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NEL HELD HER BEER AGAINST her shoulder, swaying in front of the jukebox. She had already been asked to change the song by two people. She hoped it was her nasty response that sent them packing, but she knew it was the bloodshot condition of her eyes. Later, when her thoughts were more ordered and had been drained of alcohol, she would be grateful to Jerod for not asking her to leave or turn the music off.
She snuffled into her sleeve. She wanted every one of Mikey's favorite songs to be tattooed on her mind. Her field boot thumped softly against the worn floor. It was made for dancing, made for drunken release and laughter. She supposed it was good for drunken rage too.
Her phone chuttered in her pocket and she flipped it open. One eye refused to focus on the tiny print of Chad's text.
Just dropped the kids off at the airport. I'm dealing with this end of the paperwork while I'm here. I'll be home tomorrow (friday). Take care of yourself.
She did not respond. She popped another quarter into the machine. Her hips swayed again, without any real rhythm.
There was so much about Mikey that she never thought to ask. He was a perfect set of opposites. An atheist who loved gospel songs. A crass, dirty-minded romantic. She took it all as just “being Mikey.” Now she wish she had asked. The screen door slammed shut as someone stepped into the smoky, dim interior. Every local knew that door spring was broken. The startled curse suggested this was no local. The clack of heels against the worn wood confirmed it. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the Vecuna y Las Rosas.”
The woman’s Spanish was impeccable, the kind of fluent one only developed by immersion. Nel screwed her eyes shut. She did not want to deal with reporters right now. She was liable to swear and make an ass of herself. Mikey always handled the PR.
The bartender, Jerod, cleared his throat. “They're all booked out, but there's an inn on the other side of town.”
The woman's briefcase thumped onto one of the barstools. “I'm looking for a woman staying there, actually. Annelise Bently. I’m from Santiago.”
“You’re sure not from around here. It’s down the road a ways. Turn left at the red three-story.” There was a pregnant pause as he waited to see if she left. “Not sure if she’s in. If I see her, who should I say was asking?”
“You think you’re likely to see her in a bar at ten in the morning?” When Jerod refused to answer, the woman cleared her throat. “I’m Lin Nalawangsa from the Institute for the Development of Humanity.”
“What did you just say?” Nel turned slowly, but the floor still bucked under her boots. She caught herself on the edge of a booth.
The woman’s perfect black brows shot up. She wore a navy pantsuit right out of a '90s police procedural. “Excuse me?”
“Who’d you say you were?”
“It’s not important.” She pointedly turned back to Jerod. “Thank you, sir.”
Nel managed to organize two full sentences by the time the woman reached the door. “I’m Nel. Los Cerros Esperando VII is mine.”
Lin’s brows shot even higher. She glanced at Jerod. “I see.” She slid onto a bar stool.
Nel stumbled over and sat one stool away. “Give me something with balls, Jerod. I think one of us will need them.” She turned sideways and stared at Lin. Her skin was the soft gold that Nel’s only dreamed about. She was too polished for Nel’s tastes, but the kind of porceline-pretty that suited a model. Her features spoke of Southeast Asian heritage, but her accent was odd. “Why are you here? We got shut down. No need for you to get your hands dirty. Could have pulled our funding with a nice long ‘fuck-you’ on company letterhead.”
“Ms. Bently I didn’t come to pull your funding.”
“First of all, don’t call me ‘Ms.’ Second of all, if you ever say Annelise I’ll smash this glass over your head. Third of all, you’ll talk plainly, or I’m walking out.” She considered her drink for a moment. “I’d make you walk out. I’m not done drinking yet.”
“Right. Nel. We heard about the accident and I came to help. We’re not pulling funding. I’m filing paperwork to reopen your site.”
Nel knocked back half her drink. It was one of Jerod’s weird concoctions with extra coconut milk. It was Mikey’s favorite. She glanced up at the bartender through a narrow tunnel of clarity. “Thanks, Jer. This is really good.”
“Nel.” Lin’s voice was low, but pointed.
Nel’s gaze swung unsteadily to her. “What? You want me to thank you? Get on my knees and kiss your Jimmy Choos? You showed up a week too late and waving your big shiny business card. I’m not going to thank you. My site is shut down. My site manager — my best friend, may I remind you — was murdered last week. It wasn’t a fucking accident and the guys who did it have been vandalizing our stuff all season. I’ve got shit to do, woman, and none of it involves you.”
“I get that you have a lot to deal with, Nel. So would you care to tell me why you’re drunk at ten in the morning?”
Nel made a point to slam the screen door especially hard as she left the bar.
•
NEL WAS CERTAIN DEATH-hangovers were far worse than their alcohol counterparts. Her head pounded from weeping and she managed to pull a muscle during her jukebox dancing the day before. The countertop was cool against her forehead and her stiff hands clutched her empty coffee like a lifeline. She set the coffee to steep, but couldn’t bring herself to get up to pour it. She didn't move when soft footsteps entered the kitchen. They paused in the doorway, their owner clearly surveying the destruction that was Nel. The refrigerator door opened, closed, and then Nel heard the gurgling hiss as the French press was depressed.
A warm hand gently pried the empty mug from her hands, replacing it with a steaming one a moment later. “Milk or sugar?”
“Milk.” Her voice was a rock star’s croak. She pulled her eyes open and peered through the coffee’s steam at the woman. She wore something that was either elegant travel clothes or the most expensive pajama's Nel had ever seen. “It’s Lin, right?”
“It is. I’ve got the room just below yours.”
Nel looked back at the coffee. It was the perfect color. The ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth. “Thanks for this.” She took a tentative sip, allowing the scalding liquid to erase the sense that something had crawled in to rot atop her tongue. “What’s the agenda for today?”
“You run this gig.”
“Right, but you must be here for a purpose.”
“Correct. I wanted to meet your crew chiefs and examine the site and the artifacts. Just bring me up to date.” Her gaze brushed over Nel’s appearance. “It can wait till you’re fully awake, though.” The words and expression were not judgmental or cruel, but their honesty burned Nel’s raw thoughts.
An hour later saw Nel tottering down the stairs. Lin sat gracefully at the counter, flipping through something that looked terribly legal and boring. She wore black jeans and a collared shirt that was only slightly too thick for a gala. Nel suddenly felt underdressed. “You want to go to the site first or check out the artifacts?”
“Site. I like to get the big picture first.” She glanced at Nel’s tank top and cargo shorts. “Will we be hiking?”
Nel flushed. “No, this is just how I dress.”
Lin seemed unfazed. “I’ll grab some water and meet you at the Jeep in five.”
Nel turned down the back hall and slammed through the door. Lin was kind, but something about the woman irked Nel. Her hands acting without thought, unlocking the shed and climbing into the Jeep from the back. She had it backed out and idling in the drive when Lin stepped out. The tall woman swung herself in easily, flicking back her braid. “Who found the site? The survey was two years ago, correct?”
“Yeah. We did a walk over the year before based on a tool found during a raw-material hike. I wrote my dissertation on how bias against atypical site locations can hinder the discovery of sites in abnormal locations.”
“It was decent, if a bit pretentious.”
Nel glanced over. “You read it?” Her eyes narrowed. “Pretentious? Who’s the one who wore a suit into a tiny Chilean bar?”
Lin’s mouth quirked. “There are different kinds of pretentious. Your strength of conviction is not easily translated for those less intense than you or I.”
Nel glanced between her and the road a few more times, eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. Perhaps I should begin with how much you know about the site. Are you an archaeologist?”
“Anthropologist. This is actually part of my fieldwork and dissertation. I know that you think this is one of the earlier sites in the country. You were excavating to find lithic evidence of occupation and to determine the technology used. What have you found? Diagnostics? Structures?”
“Diagnostics. We have both fluted and fish tail points.”
“Are you of the belief they were the only group to prehistorically inhabit South America?”
“Certainly not. I think they were here, but I think groups also came from Southeast Asia. There’s even mitochondrial DNA evidence to support that.”
Lin grinned.
“What?”
“It’s refreshing to talk to someone so intelligent and passionate.”
“Thank you.” Nel faltered, unsure what to do with the compliment. “Anyways, this one’s early. It seems to be a hunting and fishing outpost. Lots of debitage, but no structures, save for one that is completely puzzling. I’ll explain that when we see it. The site is located by a stream that spills into the ocean, but it’s tucked into a hill, so its protected from the winds.”
“Can I build my house here?”
Nel laughed. “I always determine whether or not I think a site’s somewhere by whether I’d want to live there.”
“People’s tastes haven’t changed much in the past 20,000 years, I’d imagine.”
“I think our tastes are so ingrained, we just make new reasoning as to why things speak to us — a beautiful view could provide a lookout for hunting or warfare. Same with the people we find attractive.” The Jeep lurched off the highway and onto the access road. Nel popped into second gear and forced the vehicle to grumble up the hill. She had not been back to the site yet. She didn’t know what to expect or whether things would look different from the week before. Mikey’s gone. The entire world looks different. The Jeep shuddered to a stop and she turned it off. Silence bloomed in the wake of the engine’s rumble. Nel flung the door open and forced her boots onto the ground before she could change her mind.
Insects buzzed and the soil crunched as Nel trudged onto the site. She scanned the landscape, but didn't let her eyes rest on anything for too long. If she did, all they would see would be absence. “Alright, so when we did the walk over, the surface finds were concentrated around the western edge of the site. We thought they might be eroding out of the hillside, but a few tests later showed us that they were coming from this little valley.” She pointed out the grid and explained what had been found in each unit and what she thought could be made of the information. She was aware of her voice humming in her ears and that she responded to Lin’s questions. She didn’t know what words came out of her mouth.
Nel jerked her head at the eastern half of the site. “We found the burial and those odd rocks this way, if you want to see them. Thank goodness we got everything out before we got shut down.”
“I think I've seen enough, actually.” Lin smiled. “I'm going to talk to my boss tonight, but I bet you a beer I'll have you back here next year.”
Nel's laugh puffed through her sunbaked lips. “I'll believe that when I see it. You said you wanted to meet with Chad?”
Lin nodded, the gesture regal from her sleek head. “The rest of your crew are no longer in the country, I assume.”
“The students are all gone. Chad drove them to the airport the day you arrived. He'll be back from Antofagasta this afternoon, though. He's my other experienced digger.”
“Nel?”
Nel hummed questioningly.
“I’m going to find a hill or bush to pee behind, I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t piss on the stream.” Smiling felt stiff, like her face was made of tanned leather. She paused, midsentence, and stared at the lunch-box forgotten in the corner of the pop-up. It wasn’t Mikey’s. That would have been too perfect — a memento left for her to find.
“Nel, I found a trowel over by that pile of rocks.” Lin held out a worn Marshaltown. “I assume it’s one of the crew’s?”
Blood roared in Nel’s ears and her eyes tunneled. The handle of the trowel was carved with intricate swirls and a design of a Clovis point. Her instinct was to grab it from Lin’s hand, wipe anything tainting the wood of the precious tool. “That's Mikey's. He called it Dirt-o-mancer.”
Lin's brows rose and she handed it carefully to Nel. “Does that make it evidence?”
“Like fuck. I'm not giving them this. I know who killed him and they're not going to even consider it.” She pressed the warm wood to her lips with reverence. Finally she trusted her voice not to crack against the lump in her throat. “I'll meet you at the car.”
“You need help packing the equipment?”
“No, I'll do it tomorrow when Chad's here to help. I just need a few minutes alone.” She listened to Lin's quiet steps retreat to the car. Though she had been to her share of funerals, grieving made Nel uncomfortable. “Closet griever,” her father called her. Now her heart aches, as if it saved every ounce of grief for this moment. She hiked up the hill to the south. The burnt earth dropped toward the water. The ocean was brilliant under the sun. Archaeologists seemed to only look at the ground, searching for artifacts. Mikey had reminded her more than once to look up. Nel turned slowly, taking in the view. To the east battered trees clustered along the river's edge, clinging to the faint trace of life in the desert. The heat haze from the Atacama was visible even from her perch on the hilltop. A condor spun lazily in the thermals.
Her throat closed too tightly for her to swallow her tears. She lifted her face and let them come.