I did not plan my trip home. I did not lay awake after I fumbled my way into bed. I did not cry myself to sleep. I slept the sleep of the just -- the just plain exhausted. When I awoke in the morning I discovered I was just plain miserable. My body hurt. My heart ached. And if Paul thought I was going to roll over and play passive, then he didn't know jack about how pissed off misery made me. I eased into my clothes with excruciating care, much to the amusement of all three of my cabin-mates. Better they mistook my cold determination for a willingness to soldier on in the face of physical discomfort.
"Will you make coffee this morning?" Claudia asked, halfway out the door. It was her turn to do breakfast.
"Sure," I said. "If I can make it that far."
"A little sore?" Pat asked.
"Just a touch."
Even Jennifer was smiling. Good.
At the dig, the hot, dry wind blew with nerve-grating relentlessness. All day. It stirred up the loose dirt, coating my skin and clothes with a fine powder. The sun-block we all put on served as an adhesive, and any additional application was like buffing one's skin with sandpaper. The fine grit penetrated my clothes. Sweat trickled down my body in places where the wind couldn't evaporate it. I took off my slippery sunglasses and wiped them on the hem of my shirt, squinting against the sun's glare. A layer of dust instantly adhered to my exposed teeth. I took a mouthful of water, swished and spit, then gulped down the rest.
Paul and I barely spoke. I worked in silence alongside Tim. Today I was grateful for his lack of conversation. When Paul came over to supervise Tim's work I got up and strolled to the Suburban to get another bottle of water from the cooler. Claudia was doing the same.
"Hey, how's it going?" she asked.
"Just peachy," I growled, ripping the top off the coldest bottle I could find. I chugged half of it. The remainder I dumped over my head. The cold water ran through the roots of my hair and down the sides of my face and neck. I knew I now sported brown stripes. I didn't care.
Claudia sipped her water. She didn't seem to notice the heat as much as I did.
"I know it's none of my business, but you might want to consider a truce with Dr. Hudson."
I narrowed my eyes at her, but she ignored the look.
She took a long pull from the bottle. "I realize men generally deserve a good slapping around from time to time, and whatever he did, he probably deserves it, but just so you know, Pat's really turning up the sympathy ploy."
I glanced around for Pat. She was working with John. I looked back at Claudia. Uh uh. Not seeing it.
"In the Suburban on our way out. And at breakfast."
"Oh," I said. Just what I needed. Another problem.
"We noticed what she's doing -- even Kyle. I hope she's not the reason you two aren't speaking. We, uh, kinda noticed that, too."
I winced. Hard to hide anything from this group. "No, I think she's just being an opportunist. I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable for everyone. Sorry."
"Don't be. It's been kind of fun watching Dr. Hudson sulk all morning -- from a distance." She grinned and gave me a light cuff on the shoulder with her water bottle. "We're all avoiding his crabby ass. Well, except for Pat, and she should be."
"Thanks for the head's up," I said.
"Sure," she said, and left with her water.
I took another couple of bottles with me back to where I'd been working. I set one down next to Tim and the other next to Paul.
"Thanks," they both said.
"No problem," I said and went back to work chipping away at a tiny piece of bone with a tiny pick, ignoring them both. After a while Paul got up and wiped his hands on his pants. He came over and touched me on the shoulder. I looked up.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked in an astoundingly neutral tone.
"Sure," I said, a veritable study in nonchalance. I got up, dusted off my butt and followed him. He walked back to where the vehicles were parked before he stopped and turned to face me, feet apart and hands on his hips. I crossed my arms and waited.
"I'm, uh, sorry about what I said last night," he said.
I could tell by the King-of-Siam stance, as well as the lack of expression on his face, that at least some of the others were watching us. He didn't want to show anyone but me that he was backing down. Jeez.
"Thank you for the apology." I said, and waited.
The sunglasses hid his eyes, but I think he was studying the ground between us. He ran a hand over his mouth and took the glasses off. "I really am sorry."
The expression in his eyes made it hard for me to swallow. I cleared my throat. "I know you are. I am, too."
"So we're okay?"
"We have some things to talk about. But not here."
He frowned. "We're not okay?"
I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair. The gesture only reminded me of how filthy I was. "I was thinking you were probably right about me being stressed, and --" He started to interrupt, but I held up my hand. "We have some serious talking to do before we're okay."
He frowned. "About…?"
"Trust. You know it as well as I do."
His lips compressed into a thin line and he nodded. "All right, then. We'll discuss this later." He slid his sunglasses back on.
"Okay."
"Right."
He walked back at exactly the same leisurely pace he used when making his rounds between the students, but without the relaxation. I followed, after a moment, my heart in a wringer and a date for a confrontation in hand. I may be the one insisting on a talk, but his decision about what to say would determine the outcome. I'd accept a compromise -- an effort to take me into his confidence and share the weight he carried. But I couldn't accept how little trust he had in me.
I resumed my seat near Tim and picked up my tools. He glanced at me.
"I, um, felt bad leaving you with the impression, yesterday, that Dr. Fogel was leaving his wife," Tim said. "He was a good guy, like I said. He told me was trying to patch things up, do stuff for her, buy her flowers, and little presents, like when they were dating."
My hand automatically went to my throat, and a spike of panic stopped my breath when I didn't find the amber necklace Paul had given me. No. It was okay. I remembered I'd left it at home. I exhaled.
"He told me he was going to do everything he could to get her back -- that's why he was cutting back on his work load." He pushed at a pebble with his hammer, then looked back at me. "Dr. Hudson's a good guy, too."
Tim was trying to patch things up between me and Paul. I was touched. "He is. It's just … well, relationships can be difficult. We'll work it out."
An expression of pain tightened his face. "That's what Dr. Fogel said, too -- about him and his wife. And he was sorry they'd both gotten involved with other people."
"It's never a good idea to involve other people."
He nodded. "Dr. Fogel said too many people were hurt while they screwed up their lives then tried to straighten things out." He smacked a rock with his hammer.
I thought about what he said for a moment. "Do you know who Andrew was seeing? Was it a student?"
"I don't know … well, all I know she wasn't a student."
"Do you think Scott knew?"
"Probably. The apartment Dr. Fogel got when he and his wife split up was in the same building as Scott's. And they were pretty tight. I expect he knew."
I was right. "Are you and Scott friends?"
Tim shrugged. "I know him. But I'm just an undergrad." He shot me a rueful smile. "Grad students don't waste their time on us unless they want something."
I remembered that division well. And I'd been guilty of the same arrogance when I was working on my masters degree. "Pat seems okay." I pretended ignorance of her self-importance.
Tim grunted a sort of laugh while he worked on breaking up a bit of matrix. A muscle worked in his temple. His beard covered up what were surely bunched muscles in his jaw. "Don't let her fool you." He raised his eyes from his work and held my gaze. "And don't trust her. She's after Dr. Hudson."
Oh. Now I understood. He was afraid she was going to break up me and Paul, and he'd seen enough wreckage from third-party interference. "Thanks for the warning," I said. "I'll have a little chat with her."