Page 8 of Meeting Up with the Mason

Alyssa mimed wiping sweat from her forehead. “We’re saved! It’s the Eponymous Mobile!”

“Must be delivering the plate compactor. That thing weighs two-hundred pounds, and I’m not getting it out of the truck by myself.” I hauled myself to my feet, cataloging all the back and leg muscles that took exception to this new development. “If things keep going like they are, you may find out what happens if you have dinner with a dead guy.”

Alyssa jumped to her feet. “That’s a yes! You just said yes!”

She was beaming. I smiled in return. I couldn’t help it.

Chapter 5

Alyssa

After an entire afternoon of sneaking looks at Chip while he worked, I finally got to sneak looks at him while we split a pizza and garlic knots. Then, I got to keep sneaking looks at him when he suggested we walk to Johns Pond.

Every time, he looked good. He looked good chucking discarded stones into his father’s truck. He looked good dumping paver base onto the path and raking it in. He even looked good while that cube-shaped jackhammer Star Wars robot thing jumped around in his hands to tamp down the paver base. (He called it a plate compactor. He could have called it anything.)

We walked toward the water, him insisting it was better to keep moving so his muscles didn’t lock up. “You’ve probably figured this out, but I don’t do a lot of digging in the library.”

I said, “All the stuff you study, though—it’s got to be dug up.”

“Granted, but usually I’m the one decoding what the artifacts and writings mean.” He relaxed as he talked, and the effect turned my insides to jelly. “Mesopotamia is amazing. So much happened right around there because the trade routes crossed. Plus, you had the rivers. Once you’ve got large-scale agriculture, that’s the moment the human experience changes. Up until that development, everyone’s working just to stay fed. Once one person can produce food for, say, ten people, that frees up nine people to do other things.”

I said, “Like trade?”

“Like trade. Like govern. Like pick out paver stones and conduct MeetSpace calls for vendor quotes. Like study what happened when ancient Mesopotamians figured out how to feed lots of people.”

We turned onto a larger road where the houses were spaced further back. I said, “What’s your thesis about?”

“The fall of the Sumerian empire as it relates to soil salinization.” Oh, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? “Once a region’s soil is too salty to keep growing plants, farmers can’t produce food at a sufficient volume, and irrigation agriculture hastens the process. Remember that change I just told you about? The reverse is also true. When one person can’t produce enough food for ten, what happens to those extra nine?”

I said, “They move?”

“That would be nice, but where do they move to? We call what happens ‘population reduction,’ but that’s a sanitized term for something horrible.” He shuddered. “A thousand years earlier, Mesopotamia was growing mostly wheat and a little barley. By the time Sumer fell, they were growing no wheat and only barley. My guess is they heard the death knell, but they didn’t recognize the size of the oncoming catastrophe. Barley can tolerate salty ground, up to a point.” Chip gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m boring you.”

“I think it’s fascinating, and you obviously think it’s fascinating, too. Don’t stop telling me just because other people get bored.”

I reached for his hand but then yanked back before he noticed.

He said, “The trouble is, I’ll talk about the fall of the Sumerian empire until the fall of the American empire, so we might as well talk about you. Tell me about your job.”

I tossed my head. “I don’t produce food for ten people, so that makes me one of the freeloading nine. My aunt is an event planner. When I graduated, her virtual assistant was stepping out for a different job, so she recruited me. I confirm reservations, create marketing emails, and two days a week, I do something she calls lead generation, where I identify potential clients.”

Chip chuckled. “Sounds like black magic.”

I sighed. “I thought so, too. I had to learn about data scraping and data mining.”

He glanced at me sideways. “Was that what you went to school for?”

“Not data mining, and certainly not phone calls.” I clasped my hands behind my back and stretched to release the tension I was holding in my neck. “I majored in art history and criticism, with the idea of working for a museum or a gallery. I’d arrange exhibitions, maybe identify new talent. Instead, I’m confirming reservations, generating leads, and sending press releases.”

Chip said, “And getting construction quotes?”

My nose wrinkled. “That wasn’t so bad. And you know, she flew me out to the Cape.” Aunt Sophie still wasn’t sure why she’d flown me out to the Cape. Best not to dwell on that. “I was only supposed to work until she found someone else, but she’s not in a hurry to hire my replacement.”

Chip said, “Maybe she’s saying she can’t replace you?”

I sniffed. “You really think so?”

Chip looked at me, and my skin prickled. “I can see someone thinking you’re irreplaceable.”

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