Upheaval: A Disaster Thriller, page 2
She would rather Hampton have volunteered, but Mika was determined to make the trip a success. After showing Hampton the ropes, they would both have the time of their lives away from the hustle and bustle of school, phones, and the frantic crush of everyday life.
After shoving her concerns away, she leaned into the screen and inspected Hampton’s bed. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Is that a—Hampton, no. A curling iron? Seriously? Please tell me that’s not going in your backpack.”
Hampton chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m bringing a suitcase, not a backpack, and yes, it’s my curling iron. I can’t live without it. My hair will look limp and fried.”
“That’s because you curl it too often. And you can’t bring a suitcase. We’re hiking to our campsite, remember?”
“Can’t I just walk, instead of hike? Hiking sounds so… serious.”
“What else do you have there?” Mika plucked her phone off the pillow and brought it closer to her face. “Hamp—an electric toothbrush? Come on now. This has to be a joke.”
“What?” Hampton almost squealed. “You expect me to not brush my teeth? They’ll get as furry as the creatures roaming out there in the shadows.”
“Just bring a regular non-motorized toothbrush.”
She pinned Mika with a withering glance. “I don’t have one.”
“I think I have an extra from the dentist. I’ll fish it out.” Mika’s tone turned serious. “You really can’t bring all this stuff with you. It’s camping, not getting ready for prom.”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is glamping.”
“The Girl Scouts’ motto doesn’t have the word glamping in it,” Mika teased. “Besides, how are you going to curl your hair without electricity?”
Hampton arched a brow. “The cabins won’t have power outlets?”
“What cabins? We’re sleeping in tents.”
Hampton crossed her hands in front of her face. “No. No way. I am not sleeping one thin nylon barrier away from a bear. Not a chance.”
“If you think tents are bad, just wait until you see the pit toilet.”
Hampton let out a low groan and palmed her forehead. “No, no, no. I can’t do this.”
A laugh bubbled up Mika’s throat and despite her best efforts, it burst from her lips like a chugged-soda belch.
Hampton huffed and sank onto her mattress. “I’m glad you find my demise so hilarious. I’m screwed.”
“You’re not screwed, and this is nowhere near a demise. Just think of it as an adventure.”
“I’m hopeless in the outdoors,” Hampton pouted.
Mika waved her off. “That’s because you’ve never spent any time in them.”
“I’m afraid of bugs. They’re icky. Just like my hair will be once I’m in that damp wilderness for half an hour.”
“You’re just a city girl. You’ll adapt. You always have.”
“I won’t argue with that.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Mika.
After an accidental collision in the hallway on the first day of school led to a frantic attempt to rinse half a Mocha Frappuccino out of Mika’s sweater, the girls became instant friends. Once they shared a late-night confessional about family drama—Hampton’s abrupt move from Seattle to Port Angeles and Mika’s mother’s disappearance to Bellevue and separation from her dad—they became inseparable.
Mika and her mother were trying to mend the hurt between them, and it was getting better, but they still had a long way to go. She’d been struggling until Hampton came along. Even if Hampton doubted her ability to survive a weekend in the wild, she’d overcome worse and helped Mika do the same.
She checked the time on her bedside clock. “Shoot. I’ve gotta run.” She cut Hampton an apologetic glance. “I’ll see you at school?”
“I’ll be there whether I want to or not,” Hampton joked.
“You better be.” As she shoved her phone in her pocket it buzzed. Mika pulled it out. A text from her dad.
Hi sweetheart. Hope you have a good trip. Remember the first aid kit.
Mika smiled, punching a response into her phone’s keypad. Thanks, Dad. I’ve got the kit, no worries.
A moment later, her phone buzzed again.
I’ll see you Sunday afternoon when you get home.
Sounds great, Dad. Mika tossed her phone onto her bed, shoved the last few items into her pack, and hauled it onto her shoulders. She grabbed an extra bottle of water from the fridge, her keys, and headed toward the car.
She smiled as she unlocked the door. Her dad had scrounged up the money for a used Honda hatchback when she turned sixteen and Mika could hardly believe it. It wasn’t flashy and had a dented rear bumper, but it was reliable, and it was hers. With her dad working the early shift at the Port and her mom living her own life in Bellevue, it was her only means of making it to school on time.
With one last glance at the house, she pulled out of their driveway. White painted wood, black shutters, faded red door. The shrubbery around the porch was a bit unruly and the grass needed a mow thanks to the early spring this year. But it was home—familiar and warm and lived in. Loved.
Mika navigated through their quiet neighborhood, heading toward her high school and the van waiting to drive her Girl Scout troop to their camping spot. In a few hours, she would be immersed in the beauty of the mountains, forgetting all about homework and grades, and her parents’ separation. She couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER TWO
CLINT
Clint Redshaw stood by the water cooler in the break room of the Port, typing in a last text to his daughter.
“What’s that big grin on your face for?”
“Hmm?” Clint, distracted, lifted his eyes from his phone.
Jack Stevens, the head scheduler, bent over the water cooler, pushing the spigot down until his Styrofoam cup filled. The water jug glugged in protest.
Clint shoved his phone into his back pocket. “Nothing, it was just Mika texting me.”
“Oh, what’s she up to? Get another A on a test?”
“She just left for a Girl Scout camping trip for the weekend.”
Jack propped his shoulder onto the wall, leaning into it. “Well, that sounds fun.”
“Tell me about it. I wish I was with her.”
“You aren’t one of those helicopter parents, are you?” Jack teased, drawing the cup to his lips and slurping.
Clint frowned as he debated Jack’s question. He certainly tried to give Mika space if she needed it. She’d had a rough time ever since the separation, and he wanted to make sure she felt comfortable, loved, and respected.
If she needed him, he was there in a flash. If she wanted to be left alone, he dodged her until she came around again, cheeks rosy, infectious smile lighting up Clint’s entire world as she chirped about something exciting that happened in her day.
“No. Well, I try not to be.” Clint shrugged as he reached for a cup. “Although she may have a different opinion on that.”
“I’m sure she thinks you’re a rock star dad,” Jack offered with a kind smile.
Clint crossed his fingers. “Here’s hoping.”
He didn’t want to admit that he contemplated calling in sick and letting someone else run the all-day strategic planning meeting just so he could camp and hike with his daughter. It wasn’t like the team couldn’t handle it without him. As the facilities manager, Clint’s role was more implementation versus conceptualization, but he was still required to attend.
Jack straightened himself out from the wall and scratched his elbow. “I know what it’s like. I’ve got Ava and Megan.” He paused, smiling introspectively at the gray carpet. “I feel like there’s no happy medium. They either hate me or they love me. Of course, they love me whenever they can use my credit card.” He glanced up with a smile on his face, but Clint got the feeling the man sought affirmation.
He tried to relate, rolling his eyes and laughing, but the truth was, he didn’t. Mika didn’t have a credit card and she’d never even asked for one. It seemed like dangerous territory he wanted his sixteen-year-old to have no part of. But Mika was a good kid. She’d never given Clint a reason not to trust her.
“You and your ex ever disagree on the money thing with your kid?” Jack asked. “It’s all my wife and I ever fight about. Whether the girls are spending too much, whether we spoil them, yada, yada.”
Clint scratched behind his ear. Was she his ex? He pushed the thought aside. “Honestly? I try to stay out of Daphne’s way and she stays out of mine. Since she moved to Bellevue…” he searched for the right words… “We don’t talk unless we have to.”
“Gotcha.”
“Gentlemen.” A woman from the City of Port Angeles’s budgeting office entered the breakroom, all business in a gray skirt suit and heels. Jack raised an eyebrow at Clint and nodded in the woman’s direction, but Clint waved him off. The last thing he needed was a romance with some woman who knew nothing about the Port other than line items on a spreadsheet.
Besides, he wasn’t interested in anyone other than Daphne. They weren’t divorced, merely separated. Sure, it had been over a year at this point, but Daphne never served him with papers. Until then, he was giving her space. She wanted to be a paralegal at some high-powered law firm in the big city. Leave her husband and kid and what, find herself?
Fine. He could hold down the fort, at least for a little while longer. With the modernization plan plowing full steam ahead, and Mika beginning to be interested in college and grades and boys, he’d been busy.
He’d always told his daughter that the world didn’t stop for anyone. It was a fast-moving train, and if you wanted to be a part of it, you’d have to jump on before it left you behind. He worried about Mika, wanted her to be safe and happy despite the separation. His thoughts kept shifting back to her and the backpacking trip, a gaggle of girls out in the woods, watching the sunrise over a steaming cup of hot chocolate, learning wilderness skills he wished he could teach her.
“Earth to Clint. You in there?”
He blinked back to the present. “I’m sorry, what?”
Jack shook his head with a smile. “We were discussing the modernization. Beth asked about the log haulers.”
The woman smiled one of those detached, professional smiles that meant anything from “you’re full of it,” to “I really need to pee.”
“Sorry, I’m a bit distracted today.”
“Oh?”
“My daughter’s camping this weekend.”
She pointed in the air like some sign hung beside her. “And that’s why I never had kids. Can’t stay focused on the job when you’re worried about a scraped knee or a fever.”
Clint hid his expression with the Styrofoam cup. “To each their own.”
He followed Beth and Jack into the small conference room on the western side of the warehouse. A single, long window cut into the corrugated metal, revealing the massive semi-circle port and a large barge half-full of timber. A loading crane dangled over the barge, a load of prepped logs swaying in its grip.
The woman from the break room took up position at the head of the table and smiled at the employees as they filtered in. With only thirty full-time employees, the Port ran a lean crew. She rested her fingertips on the table and cleared her throat to begin.
“Hello everyone. For those who I haven’t met, my name is Beth Transom, and I’m head of budgeting for the Port Commission. As you know, we have been working hand-in-hand with your Executive Director, Mr. Rechio, to finalize the five-year strategic plan for the Port of Port Angeles and align your goals with the community as a whole.”
Clint twisted his Styrofoam cup around on the table, attempting to stay focused.
“We have established four main goals for the Port. First, to aggressively market the Port, including further development of the Marine Trades Industrial Park, leveraging the Composite Recycling Technology Center to bring research and investment dollars to Clallam County, and continue to acquire strategically located industrial property for further development.”
Jason Rechio, Clint’s boss, leaned forward in his chair. “As the Port Commission has made clear, we’ve broadened our focus this past year away from wood-products manufacturing and into other areas. While we recognize the timber industry is the largest employer in the immediate vicinity, that doesn’t mean they should be our sole focus.”
“The Commission agrees. Over the next five years…”
The words drifted into the background as Clint tuned out. He thought once again of his daughter, probably halfway up the mountain by now. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t place it. He’d checked in, she’d texted back. He glanced out the window. Weather was fine. But the feeling lingered.
He wished he could always be there for Mika. And he tried. Truly. But his job ate up the hours, and he often felt tugged between two worlds. With Daphne now living in the big city, she couldn’t be involved in the day-to-day. Mika had been forced to adapt and grow up over the past year and it pained Clint to admit he was partly to blame.
His turn finally came to present, and Clint stood, shoving his thoughts of his daughter down to focus on the spreadsheet in his hand. “As Jason mentioned, one of our key areas here at the Port is log barging. Our waterfront log yard is already an efficient and productive way to ship logs originating in Canada, Alaska, and areas within Puget Sound to markets in Oregon and regional lumber mills. Over the past three years, the yard has been continuously at or near capacity.”
“Have you investigated other forms of barging to drive additional revenue?”
Jason spoke up. “We have, but we do not believe current market conditions support it at the moment.”
Beth pressed her lips together. “You’re aware one of the main goals of this strategic plan is to foster living wage jobs in the area. Bringing in non-log barging might realize this vision.”
Jason nodded and spoke again, launching into a detailed debate on the merits of the proposal. Clint glanced back out the window at the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The same feeling gnawed at him, deep in his gut. Try as he might, he couldn’t suppress it. Mika needed him.
He checked his watch. She should be on the road, halfway to the parking lot in the Olympic National Forest. If something happened, she would call. And he would drop everything to protect her, no matter what it might cost him in the end.
CHAPTER THREE
DAPHNE
“Come on, come on.” Daphne chewed her bottom lip and coiled her fingers around her briefcase, knuckles white and patience thinning.
She rolled the window down and craned her neck out over the sea of brake lights, struggling for a better view of the traffic.
“Could you not do that? It lets in exhaust.”
Daphne glanced up front and pressed the window button as she tried to keep it together. The poor rideshare driver was doing his best, but it wasn’t good enough.
A car behind them blared his horn. She twisted around and tossed the driver an angry scowl. “What do you want us to do about it?” She huffed between clenched teeth. “We can’t move if the people in front of us don’t.”
Telling the guy off did nothing to calm the nervous patter of her heart against her ribcage. Why a gridlock nightmare today of all days? The one day she couldn’t afford to be late this week. Traffic in the greater Seattle metro was always problematic, something she was adapting to since leaving Port Angeles. But today it was on steroids.
Daphne dared a glance at the dashboard.
8:45 a.m.
The deposition started at 9:30 and she needed to stage the exhibits, prep the conference room, and appear in control and calm when her boss walked in. She was as good as screwed.
Stop, start. Stop, start. Pump the gas, hit the brake. At 9:10, she leaned forward and pointed out the window. My building’s just up there. I’m getting out. I’ll tip you extra.”
The driver unlocked the car and Daphne rushed out, almost dropping her briefcase as she slammed the door shut. She ran the several hundred feet to the building, rushed through the lobby doors, and bypassed the elevator to take the stairs two at a time. Almost tripping on the last step, Daphne busted into reception of Lormack and Higgins, one of Bellevue’s top boutique law firms, in a whirlwind.
“Sorry, sorry I’m late.” She flapped her hands in the air, ignoring the glare from the receptionist as she hurried down the hall.
With her heart still pounding like her daughter’s choice in music, she threw her bag onto the carpeted floor in her cubicle and clicked her mouse to wake the desktop computer. Sweat ran in a rivulet down the small of her back and her blouse stuck to her skin beneath her suit jacket.
Daphne worked hard to get this job, taking paralegal classes while still at home in Port Angeles, interviewing when Mika was at school. She refused to let a hiccup in rush hour traffic stand in the way of her goals. If only her boss, Don Lormack, cared an iota for his employees. As far as he was concerned, paralegals were fungible.
“Load, you stupid thing,” Daphne hissed through clenched teeth, swirling the mouse on the pad. At last, her computer revved to life, and she checked her email for any last-minute exhibit changes.
She cursed.
Lormack asked for a rearrange of exhibits 1-10 for every binder. She checked the wall clock. Eight binders. Ten minutes. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like a high heel in wet concrete.
She pushed her hair off her shoulder and typed in a whirlwind, rearranging the binder table of contents as fast as her fingers would allow. After hitting print, she rushed to the copy room to find Becca, another paralegal, standing at the copy machine.
Daphne forced her voice to stay even and light. “Big job?”
Becca turned around, face paler than usual, her lanky figure all limbs as she jostled a bulky gusset, tips of papers and folders bursting out from the top. “I was just getting started. Need something?”
