Ms. Zephyr's Notebook (8 page)

And Abbie, I wonder if you could arrange for me to have my watch back?

Jacqueline (formerly known as Cleo)

November 18

Logan K.

Sometime after noon (With serious writer's cramp.)

Okay, Abs, this is the last of the freakin' apology letters. Ten letters. Ten! I never knew there could be so many people in charge of one puny hospital. I had to borrow paper from your desk to write 'em, by the way.

I am never kicking anything in this place again. Too many consequences. Please tell me all this writing counts for my journal entry today. My hand looks like an owl's claw — I can't write any more.

L .

Journal Entry

November 18

My Favourite Influential Person: Sophia Clement-Jones
by Jacqueline Hornby-Moss

If asked the question about their favourite person of influence, many people would pick a famous movie star or political figure (and others would even pick some stupid rugby star that nobody has ever heard of), but I choose my grandmother. Her name is Sophia Clement-Jones and she is a very special and influential person.

Most grandmothers bake cookies, but mine doesn't. My grandmother lives in Clearwater these days, but she spent her whole career working as an astronomer in the Mount Wilson Observatory in California. Countless interesting things happened at that observatory. Famous astronomers like George Ellery Hale and Edwin Hubble made many discoveries using the Mount Wilson telescope. Of course, in those days women were not really allowed to call themselves astronomers (even though many were and my Nona was one of them).

Nona was working at the observatory when Walter Baade discovered the remnants of Keplar's supernova, which actually occurred way back in 1601. She says it was a very exciting time, seeing history so far in the
past happen right before her eyes. Of course, she was only classified as an assistant then.

It wasn't until 1981 that the observatory hired its first woman telescope operator. I'm so proud my Nona was one of the first women who worked in astronomy. She didn't get her degree from university until she was sixty-two. But then they had to call her an astronomer. If my mother wasn't insisting I try out for the Miss Evergreen pageant, I would consider studying astronomy immediately after I finish high school. My sister plans to be a doctor if acting doesn't work out. My mother thinks that I should consider taking a stand for world peace, because it sounds better in pre-pageant interviews, but I would rather be an astronomer. Besides, all the contestants take a stand for world peace. But I digress.

Nona is also a very good grandmother. She always remembers my birthday (though usually a few days late) and she sends me letters all the time. When I was ten she gave me a puppy named Zoë. Zoë reminds me of Nona because they both have white hair and very bouncy personalities. I miss them both so much.

My Nona has a computer and knows how to send e-mail, too. After mastering that big telescope, she says no little computer is going to get the best of her.

What I appreciate most about Sophia is how she always finds time to spend with me. Even when everyone else is busy, she is always around. And
when I am having a bad day, she says: “Cleopatra, just remember to be yourself and keep watching the stars.” So I do.

by Jacqueline Hornby-Moss (but known to her Nona as Cleopatra)

Logan slammed the notebook down on the bed beside Kip.

“That's it! It's the essay Abbie made us write on the most influential person. Listen — she says it right here. ‘Most grandmothers bake cookies, but mine doesn't. My grandmother lives in Clearwater these days, but she spent her whole career working as an astronomer in the Mount Wilson Observatory in California.'”

He closed the cover of the notebook with a snap.

“I think you've got it right, Kipper my boy. Cleo's gone to Clearwater.”

Kip looked wide awake again. “Are you going to go get her tomorrow, Logan? Are you going to bring her back safe to the hospital?”

Logan's stomach clenched and the excitement of finding the clue he was looking for drained away. Cleo was hours ahead of him. Even if she was really only going to see her grandmother, he had a long way to go to find her. And if she was headed somewhere else — well, he couldn't even let himself think of that possibility.

“I think I'd better go now,” he said quietly. “I'm pretty sure there's a bus I can catch that will get me
there by morning. It's not a big town. I'll be able to find her, no problem at all.”

Kip leaned forward and began pulling at the IV tape on the back of his hand.

“Whoa, hold on there, buddy. What do you think you're doing? If you bump that wire, you'll have the nurse back here in a flash, and that, my friend, will wreck everything.”

“I want to come with you to find Cleo,” said Kip, still peeling tape.

Logan reached over and pulled Kip's hand away. He took a deep breath to keep himself from yelling at the kid. “You can't come, Kip,” he said, as calmly as he could. “If we want to find Cleo, I'm going to have to move like lightning.”

He looked straight into the kid's eyes. “If you leave the hospital, you'll get really sick. You know that. But I can't do this without you. You can be my partner, okay?”

Kip's face brightened. “Your partner? Really?”

Logan nodded. “But we're going to have to work really fast, dude. We figure she's headed to Clearwater, right? So you can help me find her when I get there.”

He grabbed Kip's laptop computer and flipped open the lid. Kip's face lit up with a reflected glow as Logan thrust the computer into his lap.

“First, we need to find out if I still have time to catch a bus before the station closes. Can you look up the bus schedule?”

Kip nodded and began tapping keys. Logan looked at his watch. “It's eleven thirty-five. Are there any more buses tonight?” He paced back and forth between the bed and the window.

“It says here that the last bus leaves Evergreen at midnight, Logan.” Kip looked up from the screen. “Wow, that's really late.”

“But does it go to Clearwater?”

“Uh,” Kip ran his finger down the screen. “Yes! But it stops a whole bunch of places first.”

“Okay, that's really good news.” Logan stopped pacing and came to stand at the head of Kip's bed. “So here's the thing. My Blackberry is broken from the time I dropped it down the stairs, but I know there is an internet terminal at the bus station in Clearwater. My team went there last year for a rugby game. I think the café is called ‘The Bean' or something.”

Kip tapped the keys again. “It says here there is a ‘Bean and Gone Café' at the Clearwater Bus Terminal with internet access.”

“Yes!” Logan clenched a fist. “Soon as I get there, I'll send you an e-mail. And while I'm on the bus, you can look up any information you can find on Cleo's grandma. Between the two of us, we'll find her in no time.”

“Okay,” said Kip. “But maybe we should use instant messaging. It's faster.”

“You're right, you're right. Okay, my e-mail address
is [email protected]. ‘Rugbyrox' is one word, and ‘rox' is spelled with an ‘x'. Got that?”

“Yeah, I got it. As soon as you e-mail me, I'll log into IM and we can talk on-line.” He beamed, and Logan was suddenly glad he'd included the kid. He might actually end up being a help.

“Great. Okay, when I get there in the morning, I'll head over to the coffee shop and e-mail you. So just pretend to Abbie like you're doing homework and keep your e-mail connected, okay? That way if Cleo contacts you during the night, you can fill me in.”

Kip nodded enthusiastically. “Are you going to put the notebook back on Abbie's desk?”

Logan shook his head. “Nah, I want to read through it some more. Maybe it has an address or something in the back. I'll have plenty of time. It's going to be a long bus ride.” He looked at his watch again. 11:45 p.m. And it was a fifteen-minute run from the hospital to the bus station… when he was in shape. “I gotta go, buddy. Watch for my e-mail, okay? It's really important. Just like ‘M' in James Bond, right?”

“I remember him! He's in my computer game!”

Logan shook his head. What's wrong with kids these days? They spend so much time on this computer crap, you'd think they'd never heard of movies. “Geez kid — when I get back I've got a couple of shows you've gotta see, okay?”

“Really? Okay, Logan. Good luck.” Kip was beaming,
and Logan found himself smiling back. But time was up. It was past up.

Logan tucked the notebook into the waistband of his scrubs and stuck his head out the door. A red light was flashing over the ICU wing and the three nurses were nowhere to be seen. Bonus! Time to hit the stairs running.

Logan's trip down the back staircase took place at a higher rate of speed than he had anticipated. His mind occupied by the conversation with Kip, he forgot his earlier meeting with the custodian. He never actually lost his footing, first sliding on the wet floor, then grabbing the handrail for support. And in a decision that took less than an instant, he thought that maybe riding the handrail down might prove to be the best course of action in any case. So he did.

He made it safely to the basement, had another close call when the custodian stepped unexpectedly out of the morgue (who expects anyone to step out of a morgue in the middle of the night, anyway?), and shot out the door with his coat in one hand and Abbie's notebook in the other. When he made it to the station there would be plenty of time to read through the notebook to find what he needed. He needed Cleo's grandmother's address. If it wasn't in the notebook, Kip might be able
to find it. And as soon as he'd delivered what he had in his pocket to Cleo, he'd bring the notebook back to Abbie. She'd understand. She had to.

As he ran, he jammed his arms into the sleeves and took a moment to ensure the inner pocket was safely fastened before zipping the coat closed against the frigid night air. For cold it was — winter had well and truly come to Evergreen. In spite of his good intentions, Logan had to slow to a walk for a block or two when his insides twisted with pain from the unexpected running.

In direct contrast to the fire in his belly, his fingers and toes soon numbed in the sub-zero temperatures. His breath came in frozen gasps, the moisture crystallizing on his eyelashes and trimming the ends of the hair with white.

He jogged up to the bus station at 12:10 am. Ten minutes late. But in spite of all his anxiety, he found that he needn't have hurried after all. The engine block on the bus had frozen solid when the driver had stopped for a coffee and neglected to keep the vehicle running. In the end, Logan helped the driver clip the cables onto the battery and earned himself a free bus ride when the engine roared to life.

“Don't mention it to the ticket seller,” the driver had muttered gruffly. “She's out for my job.”

“I won't if you won't,” said Logan, so grateful not to have missed his ride as to be feeling almost cheerful.

A woman was collecting money in a kettle to one side
of the station, having taken shelter from the storm. He had just watched the ticket seller sternly admonish her that there was to be no bell-ringing indoors. Logan ran over and stuffed his bus fare money into her collection kettle.

The non-bell-ringing woman wished him a happy holiday and promptly packed up her kettle. Logan and the last of her potential donors rolled away from the station at 12:30 a.m.

He settled back on the bus, one of only a handful of passengers to board on this late night journey. It was a milk run, scheduled to stop five or six times before the bus hit Clearwater. Logan leaned back into the musty seat to try to sleep. The seat smelled like old cigarettes and stale food and he couldn't find a way to get comfortable. His hand went to his inner coat pocket and he traced the shape of the object inside. It was no use. His stomach had settled down but sleep was still distant. The plastic bag holding the notebook was on the seat beside him, slipping from side to side as the bus shivered its way along the slush-rutted highway.

If he could somehow manage to find Cleo before everyone else, he wanted to tell her something that he'd finally figured out. Maybe it was just a question of listening to the right voices. Not the kind of voices that told a person to kick a hole in a wall or stuff your fingers down your throat. Other voices — other ideas. Maybe all heroes were not found on rugby pitches or prancing in front of the Hollywood paparazzi.

Then there was the question of the meds. She took these pills every day, right? He racked his memory. The hospital must have put them in the bottle for when Cleo was given the weekend pass. But he couldn't remember how often she took them or even what she needed them for. That she left them behind was the worst sign yet.

Logan rubbed his tired eyes. Who knew what he was going to say or do? He wasn't even sure himself. He just knew this journey might be worth something, if he could just find Cleo. He just needed to know she would be okay.