kor. Wake up.” He nudged her gently, but she didn’t respond. “Kori. It’s time to go.” He bit her shoulder gently and her eyes flew open.
“Huh. What?” Kori sat up on one elbow and blinked, trying to orient herself.
“What day is it?” Kori stared wide-eyed out the window, her unseeing eyes darting to and fro across the night sky. Jack grinned.
“It’s Thursday. You have to bake an apple pie.”
“Apple pie?” Kori turned to look at him, but the darkness hid his features.
“Two of them.” This time he laughed and Kori woke up. She checked the alarm and fell back down on the pillow.
“Oh, the public meeting.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes and coughed. “I really didn’t know where I was for a minute.”
“I could tell.” Jack lay back down and pulled her in close. “And you said you’d bake me two apple pies.” He kissed her then rose to pull on his jeans. In their earlier haste, they had removed only the bottom half of their garments.
“Where you goin’?”
“To work.” He buckled his belt then sat down to put on his boots.
“I thought you were done for the day?”
“Installing home brains, yeah.” Jack nodded toward the window. “But now it’s snowing. People’ll need me to plow them out.”
“It’s barely a flurry.”
“They’re calling for another four to six inches.”
“By tomorrow. Not in the next two hours.”
“Hey. I gotta make money, right?”
“Jack!?!” It’s a side business, for Godsakes. You said you were only going to do it until your other business got off the ground. Well, it’s levitating. You can stop now.”
“Not tonight, I can’t.”
“You’re just doing this to get out of coming to the public meeting!”
Jack laced up his boots, leaned over and kissed her on the head.
“I’ll be back after I’m through.”
“Don’t bother.” She kicked at him, pushing the blanket off herself in the process, and stomped past him, retrieving her clothes as she headed for the door.
“Kori, come on.”
“Bastard,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.
➣➣➣
The public meeting wasn’t scheduled to start until seven, but the controversy surrounding the landfill and the effectiveness of the citizens group, helped along by the flurry of Kori’s afternoon calls, brought the crowd out early and in droves, snowy weather notwithstanding.
The high school auditorium had seating capacity for two hundred people. Kori, Avery and Gil stood at the back, scanning the room for seats together, a commodity in short supply.
“Can’t I just go home?” Gil asked.
“Gil, what’s the big deal? It’s a couple hours of your life,” Kori said. She turned to face Avery in an appeal for assistance. He shrugged.
“He wants to watch Star Trek ,” Avery said, at present feeling more inclined toward his brother’s sensibilities himself.
“Star Trek is on fifty times a week on seventeen different channels,” Kori said. She bent down, coming face-to-face with her brother. “But this – this chance to make a difference – this only happens once or twice, and it’s really, really important. So come on.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a handful of Tootsie Roll Midgets. Gil smiled and reached for the proffered sweet, but Kori snapped her fingers shut.
“I was saving these for later, but I guess we need them now. If you take them, you have to stay and not whine and complain about wanting to leave. Okay?”
Gil nodded and she opened her hand. He grabbed every last one, accepting her gift as a compromise. Avery held out his hand and Gil reluctantly handed over a single Tootsie Roll. So buoyed by chocolate, they followed Kori down the aisle in search of seats.
They found them near the front. Aunt Stella’s coat, scarf and brilliant red hat lay draped in varying states of repose across four seats where Aunt Stella sat as border guard. She waved madly when she saw them, her knitted brow relaxing. Kori glanced around, scanning the auditorium again, looking for something a little farther back – in the event Gil started acting up, she wanted to be able to make an unobtrusive getaway – but the place was packed to overflowing with groups of people lining the walls. She turned to say something to Avery, but the boys had already made their way into the aisle and she had no choice but to follow. Gil took the seat next to Aunt Stella who always traveled with treats in her pockets.
Kori leaned over and gave her a kiss. “Thanks for saving seats.”
Aunt Stella waved it off as if it were no big deal, but given the general mood in the house, Kori knew it was a feat almost Herculean in nature.
“Where’s Jack?” Aunt Stella asked.
Kori shrugged, defeated.
“Excuse me? Is this seat taken?” Kori jerked around to see a handsome young man standing there.
“Um, no.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?” Kori asked.
“Chris Kane. We went to high school together.”
“Oh my God.” Kori gave him the once over as surreptitiously as possible. Whatever resemblance this guy had to the Christopher “D, for Dork” Kane that she knew in high school had long since passed. “You look…”
“Different?” He nodded. “That’s what everyone says. Late bloomer, I guess. Plus I started working out.”
“I’ll say. What are you doing now?”
“I’m a correspondent for The Philadelphia Inquirer, ” he smiled, holding up the notebook in his hand.
Kori gave him a “hmmmmm” and nodded in acknowledgment. She turned to find Aunt Stella’s old crone smile and felt the blush rise in her cheeks. Gil and Avery were too engrossed in Aunt Stella’s candy to notice so she turned back to Chris Kane, a bright, full smile on her face.
➣➣➣
Kori spent the next thirty minutes engrossed. Chris proved engaging and a good listener, something Jack was not. Jack always nodded politely, interjecting when he thought appropriate based on Kori’s non-verbal cues, but this guy consumed her words. He even took notes. Kori felt a thrill run through her abdomen. She stole a glance at her brothers: Gil was working a Gameboy while Avery and Aunt Stella, their heads bowed together, spoke in conspiratorial tones.
“So. What’s your take on all this?” Chris asked.
“Do you really want to know?” Kori responded.
“Of course.”
There was so much she wanted to tell him, stuff Ruth had weaned them on, always talking to them like they were smaller versions of the adults they would become. Since Kori could talk her mother had held nothing back. Discussions ranging from the world’s political machinations to the nature of life and death were commonplace. Ruth was no artist, but it was her love of it that set Kori on her chosen path. In that instant, Kori was no longer sure where Ruth left off and she began and suddenly realized that was the way of it. We either become our parents, their prides and prejudices, or we run far and fast in the opposite direction. And right now, Kori, like Ruth, was finding it hard to keep her mouth shut.
Apparently everything Kori told Chris Kane was fascinating because he’d recorded all of it in his notebook. She talked about everything from the birth of the landfill and the spread of the deadly plume of noxious chemicals to her own personal tragedies, including the mysterious death of her parents and her current position as head of the house. She concluded with the tragic, but as yet unverified, death of her brother.
Chris wrote at a furious clip. “Whew. Alright, give me a chance to catch up.”
Kori waited for him to pause and when he did, he looked at her with new eyes, ones that said they wanted to stuff her in his pocket and keep her safe.
“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”
“It’s these corporations that are the problem. And the government’s in bed with them. They make it cheaper to buy virgin products by giving no incentive to buy used, like we’re never going to run out of the new stuff. It’s a pain to separate the wheat from the chaff of recyclables, I know that, but it could be a lucrative pain with the right incentives. And what about the trees? They recycle all our carbon dioxide? The fewer trees we have, the harder it is to breathe. Is it any wonder asthma in children is at an all-time high?” She bounced her knee up and down involuntarily. “People act like the environment is negotiable. Just wait. Freak weather is only the tippy top of the iceberg. Floods, droughts, water shortages. The collapse of the honey bee. Talk about end of days.” She snorted as her mother’s blood rushed through her body, and folded her hands in her lap, concluding her tirade.
“But the science is contradictory. Maybe they just don’t know,” Chris opined, smiling.
“Bull. If the government really wanted to change the way the world did business, rather than continue to let the few loot the common resources of the many, it could give tax breaks to the high-minded companies, the ones that did business with sustainable development in mind. Don’t even get me started on public lands. The government is selling our public resources at pennies on the dollar to the corporations that curry the most favor, i.e., that donate the most election dollars. Those are our lands, our children’s lands. They shouldn’t be for sale, dammit.”
She felt the truth of her own words and believed them with a force she’d never experienced before this moment. And whether it was this force or the fact that Kori felt woefully inadequate to carrying on Ruth’s legacy, she closed her mouth, because if she said one more word, she would break down and cry.
Lucky for her, the public meeting began as a speaker from EPA stepped to the podium.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. If we could have your attention.” The EPA representative, Stefanie Pierson, stood at the podium as the remaining individuals took their seats. The murmuring of the crowd died out like ripples spreading across a pond. A half dozen agency officials sat on stage with Stefanie, each with a microphone.
“As you know, we’re here tonight to lay out our findings with regard to the Stahl landfill and to draw you a road map as to what you can expect in the future. You, as the public, have a right to be part of these decisions and we would also like to encourage you to exercise that right by expressing your comments either here or in writing.”
“What about our right to clean drinking water?” Andrew Dodd shouted. He was a first cousin to Jim Stahl. He sat way in the back, but his voice carried far and away over the din of the crowd. A general murmur of agreement swept the room like a wave.
Stefanie Pierson didn’t flinch. “You absolutely have every right to clean drinking water, clean air, clean soil, a clean environment. That’s the law. But you’ve got to help us help you.”
“How the hell you gonna help us? That damn aquifer’s so polluted even the fish can’t live in it.” The crowd rumbled in agreement, the din in the auditorium growing louder.
“Sir. First of all, an aquifer is below ground and fish don’t live in it. Microbes, yes. But not fish. I do take your meaning, however. And if you could just give us a minute to run through the chosen alternatives that came out of the ROD. That stands for Record of Decision.”
“A minute?! A minute!” Jim Stahl burst into the room pushing a wheelchair, amidst a cacophony of bottles and tubing. Gasps shot through the room when the audience got a look at what had become of the once healthy and vital Vera Stahl.
“I’ll give you a Goddamn minute. But who’s going to give that minute back to my wife, huh? Is it you? Or you?” Jim pointed an accusatory finger at each of the government representatives. “How about you?” He was only halfway down the aisle, his progress hampered by the many bottles hanging from the wheelchair: salines, antibiotics, and, from the looks of Vera Stahl, morphine. Vera looked one step away from needing a hospice nurse and clearly didn’t know where she was which is probably why Jim got away with displaying her in such a vulgar and obtrusive fashion.
It was at this point in the proceedings that – to use that time tested cliché – all hell broke loose.
➣➣➣
The public meeting ended sometime after 11:00 p.m. with both hosts and participants showing signs of exhaustion. Jim Stahl’s tactic of putting his wife on display worked well initially, getting the crowd riled to a fever pitch, but the blame worked its way around again and when neighbors suggested that if Jim’s father would have complied with any one of the missives sent from Pennsylvania DEP the Hickory Hills development might not be sitting atop a despoiled aquifer. Kori was grateful the evening hadn’t been reduced to fisticuffs. In fact, real progress had been made as the EPA and DEP outlined their plan. The water in the aquifer would be pumped out of the ground, run through a carbon filter and returned, clean, to the aquifer, the same theory Marty had used on the family’s in-house filtration system. The downside was that the treatment would likely bring the cost of the remedy up to the forty million dollar range and may take as long as twenty-five years to complete.
EPA told the residents of Hickory Hills that they were to continue drinking and cooking with bottled water while their well water was to be used for the rest. Kori wondered about the wisdom of this – daily bathing would mean daily absorption of contaminants through the skin – and was about to raise the issue when Vera Stahl began a violent coughing fit. When she regained her composure, Jim gave over to the evil glares and took her home.
Gil had fallen asleep during the meeting, a deep REM sleep which followed his inhalation of a handful of Tootsie Rolls, taffy, and half a dozen mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, courtesy of Aunt Stella. Aunt Stella had not plied Gil with that much chocolate. He’d found the mother lode while she was chatting and worked it until her coat pockets sagged, depleted. Aunt Stella turned after a long discussion with a neighbor to see a pile of wrappers in Gil’s lap and him out cold. She flashed Kori a guilty look, collected the trash and covered Gil with her coat.
Gil was in the car with Avery now, wide awake and fidgety. He’d have trouble falling asleep tonight, but Kori would worry about that when she got home. Chris Kane had followed her out to the parking lot and waited while she started the car. They stood in front of Ruth’s minivan, awkward and antsy, trying to say goodbye. Gil honked the horn and Kori jumped. He was showing signs of driving away himself so she turned to Chris Kane.
“It was great seeing you again, Chris. I hope you do our meeting justice.”
“Which meeting would that be?” Chris asked.
Kori blushed, and turned away, embarrassed.
“Would you mind . . . I mean, I was thinking that a story on your brother and his, what did you call it? A TDU? That a story on his machine would make good copy for the business section. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.” Kori looked back at Gil, jumping around in the back seat more like a monkey than the young man who held keys to the world’s better future. “I told you someone set our porch on fire. We’re don’t know if those two things are related. I don’t want anything else to happen.” For the third or fourth time tonight, Kori intuited that Chris Kane might want to lean over and kiss her, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.
“If you’re worried about it, the best thing you can do is get it out in the open. The more people who know about it, the better chance you have of staying safe.”
“Can I think about it?” Kori asked.
Chris nodded. “I’ll call you in a couple days then.”
“Okay,” Kori said, looking over her shoulder “I gotta go now.”
“Sure,” Chris replied. Kori extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, he kissed it.
to be continued. . .
This is how we got here
copyright 2012
love for oil
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Fifty
A fairly starved Gil started right in on the plate of eggs, sausages, and toast with butter and raspberry jam that appeared like magic before him. He didn’t care whether anyone else would be joining him. He would not be participating in conversation. He could not spare a single brain cell for anything other than the food in front of him and the inner workings of his own mind, occupied as it was, with gears, gaskets and temperature adjustments.
He could see the TDU clearly, behind the eye, all gleaming steel and aluminum, its curves and junctures, the placement of each nut and bolt. He’d studied the drawings for hours, had known since the time his father had asked what needed to be done how to correct the problems, but it was only now, with his father’s blessing, that he allowed himself the luxury of dwelling on the actual mechanics of its completion. Still, maybe fixing it was not at all what Marty was trying to tell him….
Gil missed his father terribly and wondered why his belly hurt now, months later, and whether those two things were connected. Maybe it was his Dad’s refusal to speak last night that reminded him of the truth of things. Since his death, Marty had so often visited Gil on the astral plane, that magic place where dreams intersect reality, that Gil had tricked himself into believing his father was still alive. But last night, Marty wouldn’t talk to him, no matter how much Gil pleaded. And now with Robbie…. A lump formed in his throat, a sensation he wasn’t used to, and he gulped down a mouthful of milk to wash it away.
He wiped his plate clean with the last bite of toast, downed the rest of his milk and belched. Max raised his head, wagged his tail, and went back to sleep.
“Gil!” Kori’s voice shook him from his reverie and he giggled. Avery stifled a laugh and took a bite of his eggs.
Kori was looking at him weird, like his mother used to. The resemblance was amazing, and when Kori stood and gave him a hug, he felt for a moment his mother’s arms around him, shuddered as her spirit passed over his bones. She’d want him to sleep, they both would, because his eyes were red and his nose still runny from being outside for so long, and she wouldn’t want him to get a cold. Still, he wasn’t tired, but wired with an unending series of thoughts and fractions of them. He didn’t want to sleep, he also didn’t want to think anymore; just wanted his mind to wait a little. And he sure as heck didn’t want to fight with Kori. Better go upstairs. Pretend to do what she wanted.
“May I be excused?” he asked.
Kori nodded acquiescence. “What are you going to do now? Watch a movie?”
“I’m going to go take a nap,” Gil announced.
“Oh, really.” Kori raised her eyebrows in disbelief. He smiled at her and mustered his most innocent facial expression.
“Bring your plate to the counter then.”
Gil obeyed, placing his plate and cup in the sink. “Good night,” he said and turned on his heel. He smiled to himself as he left, pleased with the deception. Max jumped up with alacrity and followed Gil out the door.
“I need to run some errands this morning,” Kori called after him. “Avery will be here if you need anything, but you probably won’t because you’ll be sleeping.” Gil turned and from the corner of his eye saw Kori and Avery exchange a glance; he feigned obliviousness.
“Okay,” Gil said. Mother instinct. They must be born with it . Plans foiled, the smile left Gil’s face as he and Max rounded the stairs to his room.
➣➣➣
Gil waited forever while Avery ran the snow blower up and down their winding driveway and Kori shoveled out the walks. He was waiting for his chance to escape to the barn. He needed to decide whether to fix the TDU and maybe looking at it would help him. He paced the floor, indulging his impatience, then sat down on the floor, closed-eyed and cross-legged, concentrating on his breathing like Avery had taught him, but neither helped. After forever and ten minutes, he threw himself on the bed, pulled a blanket up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. Patience was not his forte. Visions of valves and pistons danced in his cerebral cortex. Gil sighed and drew a deep breath.
“You almost need an oil company,” Marty said. “Otherwise, how do you think we’ll get the oil to the dealers? UPS?”
Gil laughed. My father, the card.
The back door slammed and Gil knew Avery had come inside. He sat up and looked around, rubbed his eyes. The room was empty.
“Rats.” The clock said he’d given the last four hours to Morpheus.
Gil listened at the top of the stairs and heard Avery banging around in the kitchen. He sniffed the ambient air with a deer-like adeptness and his stomach rumbled in response. Heavenly smells wafted toward him, threatening to derail his plans. Melted ham and cheese. Impulse and hunger almost threw him over the railing.
Gil found Avery bent over the toaster oven, fiddling with the sandwich makings inside. He looked at the table set for two and a satisfied smile crossed his face. He snuck up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder.
“Whatcha’ doin’?” Gil asked.
Avery jerked, slamming the door to the toaster oven as he did so. “You…have got…to stop …doing that,” he said, turning to his brother in slow motion.
Gil shrugged, smiled. “What’s for lunch?”
“Ham and cheese.”
“Chips?”
“You know where they are.”
“When’s Kori coming home?”
“She went to Jack’s. It’s anybody’s guess.”
Gil retrieved the chips then watched as Avery pulled the melted deliciousness from the toaster oven. His mouth watered at the sight of his second favorite food in the entire world, his first being roasted pork cooked with loads of garlic, rosemary and sage, and a heaping pile of mashies on the side. Despite his culinary dispositions, Gil hadn’t thought much about how indebted he was to the pig. He opened the bag of chips, laying a handful on each plate, routed around the bag, found and stuffed the biggest chip in his mouth, and sat down.
Avery set a glass of milk in front of him and they ate in silence while Gil did a little happy dance in his chair. He finished his sandwich, downed the milk and raised his plate.
“More sandwich.”
Avery raised his eyebrows and looked at Gil point blank.
“Please,” Gil said.
Avery retrieved a second round of sandwiches from the little oven, placing one on each of their plates. Gil leaned in close and sniffed in a lung full of ham and cheese. He held it a moment, before taking a whopper of a bite.
“Avery?”
“Hmmm?”
“Did Robbie really go to Iraq for oil?”
Avery dropped the hot pad on the counter and took his seat. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think there were some factors other than economic, perhaps humanitarian, but then I think about what the real legacy of the current administration will be and I wake up.”
Gil stared at his brother, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
Gil rinsed his food down with some milk. “Kori thinks it was for oil.”
“Kori’s a cynic. But… she’s probably right.” Avery looked over at Gil’s crumby, milk-kissed mouth and handed him a napkin. “Does that upset you? I mean, would it upset you more?”
“You mean if he died for oil instead of something else important?”
“Yeah.”
Gil nodded, gazing out the window. “Uh-huh. Especially if I can make oil out back.”
“Do you think he did?” Avery asked. “Died, I mean.”
Gil shrugged. He’d been unable to formulate a coherent opinion on the subject, and all sources of help he might have received, divine or otherwise, weren’t talking. They finished their sandwiches in silence.
“You gonna do what Dad said?” Avery asked. “Fix the TDU?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Gil shoved a few chips in his mouth, but didn’t respond.
“If you decide to, I can get a few startup loads of trash.”
Gil dropped his plate in the sink, wiped his mouth with the sponge and grabbed his coat.
“Hey, Gil.” Gil turned.
“First of all, that’s gross. Second, I don’t think Robbie’s . . . dead. But regardless, the world still needs Dad’s contraption. Even if you don’t have a reason to build it.”
Gil gave Avery the briefest of hugs, rounded on his heel and ran out the door.
to be continued. . .
start here. . .
copyright 2012
what writers are reading
we know what we like and we really like this book.
read our review then buy the book in honor of a girl you love. gr.
oil in the river
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Forty-Six
The day dawned bright and balmy in Houston. Bicky Coleman sat behind his antique mahogany desk, smoking a cigar and reading The Philadelphia Inquirer. Akanabi was taking less of a beating in the newspapers now that Hart was on the scene, commissioning overflights and vacuum boats, throwing all kinds of money at the situation. Maybe it would help them later when the feds and everyone else sued Akanabi out the wazoo for penalties the company didn’t deserve. After all, it had been an accident.
When Hart had called last night he babbled on and on about retiring all of Akanabi’s single-hulled ships. Bicky had humored him, but knew that suggestion would end up in the circular file.
“You want me to retire all the single-hulled ships?” Bicky had asked Hart.
“At least let’s phase them out. Fifteen to twenty percent a year.”
“Hart, my son, are you sure hypothermia hasn’t set in and affected that brain of yours?”
“It’s gonna hit you where it hurts, Bicky, but it’s the right thing to do. The river’s black like you’ve never seen. Just avoiding the devastation to wildlife should be cause enough.”
“Give me a memo. We’ll talk about it when you get back.”
Bicky had said that to shut Hart up; he had absolutely no intention of following through. Building new ships was an expensive proposition. More than half of Akanabi’s supertanker fleet were single-hulled ships, purchased in the heyday of oil drilling. To replace them all at once, even over a period of five years would cost hundreds of billions of dollars. And Bicky was loathe to spend that kind of money. Legislation would eventually force his hand, but why rush things?
The intercom buzzed and Phyllis’s voice jarred him to awareness.
“Jerry’s here.”
“Send him in.”
➣➣➣
Jerry Dixon walked in, looking grim, but impeccable. Bicky’s face was stuck in the paper so Jerry waited. Bicky had several personalities that didn’t always talk to each other, and Jerry thought it best to see which one was in residence.
Bicky looked up and smirked. “How many of those suits do you have?”
“I don’t know. How many do you have?” Jerry said, indicating Bicky’s Armani.
“You know what I mean. Do you spend the whole day ironing or change suits every ten minutes? Cause you know I’m paying you good money to keep things secure around here, so if you’re ironing….” Bicky’s smirk turned to a smile.
Jerry relaxed and sat down. “How’s Hart doing with the spill?”
Bicky studied his buffed fingernails. “Apparently something a little better than damage control. Seems he’s making friends.”
“What are the odds on the cleanup?”
“The river will survive. It’s rebounded before, as have countless of her brethren. It will do so again,” said Bicky, sounding like a Sunday morning TV evangelist.
Jerry scowled, a reflex. Akanabi could dump ten million gallons of oil in the river and Bicky would insist it was nothing.
“You have no faith, Jerry,” Bicky continued. “I’m not even sure if there’s a limit to how far you can go.”
Here we go, Jerry thought.
“Mother Nature is infinitely capable of rejuvenating herself.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not doing such a good job with the ozone layer,” Jerry replied. “I got a spot on my nose here that the doc says is pre-cancerous. Too many hours spent outside in an ozone-lite environment,” he said, rubbing his proboscis. “I’m getting it removed tomorrow.”
Bicky rubbed his own nose absently. His face bore a healthy, radiant glow that smacked of hours spent on a tanning bed. Jerry knew he kept one in an office down the hall. Some people used makeup. Bicky used processed UV light. Jerry wondered just how many of those “freckles” on Bicky’s face had their own story to tell and when they’d decide to start talking.
“Spare me the details,” Bicky said. He stood and stared out the window. “You don’t have any information yet, do you?”
Jerry shook his head, watched his boss, looking for clues.
“No. I’ve made discreet inquiries. No one saw anything.” Bicky flashed Jerry an angry look.
“The coroner says it was an accident, Bicky. Why don’t you believe that?”
“Graighton’s the only other one who knew Sonia had the report. He was at the Union Club that night. It’s only a couple miles to Sonia’s house….”
“You’re saying Graighton left the Union Club, killed Sonia and returned without the report?’ Jerry asked.
“Of course not. Graighton didn’t go himself. One of his lackeys did. You remember where we found the report? Whoever killed Sonia didn’t find what he was looking for. Maybe that’s what angered him in the first place.”
“But what would Graighton gain by killing Sonia and stealing a report he already had a copy of?”
“He was trying to get to me. Put me in my place.” Bicky sat down. “Even that doesn’t make sense.” His head fell against his chair. “Just keep looking.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jerry said.
“One more thing,” Bicky reached into the top drawer. “I want you in Philadelphia.”
“For….?”
“I got another tip.” He handed Jerry a piece of paper. “Recognize the address?” Jerry’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.
“Don’t botch it this time. No commando missions. Nothing getting blown up. No one dying. Just bring me back the technology. You got it?”
Jerry nodded, a face set in stone.
“You’re sure you found out nothing else…about Sonia?” Bicky asked.
“You think I’m not doing my job, old man?” Jerry’s face remained cool and impassive.
“I think, that you’re too quick to accept the opinion of other’s. What’s that jackass coroner know?”
“She had an accident. She died. Accidents happen.”
“Accidents don’t just happen. Not to us. You should know that better than anyone, Mr. Chief of Security.”
“You’re wrong. They do. But what precipitated it? That’s the question. Perhaps she was depressed, worried about her husband, flustered. Or maybe something spooked her. Or someone.” Jerry placed his hands on the front of Bicky’s desk and leaned into it. “Came around hassling her for something she wasn’t inclined to give. She spills her drink. The floor’s wet. She takes a step. She slips. She falls. A body in motion stays in motion. She can’t stop herself from falling. She bangs her head and, is out like a light. And if the baby didn’t decide to come out at that moment, if he didn’t decide to come out upside down, what do they call it, breach? Maybe she’d be alive today. The fact is, unless you were there,” Jerry looked Bicky directly in the eye with malicious intent, “you’re never going to know.”
Bicky shuddered. After several seconds, Jerry stood up and backed away from the desk. He massaged his eyes and forehead with one hand, trying to squeeze the images out of them.
“I loved Sonia like she was my own kid. That she’s dead pains me – like you can’t even believe,” Jerry said. He turned and was gone, an exit as quick and silent as death.
Bicky let out the breath he’d been holding and pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped his face and dabbed at the moisture forming in the corner of his eyes.
So far, it had been a hell of an afternoon. He walked to the wet bar, poured himself a scotch and soda and stood at the window sipping it. The world below soothed him. He could control it simply by pulling the blind. When he finally turned away, he pulled out the bottom desk drawer. Below a stack of papers, tucked in the bottom drawer, lay the coffee-stained report. Satisfied, Bicky closed the drawer and thumbed through a stack of mail in his in-box. Phyllis had opened everything, laying it in a pile for his review except for one letter, marked personal and confidential. He ripped the envelope open and pulled out a small stack of papers.
It was a letter from Kitty’s lawyer, a Complaint for Divorce and a Postnuptial Agreement with which she proposed to divest herself of everything just to be rid of the marriage. Bicky sipped his scotch for five minutes before pulling a yellow sticky pad out of a side drawer. He placed one on top of the lawyer’s letter, wrote Forget It! in bold, black ink, and stuffed the papers back into the envelope. Then he buzzed Phyllis.
“Is Jerry still here?
“He just went down.”
“Catch him, will you, and tell him to come back up. I want him to deliver something for me. To my wife.”
to be continued. . .
to read how we got to this state of affairs jump here
copyright 2012
playing with food
we have something to say and it’s no blushing matter.
talk talk talk
we blush and we know it. you can know it too.
keep the birds warm
OIL IN WATER
Pam Lazos
Chapter Forty-Five
The Wildlife Rescue Center in northeastern Maryland, a one-stop emergency room for oiled birds and other mammals, was brimming to capacity. Trained staff and volunteers littered the aisles like road debris, working as quickly as possible to address the backlog. The temperature was set to a balmy eighty degrees to keep the birds warm, a temperature which worked quite well outside, especially with a nice crosswind, but not inside a building packed with so many CO2 breathing mammals. People were sweating profusely; a few of the workers looked like they just took a dip in the river.
The Wildlife Rescue Center was a coalition of the local SPCA, the Friends of Waterfowl, a local, well-known, bird conservancy, as well as federal, state and local government partners. The building itself was huge, about fourteen thousand square feet in the shape of an open rectangle, cordoned off with moveable walls to accommodate the varying resource needs. The largest area was set aside as the trauma center. The building sat, idle yet prepared, to be used only in the event of an oil spill. It was the coalition’s greatest hope that the money they’d invested in this building would go to waste and that the facility and its equipment would sit and collect dust. Unfortunately, today that hope was not realized as dozens of veterinarians and trained volunteers worked side-by-side, attempting to undue what might not be capable of being undone.
Doctor Alyssa Morgan, a veterinarian and Director of the Wildlife Rescue Center, was on the phone in a small walled office at the back of the room, gesticulating animatedly. Lapsley and Hart walked into the middle of the trauma center and looked around, lost children waiting for direction. Dr. Morgan caught sight of Lapsley through her office window and waved, the scowl on her face softening. Lapsley took that as a good sign.
By the time they reached the door, she hung up the phone and ushered them into the office. The office was a mere eight by twelve feet and harbored a desk with a phone, a couch which at present was a catch-all for a miscellaneous reports and papers, and a credenza with a coffee pot. Two more people could fit, but only if they took turns breathing. Realizing rather belatedly the ridiculousness of this arrangement, she hustled them out.
“Vic,” Dr. Morgan said, extending a hand. “Long time.”
“Hey, Alyssa.” Lapsley took her hand, holding it a few seconds longer than necessary. Dr. Morgan blushed.
“This is David Hartos. Chief of Engineering for Akanabi Oil.” Hart extended a hand which Dr. Morgan accepted, but the bloom faded from her face, replaced with a cold, hard stare.
“Lyss, he didn’t go out and dump the oil himself,” Lapsley said. One side of his mouth quirked in a wry smile. The joke worked.
“So what’s going on?” Lapsley said.
“You’re looking at it,” Dr. Morgan said, extending an arm in a wide arc.
“You look like hell,”Lapsley said, his gaze fixed on her face.
“Thanks. You look pretty lousy yourself.”
“You know what I mean,” Lapsley said.
Dr. Morgan nodded. “I was up most of the night cleaning oiled birds. They’re still coming in. And it’s not just the Rescue Team. Fishermen are bringing them in now. It doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime soon.” She gazed around the room and back to Lapsley. “We need backup.”
A lock of hair fell into her eyes. Lapsley resisted the urge to brush it back.
“Why don’t you just put out a couple radio ads? Akanabi’ll pay for it.” Lapsley looked at Hart to make sure this was, in fact, true. Hart confirmed.
“I’m sure plenty of people would be willing to volunteer,” Hart said.
“First time at a Rescue Center, Mr. Hart?” Dr. Morgan asked. Lapsley detected the note of satisfaction in her voice and suppressed the urge to smile.
“Actually, I usually repair the leak before it gets to this stage so this is a bit out of my range, I’ll admit,” Hart said. “But I’d be happy to help.”
“You can’t. You’re not trained. All our volunteers have had a two-day intensive training. To allow you to work on these birds without the proper training would rise to the level of malpractice.”
“There’s got to be something we can do,” Lapsley said.
Dr. Morgan scanned the room. About fifteen de-oiling stations had been set up, all but one presently occupied.
“Check each of the stations and make sure they have sufficient quantities of Dawn dishwashing detergent, rags and trashbags.” Dr. Morgan said.
“I guess that means you want us to hang for awhile?” Lapsley asked.
“For awhile. You mind?”
Lapsley shook his head and smiled at her.
“When did you last take the training?” Dr. Morgan asked Lapsley.
“Probably ten years ago,” he replied. She sighed.
“Alright, you better stick close to me.” Lapsley looked at Hart and winked. He could think of nothing better he’d like to do this morning.
to be continued. . .
to read how this came to pass jump here
copyright 2012
persephone's step-sisters 