River's Edge: The River Immortals, #1

~Chapter One~

. . . there came to me one of those strange flashes of understanding, that pierce for an instant the thick dullness of our minds, and give us a glimpse of the meaning of this life we live in blindness here.

~Laura Lee Davidson, p. 192 of Sisters of the Earth~

If any house understands loss, it’s this one. It stares at me with baleful window-eyes, accusing me of desertion.

I heave the last box into the bed of my truck and slam the tailgate shut. After checking the house one last time, I step outside and lock the door behind me. I hurry down the steps to the driveway—only to find my truck blocked by a red Chevy Malibu.

Jen Toledo is lounging against her car, holding a styrofoam cup in one hand while talking on her cell. So this is her idea of helping me pack. Since we’ve been dreading this goodbye for weeks, I’m surprised she came at all. I half expected her to pretend it was only a day trip.

Mom, I’ll be there soon, Jen says. I’m— She’s interrupted by loud words spilling out of the phone. Then I remember it’s her first day interning at the law firm—her mother’s law firm. Upon closer inspection, I notice her sleek black pants suit and French-twisted hair.

She catches my eye and says, Gotta go, Mom. She snaps the phone shut.

I bet she loved that, I say, figuring Jen will later get rebuked for impertinence. Her mother is the only Latina lawyer in the county. She’s also the most intimidating person I’ve ever met.

I’ll make it up to her. After all, I am her slave for the summer. Jen waves her arm as if shooing away all worries, nearly spilling her drink in the process.

I reach out to salvage it. What is this? I sniff an unmistakable sweetness.

She grabs it back from me. Mocha latte. I made it myself.

Because the coffee shop doesn’t add enough chocolate to suit you? I like to tease Jen about having chocolate in her veins due to daily consumption. Her skin, hair, and eyes are all various shades of chocolate.

She’s always deaf to my jokes. She’ll often change the subject or keep talking as if I never said anything. Today she pulls a small, square present out of her pocket.

Uh-oh. I narrow my eyes.

She knows what my glare means—it requires her soothing tone. Kasia, it’s just a little graduation present.

We agreed not to exchange graduation presents! When her voice gets softer, mine usually gets louder.

Then it’s a going-away present. Whatever. Just take it.

No! I’m not anti-gifts, but I feel like a jerk for not getting her something.

I saw it and thought of you. Total impulse buy, so stop feeling guilty.

I sigh dramatically, shifting my eyes to the bank of clouds hiding the sunrise. Too many emotions lately. Our high school graduation was yesterday, and now I have to say goodbye to my best friend.

I’ll be an old woman by the time you open it, she complains.

You already act like one, I say, forcing a smile. I take the present and rip the paper off, revealing a black velvet box. I feign a wide-eyed look of terror. You’re not getting down on one knee, are you? Because I’m not ready for that level of commitment.

Jen snorts. "I’m not marrying a biologist. That would completely ruin my social status."

We laugh, amused at our pathetic inside jokes. I’m still chortling when I flip open the box’s lid.

My laughter stops instantly, as if I’ve opened a vacuum. But it’s not a vacuum—it’s a necklace. A silver cross on a silver chain.

My jaw feels unhinged. This gift makes no sense. One: I hardly ever wear jewelry. And two: neither one of us goes to church or talks about spiritual beliefs. I’m the wannabe scientist, the pragmatic one. Jen’s the wannabe lawyer, the evil one. How did she look at a cross and think of me?

I d-don’t know what to say, I stammer.

It’s not my typical gift, she admits. But I happened to see it and felt this crazy compulsion to get it for you. I just thought . . . after everything with your mom . . . and with you leaving town . . . that maybe you could use something extra. Some type of protection, or good luck charm, or blessing. On the off chance that such a thing exists.

Dumbfounded, I stare at her. What thing? Protection, good luck, or God? I’ve never seen Jen struggle with words before. Nor have I heard her talk of premonitions or superstitions.

She stops smiling.  It was a stupid idea. I’ll return it—

Lurching forward, I hug her tightly, choking off the rest of her sentence. I’m tall enough for her head to tuck under my chin, and her coconut-smelling hair tickles my nose. No, don’t return it. I need something to keep me out of trouble.

She doesn’t laugh at my attempted joke. This isn’t something we can analyze, categorize, or explain away. Not a good start to the summer.

Be careful, she whispers.

That sounds way too serious. We need sarcasm, pronto. You too, I say. Watch out for those filing cabinets.

She gives me a playful shove. We better hit the road, or we’ll both get fired on our first day of work.

Nodding, I think of the long drive ahead of me. I don’t want to be late for my new job, but I don’t want to leave either. I have no other close friends, and I no longer have a family. Jen is all I have left.

I don’t tell her any of this. She hates it when I state the obvious. Instead I hold out the chain to her. Can you help me with this? She drapes it around my neck, and the unfamiliar weight of the cross settles on my sternum. Thank you, I say quietly.

You’re welcome.

Nothing left to say but goodbye. She hugs me one last time and hurries to her car, throwing a farewell over her shoulder without looking at me. She despises crying as much as I do. I shout a goodbye, pretending to be cheerful, then hop in my truck.

From the driveway, she turns right and I turn left. I look in the rearview mirror—not at the house, but at Jen’s car growing smaller in the distance.

~ ~ ~

Two hours later, I reach the parking lot for Thomson Sand Prairie. I’m the first to arrive, so the prairie feels like it belongs only to me. I stand at the edge of the wilderness and try to ignore the dark whispers of my past.

Gazing at the wide expanse of prairie, I notice how it dances under a spring-gray sky. A breeze rustles through the grass like a song. I lean closer to breathe in the rich perfume of the earth’s secrets. Little Bluestem tickles my fingers, the quiet comfort sweeping away all my darkness. I smile.

An unnatural rumble breaks the prairie’s harmony. A tiny blue car crawls into the dirt lot and parks next to my truck. This must be my new boss. I hold my breath as the car door opens . . . and he emerges. He. When my sigh whistles through my teeth, I realize I got my hopes up for a female boss. Which was incredibly stupid of me.

The oily whispers return, spilling into my ears and suffocating the wind-song. I hear Mom’s voice telling me to never get close to a guy. It was one of her two commandments—until she left and never came back.

Mom’s the one who taught me to rank every man and boy on the Scum Scale. He gains one point for each scummy characteristic, and Zero is the only passing score. No grading on the curve. No consolation prizes. No exceptions. We judge on the following criteria:

1.  Lewd grin

2.  Over-friendly eyes

3.  Fake deep voice or pickup lines

4.  Chauvinism

5.  Being male

My new boss is infected with a Y chromosome, which makes him an automatic loser on the Scum Scale. I try to feel sorry for him . . . but somehow I can’t.

Emotions won’t interfere with my job. I put on my business face for the boss I’m supposed to respect. He meets me between his car and the prairie, extending his hand.

Hi, you’re Kasia Maier? He gives a tentative smile, his teeth very white against his tanned skin.

My lips twitch in response, the biggest smile I can muster. I shake his hand and quickly let go. Yes, sir.

His eyes widen at the sir. I’m Scott Emery, but just call me Scott.

If Scott could subtract points for humility, he’d ace the Scum Scale. As it is, he only has one point against him so far. Could be worse. Despite my dream of becoming a biologist, I doubt I could stomach a boss who scored a five on the Scum Scale.

I size up Scott, searching for flaws. He looks a few years older than me. His hair is light brown; with his red t-shirt, he reminds me of a caramel-dipped apple. He also wears jean shorts and sandals, which seems like odd field gear for the prairie. I opted for long jeans and hiking boots in case I step on a prickly pear cactus—a small plant that shoots spines into trespassers. They’re rare, but I had the misfortune of discovering them the hard way in the sand prairie I worked at last summer.

Ready to work? I gesture to the prairie.

Oh. About that. . . .

Scott hesitates, and his apologetic face makes my heart shrivel. I curse myself for getting excited about this job.

There’s a problem, he continues, studying his watch like he’s eager to get rid of me.

I raise my chin to hide my distress. You don’t want me to work for you?

What? No, that’s not what I meant. I do want you.

Is that a subtle pickup line? He looks innocent, but maybe he’s a pro at deception. The whispers in my mind warn me not to trust him.

I’m sorry everything’s messed up. One of my interns took off. I’m guessing he quit and didn’t have the nerve to tell me. Another grad student is supposed to meet us here so we can work out the details. He looks at his watch again, muttering, Where is he?

My heart puffs up, stupidly feeling hopeful again. My head expects to go home jobless.

I turn at the sound of an approaching engine. Dust clouds swirl as the vehicle—a yellow Jeep—slams to a stop next to my truck. The prairie’s parking lot has now reached its capacity.

New Guy slowly steps out of the Jeep. He appears close to Scott’s age, but he’s blond instead of brunette and wears field gear similar to mine. His eyes and fingers are glued to the cell phone he’s texting on.

You’re late. Scott sounds angrier than the tardiness warrants.

Sorry, New Guy mumbles, in a tone that proves he’s not sorry at all.

Scott scowls. Kasia, this is Derick Hille.

Derick finally puts away his phone. He double takes when he sees me, his pale blue eyes sliding from my bandana to my boots. A male with over-friendly eyes and lewd grin—Derick the Dirtbag scores a scummy Three at first glance. No way am I offering him my hand.

His gaze lingers on my hands shoved in my pockets. This can’t be the new intern. She’s too young.

I’m eighteen, I say through gritted teeth.

Triumph seems to flash across his face, but it’s gone so quickly I must’ve imagined it.

From the corner of my eye I see Scott take a step closer to me. Derick studies Ornate box turtles and is in charge of the sand prairie project.

"I thought you were in charge," I say to Scott.

He shakes his head. I lead the trapping project. Fred didn’t tell you?

Dr. Janzen? No, he didn’t. Dr. Fredric Janzen, a biologist from Iowa State University, hired me over the phone two weeks ago. He said a stand-in boss from ISU would meet me here for my first day of work, but he didn’t mention the name of the graduate student. I hadn’t asked any questions, afraid I’d talk myself out of the job if I knew too many details.

A sinking feeling leaves a hole in my gut. If I’m supposed to be in the prairie. . . .

"You’re working for me," Derick says, his voice deep enough to merit another point on the Scum Scale.

Not necessarily, Scott says. I think Jared quit, so now I’m one intern short. Maybe Kasia should work for me until I get someone to replace Jared.

Derick glares at him. "If you take her, then I’ll be one intern short."

Little boys arguing over a toy. I swallow my angry words and instead say, What do you trap, Scott?

The lines of his face soften when he turns from Derick to me. Painted turtles. Have you studied them before?

Painted. Ornate box turtles live in the prairie, but Painted turtles need aquatic habitats. My palms feel slippery, as if the oily whispers are leaking out of my skin. Mom’s second commandment: Stay away from the river.

Janzen told me she worked with Ornates last summer, not Painted turtles, Derick says when I fail to answer Scott’s question. She’d be more help to me. He props his boot on the bumper of Scott’s car.

Scott is too busy studying me to notice. He absently fidgets with his watchband. If you can walk the prairie all day looking for Ornates, working for me will be easy—if you don’t mind the water.

Now my face beads with sweat. My breaths are too shallow, too fast. Should I work for King Dirtbag or risk the water? Which commandment should I follow and which should I break?

Kasia? Scott’s voice has a tinge of concern. Usually I’m good at reading people, but his expression is one I don’t recognize. Maybe he’s warning me about Derick. Or maybe he just wants me so his project doesn’t tank.

Derick winks at me. Something about him—besides his frosted hair and ice-blue eyes—gives me the chills. Quit badgering her. She can decide for herself what she wants.

Neither of you, I almost say, but I have to think logically. I can’t find another biology job on such short notice; it’s May 24th, so most of the field positions have already started. No way can I go home and work a mundane nine-to-five job in a cubicle. I’m stuck here with these two bozos. It’s obvious they share an unpleasant history I want no part of, yet I’m forced to choose between them. So who would be a better reference, Derick or Scott? Easiest question ever.

Swallowing hard, I manage to say, I’d like to try working with Painted turtles.

Thank you. Scott’s blinding grin almost calms me. I can’t let my guard down.

Janzen will hear about this, Derick growls. I need to start walking transects today. How can I do that without her?

Fred will find a new intern for you soon, Scott says dismissively. Get your foot off my car.

Derick is surprised enough to peel his eyes off me and glower at Scott. "Find me a new intern? You said you’d get someone to replace Jared." Derick may be a jerk, but he’s not stupid—which is a crying shame.

Scott stares at the prairie for a long moment. Finally he says, Blayne will know how to train Kasia, so I can help you until a replacement shows up. Deal?

They lock eyes, as if not blinking proves their manliness. Derick pretends the deal is unacceptable, but I figure he likes the idea of being Scott’s boss, no matter how temporary the situation is. His eyes flick down. You gonna wear those girly water sandals in the prairie?

Scott doesn’t gloat about winning the staring contest. I’ll change clothes, but first I need to call Blayne and introduce him to Kasia.

I’ll pick up Matt. When I get back, you better be ready to work. Derick stomps to his Jeep and slams the door with unnecessary force, kicking up more dust as he speeds out of the parking lot.

I think you have a new enemy. I should probably thank Scott, but am I really better off with him than I would be with Derick?

He’s nothing new. Scott pauses, and I glance at his worried frown. If anyone suffers in the long run, it’ll be you.

I can take care of myself.

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. Just . . . stay away from him. He’s addicted to good-looking girls.

I stiffen, and he winces. I’m sorry, I know that’s offensive. Honestly, no girl should have to work with him. I hope Fred hires a guy to take your place.

I’m speechless. Surely he’s not protecting me—someone he just met—so he must be playing the sensitive-guy role to trick me into liking him. I don’t know how to trust him; I can’t trust him. He’s just the better of two bad options. Someday I’ll be my own boss, and then I won’t have to deal with this crap.

Scott excuses himself and pulls out a cell phone. I hear him talking to Blayne . . . my coworker? Another guy—fabulous. What would Mom think of me working with a guy in the water? Breaking two commandments with one decision.

I grind my molars. It doesn’t matter anymore what Mom thinks; I’m on my own now. It’s time to accept it and move on. I can’t let my fears hinder my career.

Scott pockets his phone. Blayne’s at the Causeway. You can follow me there, and I’ll explain to him about Jared.

Why did Jared quit?

No idea. I tried calling him, but he’s not answering. Which is strange—I didn’t think he was the type of person to bail on me. Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell me the truth. Some people just aren’t cut out for fieldwork.

I try to fathom this. To me, working outside every day is a dream come true.

You’ve had a field job before, right, so you know what to expect? You get hot, tired, and covered with mosquitoes. Then you do it all over again the next day. He checks to see if he’s scared me off, but I nod reassuringly. Then you’ll be fine. And Blayne is a good guy. He and a girl named Staci worked for me last summer. He just finished his freshman year of college, so I guess he’s a year older than you.

Scott is trying to paint a happy scene for me, but he doesn’t know the truth—good guys don’t exist in my life. I’ll be more than happy if Blayne scores a One on the Scum Scale. Even a Two would be peachy after dealing with Derick.

Why do you need two interns instead of one? I ask. Do we split up?

No, I want you to work together for safety reasons.

What are my duties?

You and Blayne will trap turtles in Potter’s Slough, part of the Mississippi’s backwaters. If you catch a new turtle, you’ll take measurements and a blood sample. Then you’ll mark it so we can identify recaptures.

Anything else? My voice sounds high-pitched as I consider the word backwaters.

You’ll also observe the female turtles when they come on land to nest. Later you’ll excavate the nests and weigh the eggs, then rebury the eggs and map the nest’s location. Some of my confusion must show on my face, because he smiles. Don’t worry, Blayne will explain everything. Let’s head to the slough so you can meet him.

He insists on exchanging cell phone numbers in case we get separated. Then Scott drives his car and I follow in my truck . . . on our way to the river. My decision to spend the summer this close to the river is a suffocating weight on my chest. Attempting to calm myself, I touch my new cross necklace and wonder how Jen would handle this situation. Jen, who always knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. I envy her that.

Scott and I drive a few miles to the small town of Thomson. On the west side of town is a forested recreation area—Thomson Causeway. We stop at the first parking spots, where a silver Tahoe is waiting for us.

I fumble the truck keys in my hurry. By the time I find my sack lunch and water bottle, I can hear Scott saying, Blayne, how’s it going?

Can’t find Jared, comes the reply. Is he with you?

Um, no, Scott replies. That’s what I need to talk to you about. I think Jared quit.

I circle the Tahoe just as Blayne says, What— His eyes widen as he notices me, his sentence dying.

My first impression of him is big blue. Tall and brawny—wearing blue jeans and a sleeveless, blue flannel shirt—he seems to dwarf Scott. Even his mop of black hair has a bluish hue. So this is my new coworker. I must calculate the likelihood of smacking him before the summer’s over.

After his initial surprise, his features seal shut like a tomb. He could be a mannequin for all the emotion he shows.

Usually when I meet guys, they’re either gross, like Derick, or they pretend to be nice, like Scott. Girls sometimes hate me at first sight because of my appearance, and guys often grow to hate me over time because of my personality. But I’ve never had a guy ignore me completely. It throws my system off balance. How am I supposed to rate this guy?

Scott says, Kasia, this is Blayne Sherman. Blayne, this is Kasia Maier. She was scheduled to work for Derick, but I asked her to take Jared’s place instead.

Blayne stares at Scott with single-minded force. She can work for Derick, and I’ll work by myself. He says this like I’m a disease he doesn’t want to be exposed to.

From the corner of my eye, I see Scott frown. I don’t want you working alone. Besides, it would take you twice as long to finish the work by yourself.

One corner of Blayne’s mouth twists, like the ghost of a smirk. I can’t imagine what he finds funny. Trust me, I’ll be fine.

Scott gives me an apologetic grimace—this is becoming a habit. Will you excuse us for just a minute?

I take my first normal breath since the moment I laid eyes on Blayne. Sure. Going past my tailgate, I hunker next to the back wheel, making sure I’m out of sight but close enough to hear their conversation. I’ve never claimed high morals.

What’s the problem? Scott hisses.

I’m not working with her, Blayne says. She’ll slow me down.

You don’t even know her, so how can you say that?

I can tell by looking at her that she’s soft. She won’t last a day.

She worked with Ornates last summer, and she comes highly recommended. Scott’s whispers sound angry now, but it’s a fraction of how angry I am.

Then let her work for Derick, where she belongs.

I can’t let her work for that slimeball. But you’re acting worse than he did, and I just told Kasia what a good guy you are.

Silence. I strain my ears but hear nothing. Do they know I’m listening? Did they resort to sign language? I’m frozen though my blood is boiling.

A couple minutes pass until Blayne finally mumbles something. Maybe the conversation is over. I slink to my passenger door, shooing the mosquitoes that are already swarming near me.

Scott is the first to appear. Well, I better get back to the prairie before Derick has a conniption. Blayne will drive you to the site. I’ll see you this evening, okay?

I stare at Scott’s forced nonchalance and try to figure out what’s happening. All I know is that with him gone, I’ll be free to punch Blayne. Okay.

He smiles tightly before getting in his car and driving away. I clutch my lunch bag and circle my truck again.

Blayne stands stock still behind his Tahoe, not acknowledging me. I wonder if Scott used some type of Medusa paralysis on him. Wouldn’t that be a handy trick?

My coworker will not grin, speak, or even look at me.