When the weekend came around, his students didn't feel weird going around the neighboring towns. People knew them. People knew him. When he'd been the one puttering around Fort Peck and Jordan, he'd been one of 'Dr. Grant's kids.' Now he was the one hearing the stories about 'Dr. Brennan's kids,' so polite and interesting to talk to. Or course, all the students had been too scared of Alan to toe the line, but Billy was under no such illusions about himself. Cheryl had tried to explain it to him once. He gave them so much freedom, so much support; he was one of those professors they just couldn't bear to disappoint. He remembered shrugging and replying with something sarcastic.
He had gone out a lot on Fridays during grad school, usually to Stockman's or Hell Creek Grill. Nowadays, he only left his trailer and his bones when he had to. It was almost down to a schedule. Every once in a while, he would dump his and Alan's clothes into a hamper, load it into the back of his truck, and make the trip to the local Laundromat in Glasgow. It was the next town over, but everybody there knew him too and called him by the old nicknames to embarrass him in front of the students. They knew him from way back when he'd stop by with Alan to pick up laundry and have a couple of ice cream sodas at the local joint. And when the time rolled around every year for the two of them to dust off the suits and go off for another ridiculous fundraising tour, they'd never gone anywhere else but Laurie's drycleaners.
The door still had the same annoying electronic doorbell that didn't shut up for ten seconds. The flickering fluorescent lights and the black and white checkerboard tiles- it all looked exactly as it always had, but he didn't recognize the girl at the counter. Laurie must have just hired new people.
"Hi," he said. "Where's Belle?"
The girl shrugged. She had two tiny silver skull-and-crossbones studs in each ear. "Moved to Nevada with her folks. I'm Mer."
"Bill, nice to meet you. I'm here to pick up some dry cleaning."
She snapped her gum. "Sure. What's the name?"
"Grant. Alan Grant."
"Mm'kay."
"And mine. Brennan. Should be right next to it. Laurie knows- I usually just get them both together."
She grinned. The rubber bands in her braces were electric green. "Oh, Laurie talks about you. So you're Grant's kid, huh? She told me she's been here more'n ten years- guy never picked up his own dry cleaning."
He managed a smile. "Nope. Never did."
The register dinged mellowly. "That's five twenty."
He gave her a five and hunted around in his pockets for change. He always had some in there somewhere.
"Hey, Laurie. How're things?"
"Billy! Back again this summer? Shouldn't even have to ask."
"Here to get Alan's dry cleaning. He has this conference next week and God, when I dug out his suit from the back of the closet, it was- hey, wow, you're a miracle worker! It looks good as new- can't even see that random mustard stain he got on the sleeve."
"Yeah yeah, you old flatterer." She rang him up. "Got you picking up his dry cleaning too- so you're the wife in this gig, huh?"
"Picking up? Yeah right." He automatically counted out five twenty and put the extra quarter in the tip jar. "He didn't even think about a suit until I said something. Would probably forget it here if I didn't come down and get it."
---
"Hey, Bill." Cheryl leaned against the door jamb. "You ready for that fundraising tour?"
He folded one of his nicer shirts and tucked it in the bag next to his extra socks. "Yep. I'm just updating one of the old power points I put together for Alan. It should still be relevant."
"Which one is that about?"
"Raptor intelligence theory."
She snorted. "Way to give 'em nightmares, Bill."
A reluctant smile. "Better to scare them than put them to sleep."
"I hear that. You got your suit?"
"Yeah, just picked it up from Laurie's."
It was still on the wire hanger, wrapped in plastic with the stapled orange tag. He had squashed it awkwardly into his bag, hoping it wouldn't wrinkle. "I'm going to be gone a week, so help yourself to whatever's in the mini fridge before I lock up the trailer."
"Don't kid around with me, Bill- there's never anything in your fridge."
He shrugged. "Might be beer."
She grinned widely. "Now you're talking."
"Hey," he said as Cheryl made a beeline for his kitchen. "Where's my..."
"-On the table."
"Right." He shoved his flash drive into the front pocket of the old leather bag Alan had always taken with him on tours.
He had never missed an opportunity to make fun of it whenever Alan was in an earshot, but he'd found it lying around the trailer while cleaning the cupboards one day, and he had to admit it was handy for his notes and laptop. There were still notes and index cards left lingering in the zippered pockets and the bottom of the bag. They were half torn and covered with Alan's distinctive spiky writing. Those blue ballpoint pens- Alan never used anything else. Used to drive him nuts. The notes were almost illegible, but he'd found himself digging them out, piecing them together, and going through them anyway. He'd left them in there. They were still there.
---
Billy had a habit of inviting himself into the trailer. "Alan, where are you going now?"
"An invitation from our biggest sponsor, John Hammond."
"Really? What is it?"
Dr. Grant zipped up his suitcase. "Sorry, Billy. Can't tell you much about it myself. It's some kind of endorsement thing."
"Endorsement thing?" Billy repeated incredulously. A grin. "Is that like an apology for landing that stupid helicopter right on top of the dig?"
"Something like that," Grant said dryly. "Ellie and I will be gone for the week."
"Really? So uh, I guess that means I can't come with you this time."
Grant stopped what he was doing and met Billy's eyes for a moment. His expression was vague. "I wish I could take you with me. Billy, I…if only you could come- you would love it. You ought to go. You…" He smiled ruefully. "I shouldn't bait you."
He shrugged and tried not to sound disappointed. "Sounds like fun if it's finally got you excited about something."
The half grimace smile. "Yeah. Hey, maybe next time."
"You bet, next time. I do a pretty good job looking out for you."
"Is that what they call it now? I thought you were just nosy."
---
"…We've been studying the interior chamber in our raptor specimens to find a link between the larynx and here," –he stabbed at the diagram up on the screen with his pointer- "the upper plate. So we've theorized that the raptor might have been able to make bird-like sounds. They might have been capable of high level communication. This opens up a lot of questions about raptor social behavior and how they hunted. That's the basics of what my current research is about." He finally stopped, had a sip of water. "Any questions?"
Almost every hand in the auditorium went up. Back in the day, he would have smiled at that. But now-
"Any questions not related to Jurassic Park or InGen?"
About a third of the hands went down.
"Or the San Diego incident, which I wasn't involved in."
Another third of the hands went down.
"Or the rumors about Alan Grant, most of which is just idle speculation, I can tell you personally."
Now there were only a few hands still up. He wondered if he would be a more popular speaker at the school assemblies if he let himself talk about Isla Nublar. But no, he couldn't sell out, profit off that…theme park. That would make him just as bad as Peter Ludlow. He couldn't twist paleontology into some kind of harrowing adventure. Godammit, people had died. How could they ever expect him to tell a story like that?
No. Stick to the facts. Stick to the bones. That was all his conscious asked of him.
He pointed. "Yes, in the back with the blue shirt."
A teacher in the aisle passed the kid a mike. "Dr. Brennan, isn't all this theorizing kind of pointless now?" the student asked. "I mean, the news has been talking about the U.N and Costa Rica opening up Isla Sorna to research projects. Won't the scientists just go in and find out for themselves?"
The students began to murmur.
"Yes, won't paleontology just die out all together?" one of the teachers in front chimed and gave him a little vindictive smile.
The earth science teacher on stage who was serving as proctor jumped to his feet. "Hey hey, folks, I don't think-"
Dr. Brennan held up a hand. "-No, I feel this is a question that needs to be answered in light of the InGen incidents. Ms…"
"-Davies," the teacher supplied.
"Ms. Davies. Dinosaurs, real dinosaurs, are the ones that lived sixty-five million years ago. They're what paleontologists find, they're what my job is about. What InGen and John Hammond created- they don't have context. They haven't learned how to be dinosaurs. They're just…dolls."
The teacher looked unconvinced. Another student raised her hand. "So you wouldn't go back and study them if you could?"
Dr. Brennan gripped the sides of the lectern a little too tightly. The stagelights picked up a long broad scar running down one of his arms. "No. No, I wouldn't do that." He swallowed. "Um…thank you." He turned away. The applause was scattered and lukewarm. He had disappointed them. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
The proctor went up to the lectern and tapped the mike. "Hello?"
"Mr. Brighton!" some of his students in the second row shouted out.
Brighton grinned and waved back. "Hey, what's up, guys? Let's give Dr. Brennan another hand for taking time to come talk with us today." The applause was a little stronger this time. "Now let's welcome our next guest, Dr. Marie Gilmer from Montana State Missoula."
He stepped back behind the curtain as he saw Bill Brennan walk offstage. Dr. Brennan was already packing up his stuff when he found him.
"Hey, Smiley. Forget this?" He handed him a sleek looking flash drive that had been left in the laptop on stage.
"Hey, Richard. Thanks. Wouldn't want to leave my power point behind."
"I liked the presentation. Raptor intelligence, huh? Cool."
Dr. Brennan sighed. "You don't have to lie, you know. They think I'm boring as hell."
"Hey, no. It's just…well, you know how kids are these days. Listen, forget about Helen; that was out of line-"
"-No." He shook his head. "They're right. How can old bones and digging around in the dirt compare with real live dinosaurs?"
Brighton grimaced. "For what it's worth, I think you're right. Those InGen things, they're just…monsters."
"Yeah…" Dr. Brennan cleared his throat. "Um, thanks for having me back."
Brighton grinned. "Come on, Smiley, I should be thanking you. The science department loves me- getting the Grant-Brennan team to come every year? They thought it was great. Hey, thanks for keeping it going; just because Alan and I were old buddies back in the day doesn't mean you have to-"
"-No, no. I enjoy it. Really."
He beamed. "Great. Hey, um, I've got a free period between now and one o'clock- want to go grab some lunch?"
"Wish I could, but I've got to head over to Sacajewea Middle for an assembly in twenty minutes."
Brighton nodded. "Sure, I know- life on the fast track. Man, am I glad I'm out of that." They shook hands. "Take care of yourself, Smiley."
"You too, Richard."
He hoped Sacajawea would be a little kinder than Bozeman High. These kids nowadays- inured by their PS2s and their Saturday morning cartoons. He had never thought school would have to teach them how to wonder.
"Oh, hey!" Brighton shouted back at him.
He turned around.
"See you next year?"
"Next year?" Richard's expression was so nakedly hopeful, Billy just couldn't let himself do it. "Uh, yeah. Sure."
"Awesome."
Bill Brennan ducked his head, tucked his jacket a little closer, and shut the door behind him.
And in between grading papers during his free period, Richard Brighton sat back and wondered what had happened to the young enthusiastic guy that had earned his nickname 'Smiley' the instant Alan had introduced them. Sure, Alan was great on his own, but there was a certain spark when Bill Brennan would groan theatrically and tell Alan he was going to bore those kids into becoming liberal arts majors or the way he would make the students laugh and get the hands shooting up during the Q&A section. If you'd asked, Brighton would have said Bill Brennan had all the hallmarks of a first-class teacher. The kind people really talk about.
He wondered what had happened to it all.