Page 17 of Marrying My Moth Lady

“Check this out,” I say retrieving the construction flag from my back pack. Holding them side by side, it’s obvious they are from the same batch and most likely implanted at the same time. “It’s speculation to say these flags belong to Carter, but I’d bet my bottom dollar they mark where the bulldozers will dig next.”

“How do they know where to set the flags? Ooh, I saw this on TV! Did they put a tracking device on you or are they tracing your phone?” Millie bounces with excitement and frightens the cloud of coal flies away.

“No,” I say with my heart in my throat. “If the flags belong to Carter, then they’re mining coal under a different name. Oh, no! It’s me. I tag the coal flies…with nanomolecular tracers. Where there are coal flies, there’s coal below ground. Their winter dens are in coal deposits underground. I’m the enemy. What am I to do?”

Chapter 9

Horus

I can’t think of Millie. To save her secret, I had to leave the treehouse. Matthew agreed and escorted me to my truck when he got off work. I sped to Carter Mining’s headquarters with Millie’s hopeful expression burning a trench of guilt across my heart.

“No, I’m not kissing you goodbye. That would mean you aren’t coming back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I have faith you will darken my doorway again...and will greet you with a kiss.”

Her innocence and faith in me threaten to drown me. A logical man would push her sweet face into the recesses of his memory. If I marry Amber and hold all the rights to the forest, I save Millie’s home and freedom. Would she call her existence freedom? She’s not a lab specimen or on display in a freak show, but she lives in the shadows…and on the internet.

If only, if only, if only…

I can sit in the parking lot wishing for the world to change, or I can psyche myself to enter Eli’s labyrinth. Not even the oversized American flag dares to wave as my world holds its collective breath. The three-story building is a wall of reflectiveglass facing west. Geez, is that the fiery sunset’s colors, or is this building a gateway to hell? Within the orange striation, tiny shadows scurry. How is this place buzzing at 6:30 pm on a Monday? I had hoped to snoop in an empty building.

From the back of the parking lot, Carter Mining reminds me of the ant farm I had in my college dorm room. If I consider the employees ants, maybe I can keep my anxiety in check. I don’t want to cross paths with busybodies. No matter how gruff I school my face, people stop me for a chinwag, ask questions, or pry into my business. My luck would be the janitorial staff closing the bathrooms for cleaning when the urge hits me. Even with my growling, grumbling, and empty stomach, I don’t trust my bowels to sacrifice a kidney to embarrass me.

Ant farm. Save the Forest. Protect Millie.

My mantra lifts my sack of bones from the truck and across the nine full rows of the parking lot. A deep breath helps me tug the oversized glass door open and step across the threshold. I make quick work of the metal detection routine, waving my two construction flags at the overly friendly security guards. My scowl and brisk pace convey my message to the mostly plastic receptionists. I don’t slow down for cyborgs. The elevator to the executive level opens when I hit the button. As people flood the lobby, I break into a cold sweat. Not now! I retreat to the cool concrete stairwell.

I press my sweaty back against the cinderblock wall for relief. The back of my shirt will be damp, but my casual ensemble breaks the dress code, anyway. I might as well go for broke. Anyone here after quitting time has no room to judge me. Ever heard of work/life balance? My long legs take the stairs two at a time. At the top, I glare at another receptionist, but I can’t tell if she smiles or scowls at me. The implants injected into herlips and cheeks puff them to a point beyond expression, as if hornets attacked her face.

“Can I ask you something, Dr. Mills?” questions a plump man with a fierce mullet, as I clear the divider wall to the offices. His name is one of those ‘-yn’ names. Is it Brendyn, Brandyn, Landyn, or Braidyn?

Oh, never mind. He stopped following when I didn’t slow down for his inane question.

“Dr. Mills,” someone calls from the cube farm. I raise my red flags over my head to signal a greeting—or a warning—but speed up my strides.

“Dr. Mills, Would you—”

“Not likely,” I call over my shoulder at the brunette with a pinched face like a rodent.

I lock the door to my office behind me—before I turn on the light—just in case the mob follows. How long has it been since I visited my office here? The cluster of dirty lab bottles on my desk not only sports mold inside them but furry, blue patches around their caps.Impressive.They hold court on a disarray of pink phone message slips and overdue invoices. Someone taped a nastygram to the computer monitor I haven’t turned on in weeks…

HOW DO YOU EXPECT YOUR STAFF TO WORK WHEN YOU DON’T APPROVE SUPPLY ACQUISITIONS?

“Good question,” I say to the empty room with a chuckle. “But better ones would be, who are my staff, how many staff do I have, and since when do I have staff? Ooh, here’s a humdinger—who thinks I want to manage staff in this hellhole?”

I pause to collect answers from the faces pressed against the sidelight window of my door.None? Didn’t think so.Theshortest person jiggles the doorknob in fury as I make eye contact. I wave the red flags until their lips press flat.

Wheeling my chair under the desk, and scattering the binders balanced on the seat across the floor, I attack my file cabinet. Instead of locking the drawers—that would raise suspicion—I keep four tackle boxes locked under a pile of papers, napkins, and science debris. The glass-encased earthworm dissection I made in eighth grade is usually enough deterrent for weak-stomached meddlers to shove off. If not, the photos of coal fly swarms devouring roadkill do the job.

The puke pink box with the sparkly lock holds the paper copies of my contracts with Eli concerning my upcoming nuptials. I trust the intranet to secure my documents as much as I trust a grizzly bear with a picnic basket. My future in-laws constantly double-cross each other. Now there’s a rollercoaster worthy of a barf bag. Wild child conceives a love child to rebel against Daddy and Daddy slaps the chains of marriage on her. How did I get mixed up in this? Tears blur the Times New Roman font of the legal documents.

BEHEST THE SURFACE RIGHTS OF map coordinates, blah, blah, blah TO DR. HORUS MILLS UPON MARRIAGE.

Clear as glass. He’s not only mining the forest, but plans to continue mining under my nose. Thank goodness I ran into the Moth siblings who could set me straight on the legalese before I walked down the aisle. I’d marry Amber and Millie would still be in danger. How to play this? I must convince Eli to change the contract…tonight. But how? Play along or beat down his door? The guy may be more than double my age, but I’d put my money on him hog-tying me and stashing my carcass under his desk if I tried to bully him.

He'd pull the plug on the butterfly conservation project, too. Hell, he’d retract funding for the whole conservation center… So many colleagues and cohorts in the fight to save the ecosystem would be unemployed. My life’s work would swirl down the drain. At least I could crawl back to Mom and Dad’s place with my tail between my legs. I’d start work behind the counter at Dad’s hardware store tomorrow morning to pay for room and board…just like the summers during undergrad. Millie lives in her deceased parent’s place. She’d have nowhere to go.

Nowhere but a secret government lab. They wouldn’t stash her in Area 51, would they?

I can’t convince Eli I’m in love with Amber. That would win me an Oscar.

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