Monday: I’m scared Buttercup.
I understood now why he’d sent the forms to us. He’s scared, alone, and he wants company. And, I thought, absolution. I couldn’t give him that.
I got off my stool and went to the window to shield my face from Walter. I stared out at the forested flank of the Sierra. If I was a kid I’d go up into the trees and hide. Do my crying there.
Walter made a lot of noise, letting me know he was picking up the forms on my bench. Then he went quiet.
When he had finished reading I headed him off, in case he wanted to discuss Hap. I said, “My numbers are okay. Just means I need to be careful in the future.” Like I’d go anyplace near unshielded shit without full hazmat and a ten-foot tallywhacker. “And you’re fine. You didn’t pick up any dose.” Thank God. Thank Scotty, and even Hap — I’d thank the devil himself if he’d had anything to do with keeping Walter from sucking up dose.
Walter said, “Never again.”
“Never again what? Never again take a case where we need to wear full hazmat?”
He nodded. And then he grunted.
I knew that grunt. It meant, never again unless a case comes along that cries out for justice, in which case we’ll goddamn likely end up taking it.
We got coffee to go with our donuts and went back to work on the plastics case. I left the thick envelope in the drawer. We worked until one-thirty and then I suggested lunch. When he looked up I brought out the envelope and laid it on his workbench. “It’s that conference,” I said, “on soil forensics.”
“Dear, it’s too far. We don’t have the budget.”
“Yes we do. I got a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Internet special. It’s off-season in Belize. And don’t forget frequent-flier miles.” I folded my arms. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to that conference because it has a session on geostatistics that I’m dying to attend. And we’re staying in this funky hotel I found — right on the beach. Meals included. And in our down time, we’re going to learn how to dive. Don’t worry, hotel’s got a certified instructor.” I leaned forward, nearly coming off my stool. “Walter, we’re going to get back in the water. With breathing tanks and faceplates. Only this time it’s going to be fun.”
Walter opened the envelope. He paged through the lime-green hot-pink brochure, studying it as if he’d never heard of an Internet special. He spoke, finally. “This diving instructor? He’s young and good-looking? And kind? And intelligent — you’ll want someone you can have a conversation with.”
I groaned.
He smiled.
I relaxed. “And we’re going to drink margaritas and eat lime-baked chips.”
“With salsa?”
“Yup. I’m not giving up salsa.”
He said, firm, “No seaweed, though.”
“Only in the water.”
“Only when the conference is not in session,” he amended. “I’ll want that deduction on income tax.”
I got off my stool and came to him and extended my fist, to seal the deal. He knew what to do. We bumped fists. Very cool. But then I couldn’t help noticing the age spots on his hands. Suddenly I could hear Hap’s voice, clear as if he were here in the lab assessing Walter. Your cells are already in the decay mode. I shook Hap off. I didn’t need a health physicist to tell me to wear a hat and shades and sunscreen out there. SPF-50.
I said, firm, “It will be fun.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank the following experts in their fields for information, education, reading the book, and giving me terrific suggestions and support: David Lochbaum, Marvin Resnikoff, Terry Fisk, Gregg Dempsey, John Thornton.
If there are factual or technical errors in BADWATER, they are mine alone.
Thanks to following for reading and commenting on my book, and for ongoing friendship and support: Lisa Brackmann, Marcia Talley, Patrick Price.
I want to thank Jack Barnes, Don Dwiggins, Russell Dwiggins, Dan Kolsrud, Del Roy, and Sue Worsley, for reading, for detailed suggestions, and for much-needed encouragement.
To Molly Williams, thanks for enthusiasm, support, and asking how it’s going.
To Emily Williams, thanks for reading and commenting and explaining to me that “playa” refers to a person who has enough “game” to be a major player in a group. Still, I like the geological definition—“a desert basin from which water evaporates quickly”—and I’m sticking to it.
To Chuck Williams, thanks for reading, formatting, supporting, being there, and a boatload of everything else.
MAPS
On the following pages are two maps:
Death Valley, overview
Death Valley, showing sites and roads mentioned in the story
