Vanishing Day Page 15

  42

  Logan worked with Huey in the lab until 4:00 p.m. He had to leave then to attend a student’s parent-teacher conference. This particular student was on an Independent Study Program. The talented young actor couldn’t keep regular school hours due to filming obligations, which were often in LA or up in Canada. With the use of some elegant, interactive technology, Huey helped his teacher and parents design a program that so far had worked well. He attended class when he was in town, so he continued to get plenty of socialization with his peers and completed other assignments remotely when he traveled. Initially, his parents were worried about him being college-ready, but so far, he was ahead of, not behind, the rest of the students his age. Huey said he seemed to be a balanced, well-adjusted kid, in spite of his unusual life.

  Logan forgot to mention the flash drive to Huey before he left. It was still in her computer bag. Now she would have to wait until Sunday night to give it to him, when he returned from Portland.

  For as long as she’d known him, Huey drove up every weekend to help Thanh out at the truck. Even though she didn’t need him as often now as she used to, it was a tradition both were loathe to break. Huey got a 3-day weekend out of it this time, because Rita and the board always scheduled a day off after every quarterly parent-teacher conference day. The New School had gone to an alternate schedule, spreading the school year out somewhere between a year-round and a traditional calendar. This helped with learning retention, but still gave kids two solid months off in the summer.

  With no work to do and a couple hours to kill before dinner, Logan decided to take a short hike through the forest. There was a trail head not far from the small, Japanese foot bridge that arched over Whisper Creek. From the edge of campus, past the classrooms, garden, and art building, a well-worn, pine needle-strewn path led to the various faculty cottages, one of which was Glenda’s, who Logan stayed with whenever she came up. She stopped off there first and got a sweater. Definitely cooler here than Jasper, particularly among the trees, where sunlight only shafted down between the branches sporadically.

  When she stepped back out, a slight drizzle had started, so she added a rain shell to her ensemble and continued on. At the last minute, she stuffed the knee brace into her backpack. She didn’t think she’d need it, her knee was almost 100%, but just in case.

  “I’m washable ... and dryable!” Logan said to no one in particular.

  Don’t quit your day job, Logan.

  Brittany and Nick had taken Logan on this trail last summer. The minute she entered the trees, her mind quieted. The entire trail made a seven-mile loop up to a mini-waterfall and back, but today, Logan was only doing half of it. Just enough to stretch her legs before dinner. About a half-mile in, her knee reminded her she probably wasn’t going to make it more than a mile before she needed to stop and rest. She slowed her pace and carefully placed each foot straight down on the path, avoiding twisting it on either side. Just a little farther...

  Thanks to Brittany’s flora and fauna tour guide bits, Logan knew she was in the midst of a Douglas Fir forest, one of twelve types of forests in Oregon. Douglas Firs were the state tree for a reason. Adaptable to many climates, the large conifers could be found up and down the state. Over half of the state was covered in forests, and 80% of conifers in those forests were Douglas Fir. They were not only the undisputed champions of the building industry for their stability and strength, but they were loved by tree huggers as an important habitat for nesting birds and other wildlife. Even dead and dying trees were valuable. Called snags, left upright to decay naturally, Brittany said they provided habitat for over 1,000 species of wildlife nationally.

  Logan just knew they were beautiful. Particularly now, in the fall, the turning leaves of the oaks and maples put on a good show. Not all had turned, but around almost every bend in the path, Logan could see rounded bursts of red, yellow, and orange, creating a counterpoint to the rich, deep greens of pine and fir. So different from the dusty scrub oak that dotted the yellow and brown hills of Southern California. Of course, that was her home and So Cal had the ocean. The Pacific was quite a consolation prize. In Logan’s mind it wasn’t a contest. She appreciated both.

  Logan closed her eyes and listened. Ignoring her throbbing knee, she hoped to hear some owls, and strained to hear their easily recognizable calls, but it was still several hours until sunset. Probably have to wait until after dinner. She often heard them at one spot on the way back to Glenda’s cabin. Ubiquitous stellar jays and crows took up the audio slack with their raucous chorus, almost drowning out Whisper Creek. She even heard a woodpecker deeper in, but didn’t see him.

  For a while, she simply lost herself in the surround sound of the forest — the thrum of hummingbird wings, the occasional hoarse bark of a grey squirrel — all cushioned by the soft, rustling branches as the wind pushed through the trees and playfully ruffled the low-lying shrubs. A thick, sunny patch of wild blackberries tumbled along the far bank of Whisper Creek.

  Logan wondered if bears liked berries. Hopefully not. Cartoon bears liked them. Hopefully not real ones. Not wanting to give into the fear of Ursus Americanus, Logan made herself walk a few minutes farther, then found a comfortable hillock of reasonably dry moss, sat down and rubbed her knee, straightening it to make sure it still worked, then dug her water bottle out of her jacket pocket. Even on a short hike, Logan knew to bring water and a high-calorie snack.

  She pulled open the top with her teeth and took a long pull, then reached in for the half-eaten Payday bar she knew was in there somewhere. She had carefully folded over the end of the wrapper so it wouldn’t gather pocket lint. All good. She tore off a big bite. The peanuts were salty, the caramel, sweet and chewy, the water, still cold. Hit the spot.

  Logan was glad she thought to bring the knee brace. She’d pull it on for the return trip. The creek was louder here. Wet twigs and leaves created a kind of temporary dam along the spine of a fallen branch. For a while, Logan sat mesmerized by the swirls and eddies. One or two leaves, not yet water logged, floated downstream.

  Thoughts she had pushed to the back of her mind while working forced their way to the surface. She wondered how Lori was. What was going to happen to Shannon if her mom didn’t make it? Was there anything on that flash drive that would help Lori? It felt like a land mine.

  Her thoughts continued to drift.

  What was she going to do about Ben?

  A child. What would it be like to have a child now? Sitting right here, next to her. Showing him the leaves, the water, the sky. Maybe he would play an instrument. She suddenly realized she thought of this probably-never-going-to-exist-child as a boy.

  She’d loved showing Amy the world—running in the park, teaching her how to dive into the waves, and what to do if you got caught in a rip tide. ”Don’t fight it, let it carry you out, then swim parallel to the shore until you can swim back in.” But there was so much more she would do now. She’d be more relaxed. And not so busy. She and Jack worked long hours when they started their computer training business. Sometimes all she managed with Amy was a bedtime story and a tuck in before lights out. Not a lot of long, rambling nature walks in the afternoon. Of course, Fractals took time, too, but in its third year, with Rita’s financial support, was running pretty smoothly. And Logan knew how to manage her time better in her 40s than she did in her 20s.

  And Ben. Ben would be a great father. She’d seen him with his nephews. Kids and dogs loved Ben. He was fun, but he wasn’t just a buddy to them. He set boundaries. He made his nephews do chores and made sure their homework was finished before letting them run down to the beach. And he had the patience of Job with her. Logan knew she wasn’t an easy woman to be in a relationship with sometimes. Yes, Ben passed all the tests.

  But did she? Even if the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. She may feel 35, but her physical body had logged closer to 45 years. Was it selfish to try to have a baby at her age
? What were the chances there would be complications for the fetus?

  Her sciatica gave her left, big toe a stab, reminding her it was time to get moving.

  Logan wished all her body parts would cooperate at the same time. She thought of all the years she carelessly threw her body around in swimming and sports, with never a thought that someday she’d have to be careful with it. Youth is indeed wasted on the young.

  That was the other concern. The car accident had left Logan with neck and back injuries. With exercise and some caution, she could almost function normally now, but what would a pregnancy do to her? Would she be able to carry a baby full term without winding up in a wheelchair? Her doctor had warned her not to take up skiing or golfing, any activities that would put a strain on her back. There was always a danger of rupturing a lumbar disc. Logan wondered what she would have to say about her patient possibly procreating?

  No sense having a baby if you couldn’t take care of him or her as they grew up. She could check with doctors, but Logan already knew no doctor was going to give her a 100% green light.

  Whatever she decided, there would be no guarantees.

  Feeling chilled, Logan shelved her worries for now and looked at the sky. Her knee had stiffened up considerably. A hike, even a short, easy one, was probably not the best choice of activities post knee-injury. The sun was still out, but the temperature was dropping. She stood up, rubbed her arms, and shook out her leg to get her knee to pop and the blood circulating before putting on her brace for the return trip. She probably shouldn’t have pushed it, but she rationalized the hike with the mantra her doctor had given her, “Healing takes place in the presence of motion,” and headed back to the cabin to get ready for dinner.

  43

  Dinner, as always, was perfect. Nick liked to stretch his wings on the weekends, when his meal didn’t have to fit into the narrower dietary preferences of kids or a lunch hour. He could also add wine.

  Pork roast, caramelized onions, scalloped carrots, spinach salad, piles of French bread, and several bottles of white to sample: a fruity Pinot Gris, two toasty Chardonnays, and a crisp, fresh Viognier. For dessert, Nick served his fall specialty, Baked Apples. GI Joe, who now helped in the kitchen as well as the garden, made the hand-churned vanilla bean ice cream. Even after stuffing herself with dinner, Logan polished off the entire cinnamon, walnut, and raisin stuffed Rome apple topped with a generous scoop of ice cream. The comforting aroma of cinnamon and perfect balance of hot and cold in each bite almost made her swoon.

  When Nick informed her there were only five ingredients, Logan asked for the recipe. Even a non-cook like her could handle five ingredients. She’d have to buy the ice cream, but it would be close enough. Ben would be impressed. Bonnie would faint.

  It was past 9:00 p.m. before anyone made a move to leave. The last week caught up with Logan all at once. She could barely keep her eyes open. Glenda needed to talk with Rita about getting some time off for a book talk and workshop she was giving in Chicago. Her new Herb Bible continued to be a real hit. Since almost no one lived on farms anymore, or even had large yards, her newest edition included pictures and instructions for vertical and indoor herb gardens, which were becoming all the rage. It didn’t hurt that a popular TV show often showcased creative, indoor, herb-planted displays in their remodeling reveals.

  After thanking Nick again for the great meal, Logan let herself out the back door, stepping carefully down each step to the ground. The small stoop leading to the garden was one item that hadn’t been upgraded yet. Wi-Fi had been, though, so Logan pulled out her phone to call Bonnie. She’d save her call to Ben for later. She loved to hear his warm, gruff voice just before dropping off to sleep.

  “Hi,” Bonnie answered.

  “Am I calling at a good time?” Logan asked. “Figured I’d wait until the kids were all in bed.”

  “Yep, they’re all fed, watered, brushed, and bathed,” Bonnie said, “Haley’s in there reading a bedtime story to Shannon.”

  Logan didn’t ask about Mike; she knew this was one of his station days. A fireman, he worked a typical 24-on, 48-off schedule.

  “How’s she doing?” Logan asked.

  “Shannon?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yeah, how’s she holding up? Has she asked anymore about her mom?”

  “Just at night. That’s why Haley gives her so much attention then. She seems to be satisfied with the vague answers we’re giving her, although I’m not sure how long that will last.”

  “Any more news on that end? Has Lori come out of it yet? Has anyone seen or talked with her?” Logan asked, thinking of the flash drive in her computer bag.

  “They won’t tell me anything because I’m not family, but I was talking to Paula this morning. She stopped by to look at some fabric samples I pulled for her couch. She’s redecorating the living room at Rick’s ...”

  “Yes, I know. It’s nice of you to help her with that,” Logan interrupted, trying to get her friend back on track. “What did she say about Lori? Has she seen her?”

  “No, but she overheard your Detective Andrews talking on his cell in the parking lot, and it sounds like she’s conscious, anyway. Don’t know what shape she’s in. Oh! I forgot to tell you, I bumped into Iona the other day. ...”

  It was almost impossible to keep Bonnie on point.

  “... You won’t believe it—I hardly recognized her!” Bonnie continued.

  “What do you mean?” Logan asked, curious now.

  “I don’t even know where to start, Logan. No more penciled in eyebrows—she did some kind of soft, feathered thing. Her eyebrows are naturally blonde or white, not sure, but she didn’t do that whole harsh, dark brown, upside down frown thing she usually does. And her hair! The beehive is gone! She got it cut short! Don’t know if her hair is naturally curly, but she has a kind of layered cut that really brings out her eyes. Wardrobe’s pretty much the same, but her lipstick doesn’t scream at you anymore.”

  “Wow! Did you take pictures?” Logan asked.

  “I was too stunned,” Bonnie replied, “But I did compliment her. I mean, you couldn’t just ignore it—I had to say something!”

  Bonnie took a breath.

  “She said she had a makeover at the mall,” Bonnie said, “’Time for a new look’” she said!”

  “Double wow,” Logan said. She had a hard time picturing Iona Slatterly walking into a luxury department store. They must have shit their pants when she walked up to the counter.

  “Her wardrobe’s about the same—same skin-tight jeans and western, long-sleeve blouses, even in the summer,” Bonnie said, “but, I gotta say, she looked ten years younger and...pretty. She said Taylor was teaching her to play guitar.”

  “Good for her. I guess an old dog can learn new tricks, Logan said. “Good for her!” she repeated, feeling ancient.

  If Iona could change her life... But a makeover wasn’t as drastic a change as having a baby. Big difference.

  They talked another few minutes, then Logan finally got the conversation turned back to Lori, but Bonnie didn’t have much to add. Paula hadn’t talked with Lori, just knew she had gained consciousness and might be moved out of the ICU soon.

  When she reached Glenda’s cabin, Logan disconnected the call and let herself in. A warm, grassy aroma greeted her. Glenda’s custom blend of herbs she called “Bedtime Tea” sat steeping in two large mugs.

  “Thought you might be coming in soon,” she said, “These will be ready in a minute.”

  Glenda was big on giving herbs time to sit in the hot water long enough for the full flavors and medicinal benefits to be extracted from them.

  Glenda had finished her business with Rita and made it back to the cabin before her, while Logan was talking with Bonnie on the phone.

  They visited for a while, enjoying the tea with a dollop of New School honey Glenda always kept at the ready, then Loga
n said good night and took a hot shower before pulling on her pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

  Glenda kept extra blankets and quilts at the foot of the bed for her. Logan liked to sleep with the windows open, even when the temperature dropped. Fresh air was essential.

  Once she was snuggled in, she pulled her favorite quilt, an abstract, log cabin design, up under her chin and looked down at the slender sections that made up each block. Glenda made it for her Mom when she had lung cancer. Using only black, white, and cream fabrics, both solid and print, the design chronicled her mother’s journey from pain of a rough childhood, to peace as an adult. It also expressed the easing of her mother’s physical pain to ‘celestial rest’ as Glenda put it. The bottom left corner was all black fabrics, slowly transitioning to all white fabrics in the final quilt block in the upper right corner. Every time she looked at it, Logan saw something new.

  Ben was expecting her call. Just the sound of his voice made Logan feel loved. After they hung up, Logan’s eyelids grew heavy and she started to drift into sleep, but every time she reached the edge, thoughts of Lori, Shannon, and the flash drive popped into her mind and pulled her back. She thought of all the possibilities: incriminating photographs, kiddie porn, the location of secret truffle hunting spots? State secrets??

  What was on that thing?

  44

  Friday was spent in one of Logan’s least favorite activities: paperwork. Fractals came with a bundle of it. Rita was generous, but a real stickler for supporting documentation. She understood, and Logan was learning, that most donors weren’t like the generous, trusting Mrs. Hauser. They didn’t just fund your grant, then wave goodbye and assume all would be well. They wanted to know where every dime of their money went and if it was being used not only honestly, but as efficiently as possible, for the intended good. And did it work? What were the results?

  You had to know your donor. Corporate donors often gave not out of the generosity of their hearts, but for good publicity and a tax write-off. They wanted to see splashy projects that got on the news. Rita screened her donors and didn’t accept money from some of the greedier ones, who were looking for good press to cover bad deeds. She wanted nothing to do with them, no matter how much money they dangled.