I&#39ll Be There (27 page)

Everywhere in Utah, it seemed, scientists were finding things.

Nearly all of the big discoveries in the state had been made on publicly held land. And many of the most important things unearthed had been made on sites in the Manti-La Sal National
Forest.

Crawford Luttrell, Dina Sokolow and Julian Mickelson were paleontologists. And they had received private funding from a television network to investigate a remote area in the Manti-La Sal
National Forest.

If what they found proved promising, the network would bring in an actor to join one of the three scientists, and a television special would be made about their work. The split of the money from
the special would pay for five more years of scientific research. And it could make one of them, possibly, a household name. It was a dream come true.

And a nightmare.

The three dinosaur hunters had not been getting along. They each wanted a shot at being the on-air personality who would join the actor if funding was granted.

Dina, as a woman, felt that she would be the most unique spokesperson to represent paleontology.

Julian, as the most photogenic, believed that the camera would speak for itself.

And Crawford, being the senior scientist of the group, believed experience trumped all other criteria when it came to research expeditions.

So, after two weeks in the field, and a long day filled with tension while working on rock formations that were seventy-five million years old, the three scientists trekked back to their
campsite.

They were barely speaking to one another.

As the sun sank into the horizon, a routine awaited them.

The expensive video camera that they used to do field documentation would be temporarily put aside. The cookstove would be removed from the tent, and water would be added to packets of mostly
freeze-dried and canned food.

After this, each of the scientists would detail to the camera his or her findings of the day, each secretly trying to outdo the other, knowing full well that the television network was going to
be reviewing not just the report that they submitted as a team but their individual journals and video diaries.

Lately, Crawford had taken to filming their return to the campsite. He was hoping to catch one of the other two scientists in a moment that would reveal some unflattering slip-up. It might be
another way to gain advantage. You just never knew.

As they approached their tent, Crawford was shooting when the camera lens swept over a pair of filthy socks just outside the tent door. Crawford held on the socks. Where did
they come from?

Had Julian left them?

It certainly wasn’t like Julian, who, like nearly all paleontologists, was all about discipline. Crawford didn’t say anything, watching as Dina, in her own absentminded professor
way, unzipped the tent without even asking about the socks.

And so Crawford had the good fortune of rolling camera when Dina stepped into the tent and then screamed as if someone had slashed her throat.

Her shriek was followed by the sound of someone else, also deeply alarmed, shouting back, and then Dina burst out of the tent and ran.

Julian stood paralysed. Crawford kept filming. Several moments later, a twelve-year-old sunburned boy, ragged and confused, not wearing any pants, emerged wide-eyed from the tent.

And Crawford Luttrell captured it all on high-definition video.

So many things in life are counterintuitive.

No one but Morgan Bumgartner (the manager at the Mountain Basin Inn), Olga, Debbie Bell and Bobby Ellis’s parents knew that Bobby Ellis had broken his arm when he fell off a Pibbs facial
chair with a hydraulic base and an adjustable back.

Everyone else heard only that there had been an accident at the Mountain Basin Inn. There were two stories going around. One was that Bobby was checking out the ballroom for the prom committee,
even though he wasn’t even on the prom committee.

And the second story was that he was doing undercover work for his mother, who everyone knew was a private investigator. Most people felt that the first story was a cover story for the real
story, which was the second story.

But whatever had happened, after meeting Derrick Ellis, the management of the Mountain Basin Inn worried about a lawsuit. And so, to engender goodwill, the hotel lowered the price of the Prom
Package for Churchill High School from $49.95 per person to $19.95 per person. They were prepared to lose money on the event.

This meant that the international fruit, cheese and cracker display with side vegetables; the garden salad with warm roll and butter; the lasagna entrée; the iced tea or lemonade, and the
strawberry cheesecake was now a real deal.

It was such a bargain that a dozen kids who wanted to go but couldn’t really afford it now bought tickets. And Bobby Ellis, who really only liked to eat meat, bread and cheese, suddenly
became a kind of hero. Which meant that Bobby Ellis was the frontrunner for an honor he’d never even dared dream about: prom king.

Debbie Bell had heard the real story of the accident from Olga, and she drove home that day thinking that she’d keep the details to herself.

Bobby Ellis had slipped at the resort. That was enough of a story. He was sort of odd, Debbie decided, but everyone had their secrets. Bobby just might have more than his fair share.

And now he had a cast from his elbow to his wrist, and that was another reason to cut him some slack.

Emily felt bad for Bobby. The cast on his right arm made doing just about everything a huge pain.

And so she put off having the Talk. Because she had to tell him that she needed some space and that things had drifted, without her realising, into something more than she could handle.

But for now, she went through the line in the cafeteria and picked out his food while he waited at one of the tables talking to an increasingly friendly crowd.

For Bobby Ellis, in the beginning, the broken arm was totally worth it. Because without the broken arm, he might never have been able to convince Emily to go to the prom. But
now she’d said yes, and there was no backing out. Everyone was opening doors and carrying his things. Even teachers who didn’t really like him were suddenly all smiles.

But the very best part, as far as Bobby was concerned, was that he got a handicapped-parking placard for thirty days. Of course it was a stretch, because his legs worked fine.

When Emily saw it, she thought it didn’t seem right. She wasn’t there when Barb Ellis bullied the doctor. And it was impressive. His mom had said that he couldn’t carry things
for long distances. Dr Gaiser didn’t seem to buy the explanation but signed anyway. You have to ask to receive. Lesson again learned.

So now Bobby could park anywhere, never even putting money in the meters. Since taking a shower was hard, he was getting his hair washed at the Hair Asylum, which was where most of the
successful businessmen in town went to get haircuts. His father had an account there. A woman named Rosie massaged his scalp for ten full minutes during each shampoo. Once the arm healed, he was
going to miss Rosie, that was for sure.

It wasn’t until the fourth day after the break that he smelled something funky coming from his right arm. Bobby had always sweated more than normal. Or, at least to him, he thought it
wasn’t normal. Who really knows how much other guys sweat?

But for Bobby, who even perspired in his sleep in the winter when he just had a sheet on top of him and not even any blankets, sweating was like breathing. It just happened all the time, really.
And now, only days before the prom, some kind of foul stink was making itself known. It was coming, he realised, from his cast.

The sweat from his arm, aided by gravity, was providing a blotter for his body’s natural excretion.

So Bobby got his mother to call Dr Gaiser, who was already booked for the day. But because of Barb Ellis’s insistence, Bobby was squeezed in.

When the doctor came into the examining room, he already seemed impatient. ‘So your mother called and said you had a major problem.’

Bobby nodded, wondering why the doctor seemed to be so full of himself.

Dr Gaiser continued, ‘What exactly is causing all the grief?’

Bobby looked right at him. ‘My cast smells.’

The doctor took a step closer and appeared to examine Bobby’s arm, but he really didn’t. ‘All casts, with time, give off a mild odor.’

Bobby held his gaze. ‘This isn’t a mild odor. This is nasty.’

Dr Gaiser closed Bobby’s file. ‘You’re scheduled for a cast change in two weeks.’

Bobby looked horrified. The man in the white lab coat was heading for the door.

Bobby Ellis made a point of never raising his voice and of never displaying much emotion. He considered this the secret of his success.

But now he couldn’t play by his own rules. Now someone wasn’t listening to him. And that someone was getting away. Bobby blurted out, ‘The prom is this coming weekend! I
can’t go to the prom with this stinking turd-of-an-arm!’

But the door to the examination room closed hard, and Dr Gaiser didn’t look back.

The doctor, driving home at the end of the day, found himself thinking about Bobby Ellis.

It would have been easy to order a cast change. His office did the procedure out of regular rotation all the time.

But he was still angry with the pushy mother. And he still was ashamed that he’d given them a handicapped placard.

And now he was getting even. Because he had to admit that the kid was right. The cast did really stink.

Emily didn’t care what she wore to the prom.

She couldn’t believe that she was even going.

She’d have worn any dress from her closet, but the prom committee had made a rule that gowns had to be ankle length, and she didn’t own anything that long.

Bobby said that he could come with her to look but was horrified when she said that she was going to go to St Michael’s thrift shop. Her plan was to buy a dress from the rack in the back.
Bobby was certain that stuff was supposed to be Halloween costumes.

Emily had bought her favourite sweater at St Michael’s. But a lot of people didn’t understand wearing used clothing. And Bobby was definitely one of those people.

So Emily didn’t tell him when she went to the Sunday flea market at the county fairgrounds. Everything there had a story; nothing was packaged or presented. And most of the things were odd
or damaged or somehow misfits, which was now how she felt.

Emily wandered the aisles and realised that no one knew her. And no one cared if she was quiet or sad or angry. No one knew that she now felt alone even with people around her. It was
comforting.

In the far corner of the second room, Emily found a woman with a rack of old party dresses. Emily picked one that the woman said was more than seventy years old. It was made of black ribbons all
sewn together to make the soft strips a kind of ribbon fabric. Someone had spent hours and hours and hours sewing those ribbons into place.

The dress had a scooped neck and was fitted at the waist but then flared with a full skirt, which had layers of silk taffeta underneath. The shape was like a sculpture. Emily didn’t even
try it on.

She wanted the dress because it was made from so many pieces. Like the heart that Sam had made for her out of the small sticks. And what she liked was that someone had become obsessed. The
ribbons might have been, for someone, a release.

They might have been a way of blocking out part of the world that didn’t make sense and giving it order.

That’s what all those ribbons sewn together said to her. And because of Sam and Riddle, that was now something that she understood.

A few days later, Emily finally tried on her twenty-dollar flea-market dress made from five hundred and twelve different black ribbons. It was still in an old grocery store bag
stuffed in the back of her closet.

As soon as she slipped it over her head, she knew it fitted. But it wasn’t until she pulled up the side zipper that it became clear how well. It was as if the dress had been made for
her.

Emily stared into the full-length bathroom mirror. She looked like an old-fashioned movie star. She was Audrey Hepburn dressed by Givenchy. She let out a long sigh of frustration. She was trying
her hardest not to try at all – and now this.

Emily wasn’t the kind of girl to leaf endlessly through fashion magazines or look online every day at what celebrities were wearing. But even she could still tell that this dress was
awesome and, somehow, incredibly of-the-moment.

And that was strange, because its original moment had to have been a long, long time ago.

Her eyes narrowed. Maybe she shouldn’t wear it. Her whole idea about the prom was that it was an ordeal she was going to endure.

Emily walked out of the bathroom and bumped into her mother, who had just come upstairs.

Debbie literally stepped back. ‘Oh my gosh, Emily . . . You look just beautiful in that dress.’

Emily shrugged.

Her mother continued. ‘Is that what you bought at the flea market?’

Emily, feeling strangely guilty, nodded as she said, ‘Yeah. And I didn’t even try it on . . .’

Debbie Bell reached out and fingered the layers. ‘Someone sewed all of these ribbons together . . .’

Emily looked down at the black strips. ‘They were probably crazy, right?’

Debbie was still mesmerised. ‘Well, for sure they were focused.’

Emily suddenly saw in her mind a woman in a large room surrounded by spools and spools of black ribbon. ‘Maybe it was all the person had.’ That thought made Emily feel better.
‘Maybe the woman needed to make a dress, and it was either the ribbons or the fabric on the patio furniture.’

Debbie looked at her daughter. While Emily was logical, she was also imaginative. For a flash, Debbie Bell saw a dress made from the rubber cords of the rocker on the front porch.
‘Whatever the story, it was made for you. Even if it took years for the dress to end up in your closet. It’s a perfect match.’

The words hung in the air. Debbie Bell regretted saying them. But Emily just looked at her mother and said, ‘If it’s a perfect match, it won’t last. Something will destroy
it.’