Fathom L. Standage (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖

Eamon pointed to a large Black man sitting on the sofa, who smiled and nodded his head. “That there is Natasha Pendleton, our marine-botanist from Australia.” He pointed to a curvy woman, maybe mid-thirties, with long black hair and lots of eyeliner. She gave me a small, wiggly-fingered wave. “That’s Uther von Essen, our security and electronic specialist from Germany.” A man about ten years younger than Eamon and nearly as broad as Walter nodded his salt-and-pepper head and rested his hand at his belt. I thought he was grasping a gun at first, but when he moved his hand away, I saw it was a rabbit’s foot on a key chain. “And here,” Eamon gestured toward the last, “is Calder Brydon, our biochemist from Scotland.”

The Scottish guy. I bit my lower lip as a flush burned from my neck. He sat staring off into space, his expression aloof.

“Calder?” said Eamon.

“Hm?” He looked up as though awoken from a reverie. “Oh.” He gave a brief half smile.

I looked over each of them, still wondering to myself why they'd rushed to help me and why Eamon told me of their various expertises. What did a scuba diver and marine botanist have to do with a biochemist and a security-slash-electronics guy? What kind of group was this? They acted like I was supposed to understand, but I didn’t.

“It’s good to meet all of you,” I said, feeling stupid. “Uh, thanks for helping us out?” Every person in the room nodded again with modest smiles on their faces. Everyone, that is, but Calder Brydon. He made no notice whatsoever.

“Well, now. We’ll be on our way.” Eamon approached me. “You take care of that shoulder. It should feel like new real soon. And don’t you lasses worry about a thing. We’ve fixed the front door and we’ve placated the neighbors. All should remain quiet as a wee church mouse.” He looked down at me and pointed a finger like a lecturing grandpa. “I want you to get on with life and not be troubled by any of this. Nothing more will happen to you, rest assured.”

“Um…okay.”

“Would you like an escort home?” Eamon asked.

“Uh, no. No thanks,” I replied. An escort home? Yikes. How did they know this wasn’t my home? Samantha must have told him. His eyes crinkled in a kindly smile.

“All right then. Let’s go, lads.” He stepped toward the front door.

“And lasses,” said Natasha.

“And lasses,” said Eamon as he opened the door for everyone to go.

“Goodbye now, Samantha and Olivia,” said Walter, his voice as deep as a bass drum. Natasha smiled and waved while Uther dipped his chin in farewell. Calder passed by behind Uther. For a slow second, we met gazes. Then he gave a similar nod and followed Uther out. I took my eyes off Calder’s retreating form to look at Eamon, who had stopped before going outside, his hand on the repaired door frame.

“Don’t linger here too long,” he said. “Go home, lass, as soon as you can.”

My brow furrowed, half in confusion, half in dejection. Eamon smiled again.

“It has been an honor.” Then the Irishman walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

In the sudden, strange quiet, Sam and I exchanged a bewildered look. For a long time, neither of us spoke.

After our foreign friends left, the day continued in a dull drone, like an empty stadium after the end of a bad rock concert. I called my mom to check in and lied about everything being great. I couldn’t tell her the truth; she’d make me come home. And despite what had happened, I didn’t want to go home.

Then I sat and thought through the conversations of that morning over and over, trying to make sense of it and wishing I had come out and asked Dr. Eamon O’Dell what all this was really about. The clam, or vessel, or whatever it was, must have been extremely valuable to cause so much fuss. No, not fuss. Chaos. Upheaval. Calamity. And any other synonyms for drama and disaster.

And somewhere deep, guilt weighed on me. I’d caused this. I should never have gone to the tide pools. The red-headed woman had, for whatever reason, entrusted me with the last request of her life. And what did I do with it? I gave in to the demands of bad people. Then again, I’d never had my life threatened before. Still, couldn’t I have been a little braver? Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten shot and the evil man in the hotel wouldn’t have gotten his way. Amid my residual anxiety, there was one thing I knew for sure: I wasn’t going to be a coward again.

Except when it came to nighttime. Courage flew out the window with the setting sun. Sam and I slept in the same room that first night, weapons in the form of an old golf club and a butcher knife on the floor beside us.

The next morning dawned just as quiet as any other day. We stayed indoors, ate comfort food, and talked little.

“Maybe Eamon was right, Liv,” Samantha said after the sun went down that second day. We lazed on the couch, snuggled safe in blankets. “Maybe we really should go home. Your aunt could find someone else to housesit.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not leaving. Why should we do what he says when no one has had the decency to explain anything to us? These total strangers just walked in and acted like they were some kind of bizarre, long-lost relatives and then vanished without saying anything.”

She looked down and bit her lip. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed in frustration. “Why can’t any of it make sense?”

“I just wish none of it had happened.” She grimaced and rubbed the sides of her face with her fingertips. I looked down at my feet. I needed to tell her it had all been my fault. I peeked at her face. She stared vacantly at the blank television, fear shining