Chapter 72

Cindy's turn:

Disaster day on the squirrel denial project. A neuron finally fired in somebody's brain and we found out that the power levels Terri needed for the microwave head were not going to be legal outside a lab environment, or if, say, we were halting a horde of charging maniacs.

I found Terri sitting in the engineering office with her arms folded. "Pulses, Cindy. We were gonna do pulses. And we already had the safety system in place so it wouldn't fire if there was a visible human."

"So what's Plan B?"

"Flight characteristics of tennis balls are very well documented. I'm thinking about a projector."

"Something smaller?" I asked her.

"I just want 'em to go away. I don't want to actually hurt them."

"Move the projector closer. Use water jets."

"Interesting," Terri said. "Short range. Solenoid valves. No noise to give the squirrel a chance to move..." she grinned. "And dye. It'll be interesting if we dye every one we hit and see if they learn."

Alan stuck his head around the corner. "I honestly didn't think about the power levels. Should've known better, though. That water's a good idea."

"Purple squirrels," Terri giggled.

I saw my Dan stick his head out the door. I'd told him about Bill and Mom taking off together again. Mister Bill brought her home late. I'm not supposed to be keeping track of what time my mom gets home. I'm sixteen. She's supposed to be worrying about ME. I don't think that Dan knew what time she got home.

"Lemme guess," he said.

"You know it. Am I supposed to be upset, or what?"

"They're adults, baby," he said. "Bill's been around the block a bunch of times. So's your mom."

The latest. Mom and Mister Bill are dating.

"They're NOT dating," Nikki told me.

"When he's in town, they're together. They go listen to music at that club. They..."

"Go for long drives in the country. Your mom says it's very calming."

"She's talked to you about it?" I asked.

"Your mom was nervous about what you'd think. That you'd go off the deep end." Nikki smiled. "Like now."

"I'm not going off the deep end," I said.

"Well if you ain't, you're standing on the end of the diving board, bouncing up and down..."

"Okay ... Maybe a little..."

"Who're you trying to protect here, Cindy?" Nikki asked me.

"Well, with Mom's history, I guess Mister Bill."

"Ah-hah!" Nikki pounced. "Operative term here is 'history'. Your mom, since she moved back, she's really trying. She slipped that one time, and WHO rescued her?"

"I know ... you're right."

"You and I, of all people ... this whole bunch, WE should understand unconventional relationships, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but that was me and Dan, and I KNEW we were right..."

"And how many people thought you and Dan were wrong? Have you ever thought of how you'd've reacted if it had been somebody you knew in school?"

Darnit! I need dumber friends. "It's a topsy-turvy world, sis. I'm the married, sane one..."

"Gotcha, didn't I?"

"It concerns me."

"Okay, concern is valid. But they're adults. I like Mister Bill. Your mom could do a lot worse..."

"Don't I know it," I said, remembering.

"And who are we to say what's right and wrong about who might be attractive to whoever else?"

"Point," I said. "Just don't want anybody hurt."

"Then she's decided that Mister Bill's a nice guy who won't take advantage of a situation, partly because you're his adopted grand-daughter, you know."

"Then if I'm his grand-daughter, that makes Mom, like, his DAUGHTER..."

"Oh, you know you're pushing the analogy further than it needs to go. Adult male. Adult female. Enjoying each other's company. Besides, they're always back here. He brings her home every night." Nikki's eyes twinkled. She knew that Dan and I started the first night I spent the night at his house.

"I know. I just get nervous."

"Sounds like you're still having trouble accepting that your mom is changing."

I hung my head. Nikki's right. I guess I was just too close to the old Mom for too many years, and it saddens me because frankly I really like the new version. Yes, she's still staying with Dan and me in our apartment, and that makes her trips off with Mister Bill an excuse for me to drag Dan home for unfettered romping around our apartment.

At work, Mom's fitting right in. She shows an intelligence and pleasant nature that I mostly missed all my life. That part's very satisfying, except for those moments when I flash back to her opening the door of the trailer in the dark hours of the night, dragging some guy in.

I need to focus on THIS part.

Trade show. Atlanta. Two days of participating, this time with our 3Sigma booth. Nikki and I are going along.

She giggled. "Booth babes! We'll be booth babes! If the kids at school could see us now!"

I waved my iPhone. "That's doable!"

I, actually, I guess it's WE enjoy the trade shows. It's not like we need to generate more business, though. Our plate is full. We sit in the conference room every week and talk about what we can't get the people to cover, as it is. The shows, though, we get to meet others in the industry on neutral ground, so to speak.

Our display booth has some tastefully done literature, courtesy of some college kids who are VERY happy to parlay that stuff they do in school into a real number in the bank. We have a video monitor that's HUGE and it runs slide shows of what we're working on, some complete projects, and yes, some of our experimental things.

Naturally, with the click of a mouse, we can pull up some less official presentations, too.

"You're an engineer?" one older man asked me. Nikki was there in the booth with me. Some of the other booth babes, were, well, BABES, models hired for the event, and believe me, most of them had less idea of what they were presenting than, well, nothing. They know nothing. I see that a slinky figure in a form-fitting silky dress with a low-cut front and a high altitude hemline draws attention.

Me and Nikki, we're not in our engineer togs. WE CAN do dresses quite well, I'm told, but NOTHING like those professionals. Still ... Nikki says it's red hair.

"Yessir, I am an actual engineer," I told him. "Graduate of Auburn." I pointed my thumb back at Nikki. "So's she."

"No. How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen. She's seventeen. BSEE. Times two. And should get our master's in May."

"I heard something about you people," he said. "You're serious..."

"Yessir, we are," Nikki interrupted. "If you go over to the GenTech booth and ask them about their TS2014 protocol adapter, they'll show you one. Then ask 'em where they bought it." Nikki smiled. I just did my little finger wave.

I saw Nikki's Dan walking up. "Here's one of our owners," I said. "Dan Granger. Nikki's his wife."

"I know Dan Granger," he said, turning. His hand went out. "Hello, Dan Granger. Remember me?"

"Harold, isn't it? Harold Wills?"

"You have a good memory. How much do you pay these ladies to put on this show?"

"Well", Dan 2.0 smiled, "I feed and clothe this one. That one, her husband's around here somewhere. He's the other Dan in 3Sigma. We're just trying to keep Cindy and Nikki from going off somewhere..."

"Your wife." His brow wrinkled. "She's serious, then," he said.

"Yep. Did you get business cards? These are two of our engineers."

I like it. Dan 2.0 is as proud of us as my Dan is.

"What's your workload look like? You looking for business?"

"No," Dan said. "We're here for the fellowship. Got all the business we can handle right now."

"I've heard good things. Strange things. You put some good people out there."

"We try. These two'd be out there, too, but Federal laws prevent them from actually working at most of our client sites."

"I've been to several sites. I just have to be escorted, and I can't touch anything."

He laughed at me. "You ... you're the engineer. You're not supposed to touch. You're supposed to point and direct and specify and advise..."

Nikki defended herself, too. "Actually working on our designs keeps us cognizant of making things so they can be worked on later."

I laughed. "I understand that quite well, too. However, I enjoy doing things with my hands as well. We all pitch in and wire panels and such."

Harold smiled, then "You're gonna tarnish our image," he laughed, snorting. "Imagine that – we start using engineers who know what they're actually building."

Other thing: we get eyeballed by the professional 'booth babes'. One of them came over and talked to me.

"Do you work for a local agency, hon?"

"Oh, no," I said.

"That's a pretty good angle - there's a lot of these guys who have a thing about nerd girls. You bring it off real good! Did they tell you this is what they wanted?"

"Noooo," I said. "I got up this morning and got dressed just like normal." I sort of giggled.

"What's funny?"

"See that guy over there? Light blue shirt? Tie?"

"Yeah ... He's at this booth too, huh?"

"Yeah. He's my husband."

She squealed. "Nooooo, seriously?"

I bounced my head. "Uh-huh. Seriously. I'm an engineer."

"Oh, baby, did I ever get this one wrong! I'm soooo sorry..." She looked remorseful.

"Oh, think nothing of it," I said. "I'm sixteen. I just graduated from Auburn. I don't do things the normal way. It throws people off. Lots of people make the mistake..."

"Seriously. Engineer?"

"Yep."

She brushed a stray strand of long blonde hair back behind one ear. "And that other girl. Your friend. Dark hair. Little bit taller?"

"Same story. Year older. The other guy's HER husband."

"Wow."

I smiled. "That sounds like a compliment."

"It's a sigh of relief, hon," she laughed. "You and that red hair, if you showed up in a tight dress and heels, I wouldn't be nuthin' but an afterthought."

"Don't kid yourself," I replied. "Not that I think you do. You're strikingly pretty. Me? I'm just in the right element to stand out."

"Oh, no, babe," she said.

Nikki asked about the conversation later and we both had a laugh.

"Poor girl would've curled up and died if we'd've brought Johanna," Nikki chuckled.

Johanna's my big sister.

That Sunday at the airfield. We're all there for one of our only slightly less than impromptu fly-in socials. I say 'almost impromptu' because we send out emails to people who ask.

That gets us Mister Barton from northwest Georgia. He's almost as old as his 1946 Aeronca Champ, all sixty-five horsepower and two seats of it.

It's a hoot. I've flown with him. He's our historical reference on recreational aviation. Says what we do used to be almost the norm across America in the Fifties and Sixties at little airports. We do it the way he says it used to be done: Barbecue. Soft drinks. Socializing. And contests.

Flour bombing is fun. We roll out some three-foot wide cloth to make a big cross in the field next to the airstrip. Pilots fly over it at three hundred feet and drop one-pound flour bags. Closest to the center wins. The first time you try, it's harder than you think. The twentieth time you try, it's harder than you think.

Some of us were lucky to keep that stupid bag in the field. You just know that we ran the numbers – airspeed, altitude, acceleration of a one-pound flour bag under the influence of gravity, deceleration of that same bag from the aircraft's forward speed due to drag...

"Hell, girl," Mister Barton told me. "Jes' eyeball it and drop the bag!" I was his bombardier, since he flies in from Georgia by himself. We came in second. Some guy from near Mobile won the first one, and he admitted that it was pure blind luck. His twelve year old daughter was HIS bombardier.

The crown of the day, though, is the spot landing contest. We paint a foot-wide stripe across the runway a hundred and fifty feet from one end, and we set up a camera to catch each contestant.

I'm the reigning champion. Never lost. Mister Barton ALMOST beat me. We both put our wheels in the stripe, but mine was dead center, his was at the edge.