Message From Viola Mari (2 page)

Claudia, the novel’s heroine, had stumbled upon the evidence accidentally while on a geological trip to the Yellowknife Region of northwestern Canada. Many scientists believed the impact from an enormous meteorite had killed off the dinosaurs. Iridium layers in rocks of other ages had coincided with the disappearances of other species. Claudia was the first to look for meteorite impact signatures in the Earth’s oldest rocks, the Precambrian rocks that predated life. Ancient Canadian Shield rocks showed that a devastating impact had occurred four billion years ago, which led Claudia to study other Precambrian rocks of various ages worldwide. A definite periodicity to the devastating impacts was implicated—and another strike was imminent. Someone had to stop the onslaught of comets from annihilating life on earth. And that person, of course, would be Claudia aka me.
But how will she do it?
That was the real question.

I read aloud a passage of my first chapter. “I swirled the Chardonnay in the glass before tipping it toward my mouth. It tasted bitter on my lips. I could spit out the wine, but not what I faced.”

A bout of uncontrollable laughter overtook me. Imminent threats tend to hit me like laughing gas. It could be brain damage from too many breath holding contests with my little brother. Once in Mexico City, a six-point-six Richter-scale earthquake interrupted my elevator ascent with a group of better-balanced individuals who cried and screamed. While laughing hysterically and entertaining them with jokes in Spanish, which only brought their terror to a crescendo, I used my Swiss army knife to open up a wall panel so we could escape.

The green arrow next to my soon-to-be-professor’s email address—[email protected]—showed that irreversible damage had been done. This class was one elevator from which there was no escape.

Chapter Two

Wise Jane suggested we carpool to the first class. She knows me too well. If we weren’t travelling together, I would have called her an hour before class, saying
I’m so sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make today’s class
. Then I would moan that I’d been stricken by the most dreadful menstrual migraine, my tooth ached or my garage door wouldn’t open.

We strode into the building and sat at adjacent desks arranged in a semi-circle around what I presumed was Professor Justin’s desk. I feigned sending text messages, occasionally glancing up to check out my classmates. Two elderly women walked into the room together and sat side by side, their shoulders hunched over their desks, their legs crossed. Several college-aged students sauntered in, including a Hispanic girl with a flawless olive complexion and long iron-straightened hair. Another girl with a tiny heart-shaped face and a miniature body to match it wore makeup so thick, I wanted to ask if she’d spread it on with a knife. A handsome man with a football player’s physique dropped into a chair. He looked like Jennifer’s type. His curly dark hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush for days and a five o’ clock shadow darkened his face even though it was only nine in the morning.

Three of us comprised the
professional
crowd. We wore too many wrinkles to belong to the Hello-Fresh-Face collegiate crowd but looked far too stressed-out to be retired. I was the one with lines etched into my forehead, while Jennifer had bitten her nails down to the quick. The balding man sitting beside me nervously plucked hairs from his brows. It was Zoloft we needed, not a writing class. But Jennifer just didn’t get it.

Justin Lincoln’s entrance broke into my people-watching moment. His tall physique was lean and muscular, and damp unruly blond curls fell below his shoulders. Either he had washed his hair recently or he’d just worked out. Maybe an episode of intercourse dampened his hair, I thought, before I covered my flushed face with my hand and pretended to study papers on my desk.

Once my face cooled, I cautiously glanced up. He wore knee-length khaki shorts with threads hanging loose, a black crew neck T-shirt and a pair of Brooks running shoes. California was way more casual than the East Coast, but this guy gave a whole new meaning to the word.
Maybe next week, he’ll show up in his underwear.
The image made me
laugh, which sent several pairs of eyes looking my way, so I coughed to make my burst of psychotic behavior appear less awkward. When Jennifer glanced at me curiously, I shrugged.

He pulled a stack of papers from his black backpack and introduced himself. “I’m Justin Lincoln.” He continued speaking and walked toward me. The gold flecks in his emerald green eyes captivated my attention. I blinked and tried unsuccessfully to look away from him.

Just when I expected him to drop the pile of papers on my desk and say
take one and pass them around
, he handed a sheet of paper directly to me. As he did, our fingers touched. A warm tingle flowed up my arm leaving me feeling light headed. When I glanced up, his gaze lingered on mine for longer than necessary. As my pulse raced, my once reasoning brain began thinking like a love-sick teenager. The calm and collected scientist that I am, I allowed the paper to slip from my quivering hands. Blushing, I snatched it from the floor.

I’m a research scientist at one of the most prestigious oceanographic institutions in the world.
So why can’t I hold onto a simple piece of paper?

Once Justin finished passing out papers, he reviewed the syllabus line by line. The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked as he paced. Every other week, we would bring in copies of our work for the class to critique, he explained.

Justin’s eyes followed me over the top of his black rectangular reading glasses as I leaned over and whispered, “What the hell did you get me in to?” into Jennifer’s ear.

“Is there a problem, um…” He glanced through his pile of papers before saying, “Miss Jones? Or do you mind if I call you Marissa?”
How the hell did he know my name?

“Um, no. I mean I don’t mind if you call me that--Marissa, I mean. And everything is fine and good over here,” I said, drumming my fingers on my desk.

“Very well then, perhaps you would like to read your writing sample aloud first.”

He took one look at me and identified me as the worst writer in the class. If only I could projectile vomit at will like Jennifer. Her skills are amazing. But I can’t vomit unless I see blood, which would require stabbing myself with a pencil, or sticking fingers down my throat, which might be a bit extreme.
I sat there feeling naked in my chair, with no scientific podium to stand behind, no scientific jargon I could use to talk my way out of my predicament.

Maybe there is a way out. Justin probably just wants to make sure I don’t  quit my day job since  I have no talent whatsoever.

“Read my sample?” I scratched my chin. “Oh, no I’d really rather not. It’s not like I’m aiming to publish any of this stuff.” A burst of laughter ensued. Feeling more confident, I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest.
This is what the Collegiate types call attitude, right?
Justin drew his bushy blond brows together in one long line of irritation.

“Very well then. We’re dividing into two groups. If you’re in A, you’ll bring in work next week, if you’re in B, you’ll bring in work the week after. Miss Jones, you are officially the first member of group A. Any one want to volunteer to join her?”

While hands shot up, my gaze roved over Justin’s muscular physique. I told myself I was merely objectively observing a male specimen, who was a million times more pleasant to look at than the men I worked with who tended to wear the same plaid shirt daily and have concave pectorals. Justin’s shoulders were broad and nicely stretched the tight T-shirt across his pectorals.
I’d like to see what he looks like without the shirt
.

Justin’s calf muscles flexed as he walked and pleasing dimples accented his facial muscles when he spoke. An image flashed in front of me – teacher man naked, painted white and glued to a podium at the Prado. It made my mouth water more than the aroma of freshly baked pastries.

I gazed at the curly blond hair brushing against his athletic shoulders. Whenever he tipped his head to peer over his reading glasses, his eyes, sometimes sea green, occasionally changed color. I imagined that golden flash of his eyes was reserved exclusively for me.

Perhaps if Justin’s shirt pockets bulged with clip-on pens, I wouldn’t have forgotten to breathe whenever I looked at him. Whenever he paced past my desk, I caught a whiff of after-shave, which smelled pleasantly of cinnamon and man.

“I’ve opened this book to a chapter from a famous sci-fi romance,
Dangerous Entanglements
.” He laid the book down on my desk and rotated it. “Marissa, will you please read the first three paragraphs?”

“Oh, fine,” I answered, rolling my eyes. My face warmed.
Why can’t I unclothe him in my mind without being noticed?

“Before you start—I’m just curious—why did you sign up for this class?” When he spoke, his eyes sparkled like the North Star on a breezy evening.

“I have no bloody idea,” I said. Everyone laughed except Justin. The right side of his lip curled up in annoyance. “As a matter of fact, I never would have showed my face in this room if it wasn’t for her.” I pointed at Jennifer. “My friend Jennifer’s a really talented writer and wanted a friendly face in the crowd. So here I am. Truth is, other than freshman composition essays that I paid a classmate handily to doctor up, I’ve written only scientific research articles and technical reports. No protagonists, no murders, no love affairs or disasters, no he said, she said. I don’t claim to have an ounce of literary talent in my blood.”

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for that illuminating confession, Marissa. Now you can proceed with the reading.”

“If you insist.” I cleared my throat and hoped my face wasn’t darkening.
Why does he make me feel like kissing him one minute and punching him until his nose bleeds the next?

The book opened with a graphic sex scene. “What the..? I signed up for sci-fi, not for erotica,” I grumbled.

“Not every sci-fi book features the terminally celibate protagonist.” Justin’s green eyes seemed to see too much.

I squirmed in my chair. The warm rush of blood that ignited my face felt a little like anger, somewhat more like desire.

“Now do read on, okay?”

The arrogant bastard is insulting me. Why you…
I ground my molars together so tightly they hurt. I didn’t want to read this lewd content in front of anyone, let alone him. I thought my flushed face might melt as I read the words
engorged member
. After I finished my three paragraphs, Justin called on someone else. This class gave the phrase
out of my comfort zone
a whole new meaning.

After the bell rang, Justin mingled with the class. It seemed he wanted to create a relaxed atmosphere with them whenever he wasn’t hell-bent on intimidating me. I wrung my hands together as Jennifer dawdled with her notebooks.
Let’s get the hell out of here.
Gazing away from Justin, I stood and fidgeted with my cell phone, pretending to download text messages.

Justin reached out to shake my hand as I passed. “It was nice meeting you.”

My fingers melted like chocolate when our hands met and I felt like parts of them dripped on the floor. “It was nice meeting you too,” I said.
Too bad I’ll never see you again.

Chapter Three

I sat on my balcony overlooking the ocean, sipping a glass of Australian Chardonnay. For the first time in months, I sipped from a fluted glass rather than a plastic cup. And instead of jeans and a T-shirt, I wore a short black mini-dress, which fell slightly off one tanned shoulder. It was the first night in I couldn’t remember how long that the soft tickle of sea breeze on my shoulders made me feel desirable. That night, I wanted to be more than just the scientist behind thick glasses or the sweaty athlete who loved to
feel the burn
.

Every time I tried to focus on the peril that faced Earth, I saw Justin’s brilliant green eyes in front of my face. Analyzing me. Seeing into me. Desiring me.
You are so naïve. How can you be so distracted by a guy you spent three hours with?
How can you think about something as trivial as love at first sight—or is it lust at first sight—when the Earth will soon be obliterated?

Continental meteorite impact sites weren’t my focus, but my department head had accepted my proposal to collect Canadian Shield and other ancient rocks worldwide. But when I’d shared my evidence of periodic, pre-life-on-earth comet bombardment episodes with other scientists, NASA, the President, and the Department of Defense, they’d all shrugged their shoulders as if my discovery was insignificant. They weren’t convinced my conclusions were correct.

I’d tried to explain how the earth’s gravity would pluck thousands of comets from their orbits and they would subsequently slam into the earth, annihilating every living being in a matter of minutes. But important men couldn’t be bothered with the hysterical mutterings of a female scientist. “She’s probably about to start her period,” the Secretary of Defense had muttered to the President.
If that were the case, I’d strangle you with that ugly tie you’re wearing,
I had wanted to scream
.

The reality of the disaster worried me more than ever. Now that the fact-collecting brain I’d come to trust had turned to mush, I feared I would never come up with a solution. For a moment I thought about the history, hopes and dreams of so many people that would be destroyed in an instant. Then a tear slid down my face for another reason altogether.

If my body was incinerated and the sky dripped with acid rain, I would no longer feel what I’d felt since the minute I met Justin—as if all of my senses had become super-sized. Attraction heightened my senses, making me relish each breath, each never-to-be-re-captured moment of being alive.

The breeze brushed my shoulder like a fingertip, leaving residual tingles. The full moon glowing over the water appeared magnified, like it was underwater.
I could take a big leap and my feet would land with a crunch on its cratered surface.
The moon’s reflection on the dark water looked like a path leading to somewhere I’d never been before and the twinkling of lights on the hillsides reminded me of Justin’s eyes.