Photo by Vincent Ledvina on Unsplash
While I waiting for Dr. Cora Nelson’s reply, I read through what the materials from Alex’s backpack. I had scanned each page into my computer before allowing Mom to stitch them into the bottom backpack. The more information I read, the more conflicted I became. My conclusion – no one knew with certainty how these trees became a reality. Even the theories contradicted each other regarding the impact to the environment.
When Cora responded three days later it only contained questions. ‘How did you get this email address? Who are you? Who do you work for?’ and so on. No pleasantries or even a thank you for letting her know about Alex.
Instead of working on my client’s project, an ad for a hardware store in Maine, I sat staring at the questions. Perhaps contacting her was the wrong thing to have done. She had kicked Alex out, but I don’t know her side of the story.
My original message to her was brief. I didn’t mention the BWCA trip, the police or whoever they were, or that I had found the papers in the backpack. I finally replied that I’m Alex’s friend, a self-employed graphic artist, and that I had his backpack. I wanted to know more about her before giving out any more information.
Breathing a sigh of relief and rubbing my hands on my jeans, I turned my attention back to my client’s project. Unless I made tangible progress on the hardware store’s graphics, I’d be working late tonight. I had promised to take Mom to the Olsen’s greenhouse after dinner because she would like to freshen up the yard. I won’t feel like working after that trip.
Less than thirty minutes after I sent Cora my answers, she replied. She wanted to meet immediately. Her eagerness made me even more anxious to be rid of it. If he had hidden seeds inside, I didn’t want in my possession if those men came looking for it. I agreed to meet her at a lakeside park along highway 61 at 7:00 tonight.
J K Metz 