Shunning Sarah (21 page)

“Why didn’t you text me?” I asked. “I would have barged into his office to help you.”

“It didn’t happen in his office.”

I hoped she hadn’t gone to his house. That would be most unwise. “What do you mean, Nicole?”

“Riley, it’s too embarrassing to talk about.”

“Talk anyway.”

She took a deep breath and I cleared some files off a chair, and motioned her to sit down.

“He’s sexting me,” she said.

“Oh, ick.”

“It was a picture of—” she paused to find the right word, “him. It was disgusting.”

I called it the Anthony Weiner trickle-down effect. Men in power, be they politicians, executives, athletes, even apparently news directors, liked to show off their vigor.

I tried to console her, though I was cringing myself. “You poor thing, Nicole. But now at least you have proof.”

She shook her head. “I deleted it.”

“You what?”

“It was gross. My first reaction was to get rid of it.”

“It was evidence.”

“I know.” She looked bleak. “Do you think we can get it back? I heard emails are never really gone. Maybe texts are the same way.”

“It’s quite possible,” I said, “but we might have to ask Xiong for help.” Lee Xiong was Channel 3’s computer expert, whom I affectionately called my “alpha geek.”

“Xiong would probably wonder why you wanted porn retrieved from your phone,” I continued. “He might consider it a form of harassment himself and if you told him the photo was Bryce, because you’re on air, gossip might get out. I think I know an easier way.”

“What?” She didn’t sound very hopeful.

“Wait. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.”

That was my theory after a decade of investigative reporting. Very seldom did I find a culprit who only cheated one person once. Most of my most memorable stories centered on repeat offenders—whether they be fraud artists, serial killers, or sex creeps.

That night I slept horribly. Visions of Bryce danced through my head.

M
y cell phone buzzed in my pocket the next morning as I was going out the door. Teresa from the bear center was calling. “Today we’re going to unveil Walden’s den.” She emailed me the webcam link so I could get a preview. “We’re finalizing the technical support.”

A camera had been mounted inside what looked like a snug cave where a plump black bear curled comfortably in a pile of dirt. A light was mounted on the roof of the den to make the scene visible twenty-four hours a day for global fans.

I saw no movement. Walden resembled a bear corpse. “He looks dead. Are you sure he wasn’t shot?”

But then I heard the animal inhale before becoming quiet again.

“He’s fine,” she said. “The metabolism and heart rate slow down significantly for hibernating bears. Of course if something disturbed him, he could be alert within a couple of minutes and in a bad mood.”

I asked what research might be gained from keeping him under surveillance.

“Walden will be the first radio-collared bear in southern Minnesota,” she said. “By tracking this bear, we can learn how far south the species can roam and whether the milder temperature impacts the bear’s habits, including diet and hibernation. He may not sleep as long as his northern cousins.”

Viewers were going to love seeing Walden snooze. Animals and sleep—two highly rated topics.

“This cave camera is terrific,” I said. “But if I drive down, is there any way I could get up close to the actual den for a story?”

“Afraid not.” She said they wanted to keep the location private. “Best for Walden and best for humans. We don’t need any incidents.”

“But I promise to behave,” I said. “And I’ll even promise to be vague about the site. Please? We could simply say ‘southeastern Minnesota.’”

I also swore not to broadcast any live shot anywhere near Walden’s locale, and she finally agreed to take me on a personal tour. Bryce wanted a bear—well, I’d give him one. No time to wait for the news huddle—I called the desk and got the go-ahead for the story.

•   •   •

A forested area outside of town surrounded another old sinkhole, this one home to a bear. The den wasn’t all that far from the road, which surprised me. I expected a middle-of-nowhere location. A large maple tree served as a useful marker. Most of the leaves had fallen, but enough gold and red still clung to the low-hanging branches to make the giant limbs pop against the snow.

Bryce had given me another camera, but no photographer. He figured that would have been rewarding me for my carelessness.

Teresa and I crouched low to get inside the den. She reminded me to keep quiet. The hanging light allowed me to shoot some video of her pointing at Walden.

“Thanks,” I whispered, “this is good perspective.”

She described researchers putting their heads against the silent chests of hibernating bears for kicks. “The skinnier ones sleep deepest.” Once, with her ear against a bear, she heard a
loud heartbeat and realized the beast was waking. “The blood flow to a bear’s legs slows down considerably, so the head is the first thing to move. Usually a couple of minutes pass before the rest of the bear is ready for action.”

Then I got bold and asked if I could touch Walden. This was a form of stunt journalism—like being tasered on camera or driving a car into a lake to show television viewers how to escape a submerged vehicle.

I figured describing the feel of his fur would make for a good anchor-tag question/answer. Channel 3 would have it alone. None of our competition could match our fur frenzy. And it was just the kind of feat to impress a new boss.

Recognizing a gimmick when she heard one, Teresa rolled her eyes and nodded yes. “Softly,” she warned.

I held the camera back as far as my arm would reach and watched through my camera monitor to see my face with a bear in the background. Then I shot a close-up of my hand stroking his fur. It was coarse. Walden was no teddy bear.

We backed out slowly and softly to avoid tripping over each other and the bear.

“Funny,” I said once we were outside, “in real life, even up close, he didn’t look particularly fierce.”

“Could be a whole different boy if he woke up.”

Teresa decided to let Channel 3 make the webcam announcement. Bryce liked my bear encounter so much he sent the satellite truck to broadcast and shoot my live shot from Harmony.

“Let me get this straight,” Bryce said, “you actually touched the bear? And have video of your hand on bear fur.”

“Yes, and his name is Walden.” I didn’t mention that the shot could have showed my entire body next to Walden if I’d had a photographer along. And that that would have made a prime promotion picture.

Malik would have loved this assignment. I felt guilty without him sharing the glory. The desk was probably making him shoot
boring old weather video in Minneapolis to keep him handy in case spot news hit.

Since I vowed to keep my distance from Walden’s den as part of our broadcast deal, I had time to kill before the newscast. I didn’t have the nerve to return to the Yoder farm after my haircut, so I decided to drive around the Amish countryside. A one-horse carriage in the distance prompted me to practice shooting rural atmosphere.

I did my best to hold the camera steady, watching the buggy come over a hill in a romantic scene of black against white. When the wheels were close enough for me to distinguish passengers, I turned the camera off and held it down, facing the ground, to be clear they weren’t being photographed.

Children coming home from class were crowded inside the two-seater. I remembered their schoolhouse was across a couple of farm fields to the west. As they drew closer I could hear singing, an outdoor a cappella choir of young voices. As they came closer and saw me, their singing stopped.

When the buggy passed, I started videotaping the back and didn’t notice a little girl behind me until she said, “Hallo.”

It was Hannah. She hadn’t been anywhere in sight a minute ago and must have cut through the fields on her way home. Our other encounters had all been initiated by me. This was different: she had made contact. I wondered if the child had something she wanted to discuss.

“Hello, Hannah,” I said. “How was school?”

“Better.”

Not exactly an overwhelming endorsement. “Some days is it not so good?”

“Sarah was going to be my teacher.”

Now we were getting somewhere. I hadn’t wanted to always be the one to bring up her sister.

“Really? I bet that would have been fun. For you and for her.”

Hannah nodded, then started swinging her lunch pail nervously.

“I’m sorry Sarah died,” I said. “This must be a hard time for you. But just like school was better today, life will get better, too.”

“She was in the bann, so she could not teach us.”

I had thought Sarah wasn’t teaching because she was dead. “Teachers can’t be in the bann?”

She nodded her head.

That rule sort of made sense, if you bought into the whole shunning matter. Teachers probably had to be above reproach.

“Why was your sister in the bann, Hannah?”

She started walking down the road. I wondered why she always walked alone and never rode the buggy. I supposed she lived closer than the others and the buggy was the Amish version of the school bus for those who lived farther out.

“I wasn’t supposed to talk to Sarah in the bann, but sometimes I did.”

“What did you like to talk about?” I asked.

She didn’t answer that question. So I tried another. “Do you still look at Sarah’s picture?”

“Neh. Gideon took it,” she replied even though she stared straight ahead and didn’t look back at me. “He found it in my room.”

Darn, I didn’t have any more copies on me. “I’ll bring another for you, Hannah, the next time we see each other.”

She stopped and this time turned around to face me.
“Danke,”
she said.

I
invited Ike to watch my bear-cam live shot in person from the satellite truck. He’d rushed over and immediately complimented me on my hair. “It sure looks better than it did last night.” He may not have been sincere, but his flattery improved my mood.

Afterward the truck engineer even let him climb up on the roof for a close-up look at the satellite dish. While he was getting a television tutorial, I got another phone call about my hairstyle change. This one was from my former fiancé.

When Garnett heard that two men had held me down in the dark and chopped my hair off, he wanted to hop on the next plane for revenge. “Cutting off their hair is too good for them.”

He was upset I hadn’t filled him in sooner about the attack, instead of simply texting him a confusing photo. “I thought it was some kind of joke.”

I saw his point, but also thought that if he really loved me, his first reaction should not have been to make fun of me.

Two other reasons weighed on me for convincing him to stay out east. One I shared with him, the other I kept quiet.

First, I couldn’t positively identify the men, so retribution would be difficult.

Second, I sort of had a date with Ike.

We didn’t actually have the details worked out, but we had
agreed on dinner together after my shift. And I rationalized that an evening out with another man might help me better decide where my relationship with Nick Garnett was headed.

•   •   •

Dinner was full of good food and conversation. The menu made no claims about fat and calorie testing, so I was able to ignore work.

I learned more about Ike’s past, and he learned more about my television life. We each found the other’s background fascinating. As we were leaving the QUARTER/quarter Restaurant & Wine Bar, Harmony’s fanciest dining spot, he suggested an evening drive in his fast car.

“Enticing.” I could sense the ghost of Hugh Boyer urging me to climb aboard. “But here’s where I sound like I’m still in high school, Ike. I promised my parents I’d spend the night at the farm. So I have a curfew.”

He laughed and promised not to keep me out too late. “Maybe someday I can meet them.”

“They would like that,” I assured him.

I didn’t tell him they would insist on it.

•   •   •

I didn’t want to kiss Ike unless I thought we had a chance for something more. But I also didn’t want to kiss him and be committed to something more. If our liaison was doomed, I wanted to halt any courtship now and save time and anguish.

Such is the pessimism of love.

We were parked on a bluff overlooking the Root River, admiring the moon through the trees. A dreamlike mist rose from the partially frozen water. Like teenagers, we danced around our desires to kiss, while we watched the curfew clock.

His arm was around me, and in my mind I listed all of the potential complications that might doom our relationship. His Amish roots loomed large.

“What about me working for TV, Ike? Is that going to be trouble for us?”

Apparently he was also tired of being stuck in the flirting stage of dating. “Maybe the only way to know for certain is for me to taste the devil’s tongue.” Then Ike pulled me close and kissed me long and hard, his tongue dancing against mine. His unfamiliar lips were tantalizing. When he pulled away, I wanted more.

“The devil’s tongue poses no problem for me,” he assured me as his lips traveled down my neck.

Unbuttoning his shirt, I was glad I didn’t have to mess with hooks and eyes or suspenders. His chest was smooth, and TV she-devil that I had become, I spread my hands across his muscles.

“As for the devil’s tail … perhaps I should check.” His hand slid down and caressed the back of my jeans. “No difficulty here.”

By now our bodies were as close as two bodies can be with clothing on. I understood the blessings of spontaneity, but even though I wanted him, I also wanted romance.

Candlelight. And love under an Amish quilt. Not in a sports car, even with leather seats.

Ike understood that I wanted our first night to be memorable. So while we buttoned and zipped, he promised that when he returned from Ohio, he would bring back a virgin Bargello heart quilt just for us.