Page 54 of Chasing Headlines
“Just ping me the name or whatever on chat.”
“Did you even go to class today?”
“Oh, I stacked my Tuesday-Thursdays afternoons. I picked two evening classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I'll go later.” She waved a hand at me.
“Weird.”
“As my friend Liv would say: hashtag hacker life.” She threw me a look and stuck out her tongue.
I made a face back at her. “She sounds smart. Amazing, really. I'm sure she's super interesting.”
“She's kind of a pain in the ass.” Cathy rolled her eyes and turned back to her laptops.
I crumpled a piece of paper from my notebook and threw it at her.
She laughed as she glanced at me over her shoulder. “A lovable one. But still.”
“Damned right.” I stopped as results finally started populating my screen. “Did you know the Vachon family had twelve kids?”
“Who?”
“The founders of this fine university. Twelve.” I watched the ancestry tree form. It had a bit of trouble showing twelve branches, so I turned it into a list. “Good grief these names. Margerie, Gerrit? Cornelis? Who names their kid Cornelis?”
“Who names their kid Furston?”
“Bleh. Dad really did get a bum deal over that one, but at least it was his father's name.” I shook my head as I re-sorted the list in chronological order. “Oh, OK this is kinda wild. Ten kids born between 1932 and 1948. And two born in the fifties.” I looked up but she had her back to me, again. “Hm. How old would someone born in nineteen fifty-two be, now?” I copied and pasted the names from the website into a chat window.
She pulled her headphones off as she spun her chair around. “Who's this?”
“The two Vachon family children born in the fifties. I mean, seventy's not too old to still be around.”
She bopped her head from side to side, cracked her knuckles and settled back into her groove. I rose from the seriously uncomfortable wood chair and set about picking up the trash and cans, sweeping them into our recyclables container. “I'll just run this outside.” I told her, but her headphones were back in place and her eyes fixed on the screen.
I sighed and snagged the trash bag from the larger can. If we kept up with it throughout the week, we wouldn't have another fast-and-furious rush to clean in time for dorm check on Thursdays. At least I could hope.
After making a quick pass over desks, I felt a bit better about our living space. I wasn't a neat freak—or else Hilda's propensity to throw her shoes wherever she felt like, whenever she felt like—would make it impossible to live in the same zip code with my bff. I was used to picking up after my brother, but when I lived on my own in my father's house, I tended to be less than organized.
I sat back down at my desk. Glanced at my email. Opened the chat program—and found Cathy's response. Ronald Vachon was indeed still alive. And living in New Jersey? Oof. I could call him, maybe. But somehow, I'd hoped to be able to sit down face-to-face. Even if I had to take a bit of a drive, I really wanted to interview them in person.
I typed into the program. “What about Dorotea?”
“Oh, damn, I forgot to hit send. Dorotea Vachon-Schreiber, 71, Clare, TX.”
I gasped and pulled up MapApp. My heart thudded and skipped over a beat in my chest. Clare was like the next township over, minutes away. I typed back to Cathy: “Could you get an address?”
“Hold please.” Her message pinged onscreen. Was it even remotely possible? That I could?—
“1161 Pinehurst Lane, Unit 634.”
Sounded like an apartment complex. I did a search . . . And was close. Silverado Senior Living Center. “Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air and dialed the number.
The automated system picked up. I frowned as it went through the list of options. I didn't know which one I needed? I just wanted to make an appointment to speak to one of their residents. I selected the Director's mailbox, left a message and hung up. I glanced at my Economics textbook, snarled at it: “No.” Instead of starting on that drudgery, I did a search for Dorotea Vachon-Schreiber. Nothing relevant in the front-page results. On page two, there was a listing for Judge Clayton Schreiber in Lubbock County, parents Dorotea and Jasper. I smiled.
The Vachon's have been changing the world from this little corner of Texas—for almost a hundred years. How cool is that?
I would find my winning angle in Dorotea, I just knew it.
And then I can go back to my baseball reporting.I glanced at my phone.Just need that director to call me back.