Resonance - J. B. Everett (best novels to read for students TXT) 📗

even an autopsy. Not for a man who had leukemia for five years.

 

His lids slowly gained the weight of sleep, and within moments the glare of bright light. He blinked against the harsh sun through the windows he hadn’t bothered to close, because he hadn’t believed that sleep was coming. He was still in his slacks, his shirt, and his tie. All of it formerly pressed and Sunday best.

 

He had the whole day to contemplate his horrible behavior from the evening before. The idea that God was punishing him for it began with the taste of old gym towels in his mouth.

 

With only a few blinks in a lazy attempt to clear his head, he pushed his way off the bed and into the bathroom. Relief surged at the flavor of mint replacing the gumminess of sleep. Jordan reached into the stall and flicked the shower on, the sense memory of where exactly to turn the dial remained even in this blurry state. Within a minute the water was a decent temperature, and he had yanked his tie loose and proceeded to strip. He almost fell back asleep standing there naked under the ancient showerhead.

 

By the time Jordan was downstairs, his Dad stood at the stove, his one concession to reallife cooking was the electric griddle that was perpetually on the counter top. The smell of Bisquick pancakes brought Jordan back to every other weekend he and his Dad had spent since his mother had died. He sat down with no conversation and ate until he was near bursting. Wondering all the while, as he always did, if his father made the pancakes even on weekends when he wasn’t home. He’d never had the heart to ask.

 

Just as Jordan set down his fork, the phone rang. His father motioned with the spatula that Jordan was to answer it. In China, children cared for their parents unto old age. In Lake James, Jordan saved his Dad the social effort involved in answering the phone. “Hello?”

 

“Jordan?” The voice was soft and sweet and he couldn’t quite place it. “It’s me, Kelly.”

 

“Oh, hi-”

 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. We all need to make sense of it in our own way.” He could hear her breath across the line in the sharp inhale she needed before she continued. “You need to know. I don’t want to. I don’t care what you find out. But I signed a release to the hospital, and told them you were with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and that you needed them to cooperate.”

 

“Kelly …”

 

“No, It’s okay. If it had been you, Eddie would have found the answers leveling a field with a caterpillar and a backhoe. This is how you find yours. I’m just sorry I wasn’t more understanding yesterday.”

 

“Kelly.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you, and I’m sorry I upset you. I just …”

 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

 

“Listen Kelly, I wanted to tell you that Eddie once told me that he was the luckiest guy alive to have you.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“No he did. He then told me what a pansyass I was with my nose in books all the time.”

 

He heard her sniff even as she laughed. “Thank you… have a good flight home tonight Jordan.”

 

Great, he had made her cry. Yet, she had given him access to Eddie’s medical records. He wanted to jump up and down and cheer. He hated himself for it. But he had nine hours at the hospital until he had to leave for his flight.

 

Becky wasted little time unpacking her duffle bag and simply splashed some water on her face. The hotel was covered by the Amateur Birdwatchers; it was far nicer than anything Warden would have approved of her staying in.

 

She pocketed her room card and slipped her purse over her shoulder. Making certain that her door locked behind her, she found her way back to the elevators and wondered what she was getting herself into. She spotted Marshall Harfield easily, mainly because he was the only person actually sitting and waiting in the lobby.

 

He had told her that he had dark hair and dark eyes, and that he would be wearing a blue ABA jacket.

 

What he had neglected to tell her was that the dark hair was thinning and the ABA jacket was bright enough to scare away all kinds of wildlife and that it was struggling to stay closed around the wide girth of his belly.

 

He neglected to tell her that he was nervous and that he would startle when she approached him. Wiping his hand on his pants he held it out while he greeted her. But she couldn’t very well refuse to shake his hand.

 

He led her out to his car, plastered with ABA and various other bird bumper stickers. Some even thought they were funny.

 

As they left the parking lot, he began a stream of nervous chatter. Becky, of course, listened with half her thoughts to Marshall, and the other half wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Her heart leapt when he reached into the backseat, but all he produced was a series of marked volumes on the Georgia Spotted Warbler.

 

Within moments, he had her flipping pages, finding out details and seeing that everyone who had ever printed anything about the Georgia Spotted Warbler agreed that they were only Georgian during the winter months. If it was true, then these birds were way out of sync. And Marshall Harfield had found his groove and a warm smile that he shared with anyone who could get excited over an unremarkable brown bird.

 

Her whole attention was turned to him as he continued, and she didn’t even notice the drive. They were pulling up to a farmhouse outside Dalton and four people were standing in the middle of the front lawn, their bright blue ABA jackets giving them away. They all but pulled Becky from the car and smiled and shook her hand in turn as Marshall introduced Dr. Rebecca Sorenson around to the lot of them. They were polite enough to make it through introductions, then they were all speaking on top of each other.

 

She posed the question to the group in general as she was getting the hang of understanding them. “So last year the birds flew in the proper pattern, and they left last spring at the appropriate time … but now they’re here way too early.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No.”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

Becky decided to go with the kid, Weston, who had said ‘not exactly’. “Explain please.”

 

“This is the nesting ground for this flock, every year they’re here in Mrs. Chesterfield’s orchard. Well, last year they didn’t arrive on time. And two weeks later we found them while we were out looking for spotted woodpeckers over at the Dalton Arboretum. They were there, the warblers, and they were nesting. So we thought that was weird-”

 

Becky’s brows knit with questions. “How do you know it’s the same flock?”

 

Anne, the older woman, spoke up this time. “I’ve been watching this flock for years. The birds come and go, but there’s a consistency. You’ll see the same birds for quite a few years. We named the ones we can positively I.D. There’s Marsha, Jan, Cindy, Greg, Bobby, and Alice. Sam, Peter, and Tiger didn’t come back this year.”

 

Clearly no one else in the group thought anything of the names that Anne was rattling off.

 

Marshall smiled again, his big beaming smile. “That’s why we called the Biodiversity lab. Last year our birds our birds were a bit off. But this is way out of our league.” He grabbed her by the arm, but by now she took it as a good sign, “Do you want to go see them?”

 

She nodded, and Weston rummaged through his backpack to come up with a bright blue ABA hat, which he held out to her. “I thought you might like a hat. We have Lyme ticks.”

 

“Thank you, Weston.” Before she knew it, she was in the back woods of Georgia, in eighty-five degree heat, and eighty-five percent humidity, trailing a team of birdwatchers. They laughed, and she didn’t even ask as they pointed out Boss Hog and Roscoe, two woodpeckers who were squabbling over a nearby tree.

 

It was two a.m. when Jillian spotted Jordan at the airport curb. He stood with one bag over his shoulder and a carryon just clinging to the tips of his fingers, looking much worse for the wear than she was.

 

Pulling up, she spilled out of the car, her arms offering up a hug, and immediately she saw the awkwardness of the move, but it was too late to stop herself. He was a co-worker, and not family. Even if she was here in the middle of the night.

 

Jordan was startled by the move, but he hugged her back, maybe even just a moment too long, clearly out of it, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out right there in the pickup lane. But he simply threw his bag into the backseat, and slid, bone weary, into the passenger side. “Thank you …”

 

If he was going to say something else, it was lost in the moments between starting the car, and her intense scrutiny of the few other vehicles in the pick-up lane while she tried to find her way back to the freeway. From the expression on his face and the way he hid it behind spread fingers, his cousin’s death had been hard on him.

 

When he finally looked up, she handed him the extra soft drink she had gotten for him. “I don’t know if you want this, maybe you just need to go home and pass out, but I was getting one anyway.”

 

“No. I’m starving, actually. Thank you.” He sighed, sucked down a good portion of the soda, and two seconds later started talking again. “I can order a pizza right now, right? Will you come up and share it with me? I need your help.”

 

That pulled her brows together. He was tired and not in there. And he wanted her to come up for pizza in the middle of the night? But again she didn’t get to say anything.

 

“Eddie had leukemia. But he died of a stomach flu that put him in a coma.” Frustration carried bell-clear in the soft deep timbre of his voice.

 

“What? I don’t know of any stomach flu that does that.” She pulled up to the curb in front of his building.

 

“Exactly.” He popped open the car door and retrieved his bag. “I alienated my family asking questions. All they know is that he’s gone. His wife is right, I can’t bring him back. But I can’t answer any of the questions either… . And you probably really want to go home and get some sleep.”

 

“Actually, I’m wide awake now. Buy me a pizza and tell me all about it.” She closed her car door and turned the key, managing only a small wince in the still city night air as the horn beeped that the alarm was engaged.

 

In the elevator he rummaged through his carryon bag, producing a heavy folder that looked at once brand-new and well-worn. Jillian took it from him, while he entered his unit and went around the small living/dining area, opening windows, and turning on lights and the fan. The first

 

slight breeze hit her face and it occurred to her that it was stuffy in here, even for the middle of the night. She turned the file over. “This says the file was released to Dr. Jordan Abellard of the CDCP… Did you use the CDC to get this?”

 

He shook his head. “I went in with Kelly’s release form, she had put CDCP on it. I had my badge and they never questioned it.”

 

“That’s not really-”

 

“I know,” He put his hands up in the air. “What do you want me to do? I never said anything, they assumed. And I had the complete file in my hands in under twenty minutes.”

 

Jillian couldn’t smother her smile. “I’m fine with that; I was just curious if you