Oceans Rising Trilogy Part II: Mariah and Darcy

Part II: Mariah & Darcy

By Tom Pollock and Jack Seybold.

Published by Tom Pollock and Jack Seybold at Smashwords

Copyright © 2003 by Tom E. Pollock III and Jack Seybold

All haiku and poems copyright © 2003 Jack Seybold

Art on Cover copyright © 2004 Tim Holmes

Other ebooks by Tom Pollock and Jack Seybold:

Oceans Rising Trilogy Part I — Eli

Oceans Rising Trilogy Part III — Maxwell Acres

Oceans Rising Trilogy (Includes All Three Parts)

This Trilogy was originally published by Tom Pollock and Jack Seybold as The Rising — Journeys in the Wake of Global Warming at AuthorHouse, 2004, and is available in print as a paperback at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the authors’ work.

This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

To our families.

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PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

(Ages at opening of the story)

Darcy Wallace Malone, 30 — San Francisco Homemaker, Mortuary Pilot

Reinhold Malone, 33 — Darcy’s Husband, Real Estate Deal-maker

Tierney Malone, 4 — Daughter of Darcy and Reinhold

Finn Malone, 11 months — Son of Darcy and Reinhold

Mariah Wallace, 55 — Mom to Darcy, Grandmother (Babushka) to Tierney/Finn

Elmer Wallace, 62 — Mariah’s Husband, Dad to Darcy, Grandfather to Tierney/Finn

Paisley Overcroft, 39 — Modoc County Herb Grower

Ray Overcroft, 40 — Paisley’s Husband, Modoc County Farmer

Chet Ragland, 55 — Modoc County Feed Store Owner

Robb Maxwell, Deceased — Prior Owner of Modoc County Homestead

Gertrude Whiting, 70 — Modoc County Storekeeper

Dr. Charles Royer, 57 — Retired Air Force Surgeon

Rose Royer, 55 — Charles’ Wife, Air Force Nurse

Kim Royer, 32 — Daughter of Charles and Rose, Congressional Aide

Eli Barnes, 39 — Fugitive San Quentin Inmate (later alias, James Salas)

Dr. Peter Addison, 57 — Professor of Earth Sciences (his wife, Celia, deceased, was Charles Royer’s twin sister)

Catherine Addison, 19 — Daughter of Peter and Celia, College Gymnast

Jason Lowery, 20 — Catherine’s Boyfriend

CHAPTER 1

Friday, January 6

Surf raged against the rocks a hundred feet below the outlook where Mariah Wallace stood, gripping the warm arm of her daughter, Darcy Malone. A brush of cold air descended over their faces, then over the cliff and downward to the restless sea. The outlook, famed for its anomalous downdrafts, was a favorite spot for casting loved ones’ ashes into the Pacific.

Mariah broke their silent contemplation, her grip tightening. This is the last time, Darcy.

Darcy flinched—said nothing. That would be a blessing, she thought.

Nineteen years ago at this cliff they began the annual ritual remembrance of Darcy’s little brother, Luke. On Little Christmas that year, Mariah and Darcy had dropped his meager remains over the outlook’s edge.

From his surprise birth, Darcy had imagined Luke as her own baby in a ten-year-old’s maternal fantasy. His death was at least as traumatic for her as for her mother.

Darcy had turned twelve. A month later, despite a dark foreboding, Mariah had taken her to a Girl Scout outing, leaving two-year-old Luke with his father. Elmer swore he wouldn’t leave, but that afternoon he told the carpenter who was renovating the family room to watch the napping Luke while he drove to the sports bar for his habitual bourbon-on-ice and flirting with the waitress. When he returned, fire engines and police cars had cordoned off the smoldering house. Luke’s body was recovered from the nursery. The carpenter was convicted of arson and second-degree murder.

For a year and a half afterwards, Mariah lived unspeaking, losing herself in painting hundreds of pictures of Luke. Elmer drank himself numb for months—until he was so sick he was dragged by a devoted friend to ninety AA meetings in ninety days. Darcy raised herself in the vacuum.

Despite therapy, Mariah blamed Elmer. And Darcy blamed them both. But they rebuilt the home and stayed together, the horror gradually receding through routine and the cycle of years.

The ocean looks forbidding today, Mariah said. Even as we drove here, I was hoping to let go at last. The ocean seems to demand it, don’t you think?

Darcy scanned the Pacific surface sparkling in the sunlight under a cloudless sky. "The ocean’s beautiful. Those feelings are in you, Mom, not the ocean. But it doesn’t matter. I’d love to quit this ritual, if you will."

Mariah grabbed the locket of Luke’s baby hair suspended on a thin gold chain at her throat, and in one swift arc broke the chain and backhanded the memory over the cliff. Her neck stung with the thin bruise where the strand scraped before it broke.

The return drive took them past San Quentin and onto the San Rafael Bridge toward Oakland. High above the Bay, Darcy broached her new source of anxiety. Mom, I’ve been offered a job in Santa Fe. I haven’t told Reinhold yet. They’re talking a lot of money. I’d be acquiring art for their museum. I need help with the decision. Advice.

Mariah’s face darkened. You mean you’d take the grandchildren to New Mexico—so far away?

We need the money. Reinhold’s deals take so long it seems forever between checks.

How much are they dangling—to make you leave us like that?

That’s the problem. It’s way over a hundred thousand dollars. It seems too much.

A museum?

Well, I wouldn’t really be working for the museum. I’d be with a nonprofit funded by donors.

Darcy drove on in the silence. Finally, she blurted, It scares me, Mom. You know, because of what happened at my old gallery.

Now look, Darcy. You know I never believed that.

Mom. Mahmoud’s people really did try to make me launder their art. I told you everything. Darcy hesitated. Well, maybe not quite everything. Please. Try to believe me. I’m afraid they’re trying again. This time I have a husband and two children, though. I feel so vulnerable.

Her mother stared hard from the passenger seat. It didn’t make sense then, and it still doesn’t. You never went to the police. Or anyone—the FBI, Homeland Security, the CIA. Darcy, Sweetheart, listen to me. You need a professional to tell you whether you’re delusional again, like in high school. Really, Baby.

Those frenzied, muddled years, the pills, the rebellion.

After receiving a degree in Fine Arts from Dominican University in Marin County, with a minor in filmmaking, Darcy had reverted to her desperate high school behavior. She left the country with an Iraqi graduate student who had been studying chemical engineering at Berkeley. She came home nine months later and immediately joined a San Francisco art gallery, where she rose quickly in their import group. Two years later her Iraqi lover was killed, his car out of control on a lonely highway near Santa Cruz. Within a year she had taken up martial arts, married Reinhold Malone and abruptly quit the gallery. She told most people it was so she could get pregnant. She told Reinhold and her mother Mahmoud’s death was a murder meant as a warning to her, and Middle Eastern men were threatening her unless she ran contraband art through the gallery. Reinhold had believed her. Mariah hadn’t.

Would you just do a simple reading for me, Mom? It would help.

Mariah studied the boats dotting the Bay. The distant look in her eyes was the tip-off that she was seeing things. Darcy could often pick up the ideas herself, but not this time.

Oh, Sweetie, I would if… I mean, when my emotions are high, I’m afraid of filtering—you know, slanting the answers the way my ego wants. I feel queasy thinking of Tierney and Finn going so far away. This is one you’ll have to figure out on your own, Baby. I’m sorry.

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, January 7

Hey, Darce, Reinhold’s voice rang out from the kitchen. While you were at the park I took a call for you.

"Wait, would you, Reinhold? Just let me get Finn in his crib. Tierney, Honey, why don’t you put your Finding Nemo video on?"

In minutes, Darcy threw her coat on the spare kitchen chair, kissed her husband on the cheek and poured a cup of coffee. Now. What’s up?

I should ask you that. In fact, what’s up with Santa Fe?

Darcy raised an eyebrow.

Reinhold continued, Right after you left, a couple of men from Houston called you on a conference call. I said you were my wife. They asked what I thought about moving to Santa Fe. I guess my articulate silence underwhelmed them. He sipped his coffee. Anyway, they’re on the Board of the Museum in Santa Fe. Said the Museum had contacted you about working there. They were calling to answer any questions you had.

He tilted his chair back and laid his arm on the table in a gesture that said, Your turn.

Jesus, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. I got a call out of the blue yesterday, from the Museum director, just before I went to Oakland to get Mom. She described the job, and went on, I’ve been trying to clear my thoughts before I brought it up. I asked Mom for her intuition, but she wouldn’t tell what she saw.

Reinhold leaned forward. They must really want you. They pushed pretty hard. Friendly, you know, but aggressive. And chummy at the same time, in that professional way. Of course, that’s my strong suit too. We got into the small world thing. Turns out they both know Troy.

Troy Blake was Reinhold’s most important client. He used Reinhold to acquire land in Russia for commercial office and residential complexes. Reinhold had earned an impressive reputation in boom-time Moscow after the Iron Curtain thawed and free world capitalists raced to fill the vacuum created by Communist policies. When the ruble collapsed in 1999, Reinhold had moved to San Francisco, where Blake found him.

Darcy asked, Did you react?

Her husband gave her a long, steady look in the eyes. I said you could probably do the job from here, what with the Internet, fax machines, airplane tickets and all. He blew her a kiss. You know how much I love you, Munchkin. We could work anything out. But San Francisco’s a pretty sweet place. And we have good kin here, too. He smiled and shrugged.

Darcy finished her coffee in silence. If he only knew how much I love him, too. And how scared I am. And why… Oh, God. Then she ran an Internet search on the men’s names.

Reinhold, come here a minute.

What’d you find?

For openers, they’re oil men, both past Presidents of the American Sovereignty Foundation.

The right-wing think tank in Florida? That calls the U.N. the evil octopus?

Yup. Their oil companies have interlocking directorates. And, get this, they’re both on the President’s Strategic Petroleum Advisory Council.

Heavy hitters. Even so, they think you’re hot stuff. They knew all about the gallery—called you a superstar, I think.

I don’t like it, Reinhold.

The old contraband thing?

Yes.

Not these guys.

Still scares me. But the money’s big.

Like…?

$175,000 a year. Plus bonus.

Holy shit.

CHAPTER 3

Sunday, January 15

Skies were blue over Oakland as Darcy pulled her SUV into the driveway of the family home to drop the children off.

Tierney was smiles all over when she saw Mariah, whom she called her Babushka—Russian for Grandmother. Tierney gave her a half-minute bear hug.

My goodness you’re a strong girl, Mariah laughed.

"Well, I am four, you know."

Finn squirmed in Darcy’s grip with the frenzy of an eleven month-old, until finally his grandmother turned and said, Clap hands, clap hands. He swiped his hands backwards and forwards in more of a flap than a clap, his little palms managing to make contact a few times. It was more than enough to draw exhilarated praise from Babushka.

Grandfather Elmer was a little harder to react to. He was sooo tall—six, six. His clothes just hung on him almost empty, like he was a very tall stick doll. When he stood up, he leaned against a wall or a chair or something. His feet flapped and his knees pointed out and his skeletal hands dangled out of his sleeves and wobbled around out of control like clappers in tin-foil bells. He couldn’t pick you up—or pick anything up. Getting around, he mostly walked, but in airports and crowds he used a wheelchair.

It always took Tierney time to warm up when she hadn’t seen her grandfather for a few days. Finn’s first reaction was usually to cock his head and examine this unusual creature, as he would an unfamiliar cat. But after his Mommy gave her father a hug, and Tierney began chattering with him as if all was perfectly normal, Finn warmed up too and gurgled away at his grandfather full bore.

In the lull purchased with animal crackers, Mariah walked Darcy back to the car. I wish you’d give up this flying job, Sweetheart. Where are you going today?

Oh, Mom. It’s my one escape. I need it—it’s in my blood. Today we have a widow and her brother. They want her husband’s ashes scattered around Mt. Diablo. It couldn’t be a better day. I’ll be back in three hours.

After Darcy quit the gallery, she had joined a friend in a graphic design boutique. Her friend unexpectedly inherited a chain of mortuaries and took Darcy with her to be office manager and back-up pilot for the company plane. Among other things in her wild years, Darcy had become a skilled pilot.

The sun was hovering between afternoon and evening when Darcy returned. Mariah said, Stay a minute? The kids are napping and Elmer’s watching C-SPAN.

Without waiting, Mariah poured her daughter a Coca-Cola without ice, and herself a glass of red table wine. Any developments in Santa Fe?

"Oh, yes. Thursday two men from the Museum Board rang me. The same ones who called Reinhold last Saturday. Just happened to be in town, they said. We met for two hours. They upped the ante—said the nonprofit would let me work part-time for a private gallery they knew—wealthy clients, interested only in major works and collections. They also said their ‘group’ was planning a new museum for Mid-East antiquities in Santa Fe—for comparative archeological purposes. I’d be traveling."

Did you like them?

Cold fish. Suits, narrow lapels. White shirts, tight little triangle knots in their ties.

Mariah smiled.

Tooled leather briefcases with alligator trim. Spanish or Brazilian, no doubt. Empty eyes. Her voice trailed off. You know. No passion.

Still scared, aren’t you?

I dreamed I was in a runaway train. It was on a narrow point that ran way out into the ocean. Ahead, the track split. The left spur ran to the edge of a cliff. The right one led to another cliff.

Mariah nodded, hesitated. Reinhold?

God bless him. He gave me the answer. I told them I couldn’t make a decision until he’s back from Russia and our vacation trip’s over. It could change everything. If he gets the deal done, we won’t need the money from Santa Fe.

Mariah looked distant. Took some wine. Changed the topic. I threw out all Luke’s things. The old curtains, too. His room’s all sunny, now. It’s not his room any more. My new office. His baby clothes, I took to the thrift store. All I have left is his little photo in my wallet.

Darcy took her mother’s hands. She pulled her up and squeezed her tightly in her arms.

As Reinhold stacked the last plate into the dishwasher, Darcy eased the kitchen door shut and sat back down by her unfinished wine. The kids are down.

He kissed her on the mouth. She giggled, Later.

Reinhold picked up the paper. "Okay, okay. Did you read this article about Antarctica?

"They’re expecting two huge ice shelves down there to collapse. They’re both the size of France. That’s twice the size of New England. Each one, Darcy. Think of it. They say ‘the aftermath could threaten civilization as we know it.’ In 2002, one collapsed the size of Rhode Island, but no one saw it. It was called the Larsen B Ice Shelf. They did get some time lapse photos from a satellite. It took only three days. This time, it