16

Monday, 22 June

Day One

Things Kate liked: sunglasses and sunblock, good walking sneakers and padded socks, a partly cloudy sky, an ever-present breeze, and the tranquility of a sparsely populated landscape where not a soul knew she’d been dumped.

Things Kate did not like: hiking uphill, flies, hiking downhill, mosquitoes, hiking horizontally, even the possibility of ticks, and hiking next to Erik.

Mildly flirtatious Erik, who talked about himself and winked at her incessantly. Erik, who used too much body spray and wore minimalist shoes that hugged his toes like gloves. Erik, who stole time she could’ve been talking to Ben or to students or to Jorunn.

She couldn’t call it harassment. He was being friendly, just short of flirty. But she’d had enough experience in the field dealing with harassment, both verbal and physical, to be wary. The unfortunate truth was archaeology and anthropology had a terrible sexual harassment and assault problem.

At least Erik served as a distraction from her pervasive thoughts of Nikki, who actually enjoyed hiking, and from the hike itself.

“Kate,” Jorunn called from up the line of hikers. “Come. I have an osteology question for you.”

Bless you, goddess.

“See ya later,” Kate said to Erik, ignoring his But wait! as she jogged to the front. “What’s up?” she asked Jorunn.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I was just setting you free.”

They couldn’t contain their laughter.

“My hero,” Kate said under her breath.

They looked behind them. Erik remained in the middle of the line, talking to Zoe.

“Erik is annoying,” Jorunn said, “but harmless. Esben has always been protective of students and colleagues, on the lookout for predatory behavior. Erik would not be here if he was a problem.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Kate looked down the line again and spotted Ben at the tail end. He paused to remove his floppy hat, guzzle water from the two-liter jug he brought for himself, and splash water on his face.

She whispered, “Is Ben okay? He’s been tailing us this whole time.”

“Hm?” Jorunn turned to look. “Oh, he is our sweep.”

“Our what?”

“Sweep. He takes care of us, you know? Watches the line. He knows he is slow, and so, if anyone else is slow, or hurt, or needs to stop, he makes sure they are not left behind. It is his way.”

“I do remember that about him, being protective.”

“He is our protective Pappa Bear. Was he shy then, too?”

Kate smiled. “He certainly was. He rarely spoke, not unless spoken to. We had to goad him into conversation.”

Jorunn’s expression darkened. “He can be like this, yes. Some times more than others.”

A red fox dashed across the trail ahead, startling Kate. It disappeared into the brush.

“What about you?” Kate asked. “We didn’t get to talk much before. I don’t really know anything about you aside from your profession and that you enjoy hiking.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Life. Family. Your pet peeves.”

“Well. My life has been good. My family is big, loud, happy, and healthy. From northern Norway. My wife and I have two new puppies that I was sad to leave for the summer. I’ll show you photos sometime—they are adorable. And by ‘pet peeve,’ you mean something annoying to me?” Jorunn thumbed behind her. “Shameless flirts.”

Kate laughed, and they came to a stop at a clearing, after which the landscape became denser with trees, mostly evergreens. Jorunn announced to the group that they would stop there for a quick break, and everyone scattered toward pockets of shade.

The weather was warm but comfortable. T-shirt and jeans weather. A light breeze licked away most of Kate’s sweat. As much as she loathed hiking, she was doing alright. After an hour or so of exertion, stamina for her became a foreign concept, but she hadn’t yet hit her wall. Others, however, were having a hard go of it, particularly Ben. He’d drunk a lot of water already and had sweat through his old t-shirt with worn lettering reading Archaeology is a lot of trowel and error.

Kate chuckled, then joined Ben under a tree.

“Hey, Papa Bear,” she said as she sat at his side.

The second her butt hit the ground, she realized she’d said that out loud and had to fight the urge to run all the way back to Colorado.

Ben looked at her, clearly distressed.

Oh, goddammit, Kate.

—

Esben watched Kate’s eyes widen with terror. A deer who had come face to face with certain death. From a bear, apparently.

She hid behind her water bottle and drank heavily. “It…it’s what Jorunn called you. It’s funny and cute. You know, given your name and the bear tattoo on your leg.”

He rubbed his inked calf. Bear god. He huffed a laugh, then realized—Kate knew the meaning behind his name.

She was carefully examining her water bottle, tracing the stickers on it. A 2024 US election sticker. A human skull. Boulder College logo. 99.5 The Mountain—likely a radio station in Colorado.

Her nervousness relaxed him.

“How did they get ben from bjørn anyway?” she asked.

“Bjǫrn, then bjørn,” he said, “then a split in languages between bera and ben. Something like this.”

Kate smiled. And Esben, losing the battle against his own insistent smile, pretended to examine the lace of his left boot.

“Am I truly such a bear?” he asked, unsure he wanted to know the answer.

“I think Jorunn meant you’re so protective. The sweeper? Sweep.”

He scratched his beard. “Position of coincidence.”

She chugged more water. “Someone has to take up the tail end. Jorunn explained it. Makes sense. And she told me you look out for your crew.”

“I suppose I do. Coincidence of position. It is what a site supervisor does.”

He caught Kate’s tilted grin.

“Okay, everyone!” Jorunn hollered. “Long day, long hike. Let’s go!”

Kate grumbled as she rose to her feet. “I’m out of shape,” she said as they continued on a steady incline.

Esben made a quick assessment of her physique and silently dissented. “Too many days in an office?” he said instead.

“Yes. No other reason whatsoever.” She narrowed her eyes at him and sputtered when she failed to contain a laugh. “I think I’ll stay back here with you, Mr. Sweep.” Whispering, she added, “That way, I can keep an eye on Erik.”

Did she mean this as avoidance or interest? “He did seem to take an interest in you.”

“I hope a root takes an interest in his toe.”

Avoidance. Definitely avoidance. “He is not a bad guy. Professionally.”

“Then, professionally, I hope he doesn’t twist his ankle, as that would just add to the annoyance of today. ’Cause between him, boob sweat, stinky bug spray, and not enough sleep, I’ve about filled my annoyance quota.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re fine.”

“Okay. I do feel responsible, though. I am the one who asked you to be here.”

“Oh, I’m glad I’m here.”

Me too, he thought as she walked ahead of him.

When they were high enough to view the landscape between gaps in the trees, Kate stopped to take photos with her hefty digital camera, its shutter audible from where he stood several dozen paces behind.

Kate didn’t point, shoot, and walk away. She embraced the scene before her, both eye and viewfinder, surely framing the perfect shot. She adjusted settings on her camera and began the process again. By the time she made her way to him, the others had moved out of his line of sight.

“This is why I am the sweep,” he said to her with a teasing grin.

“Sorry.” She smiled too, and they continued walking.

“No problem. I know the way as well as Jorunn.”

He watched Kate click through her photographs. When his gaze fell upon her chest whereon the words World’s Okayest Archaeologist were emblazoned, he looked away.

“Are you a photographer?” he asked. “I remember you took many photos at Helvetes Port.”

“I take photos. There’s a difference between being a photo-taker and a photographer. I just like capturing scenes I want to remember. A photographer creates art.”

“Is art not subjective?”

“Right. Rephrase: a photographer has a more artistic eye than I ever will. Better?”

He held back a grin. “Sure.”

“This”—she indicated the camera—“was my mom’s. She was a photographer. What about you? Do you do anything artsy?”

“I…used to draw. And play guitar, sing. As a hobby. I haven’t for years, though.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

She shrugged as well, then shrugged three more times, mocking him. But then she laughed and briefly, gently, grasped his upper arm before stepping ahead of him as the path narrowed.

Gooseflesh prickled along both his arms, but the memory of her touch was quickly replaced by the soft whip of low evergreen branches.

“Do you like concerts?” she asked with a hint of timidity as if fearing his answer. “I remember you liked the bands playing at that pub near Helvetes Port.”

“Yes, live bands in pubs. I prefer the quieter ones.”

Her head bobbed in exaggerated nods. “You would always listen to Daniel play his guitar, those folky tunes. I like concerts, including the loud kinds. Or, at least I used to. I haven’t been to a loud concert in…” She stroked a streak of grey along her ponytail. “Well, I have yet to figure out if I still like loud concerts.”

The path widened, and Kate smiled back at him, waiting for him to walk astride her. “So,” she said, “were you any good? With the guitar.”

He nearly shrugged again but turned it into a roll of his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you know. How can you not know?”

“I never asked anyone.” And he didn’t trust his family as unbiased judges.

“But using your objective internal critic. On a scale of a three-year-old’s finger paintings to Beyoncé.”

He laughed. “Eh, the middle? This is an odd method to grade talent.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be the judge. I’m no artist and I can’t carry a tune, but I can give an honest opinion.”

“I am not sure I want an honest opinion.”

“Would you prefer dishonest groveling?”

The prospect made him sneer. “No.”

“Well, then.” She was practically skipping beside him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“You’re very insistent.”

“I’m just calling in a favor for being your bioarch for the summer.”

“I am not going to sing here, now.”

She laughed and wagged a finger at him. “Oh, no, no. I want you to be at peak performance level. And I don’t know about you, but I’m already aching to go back to camp. How long is this hike supposed to be anyway?”

“Long.”

“Crap.”

Esben cracked a smile, and Kate negligently eyed him and not the path.

“Zoe brought her guitar,” she said. “I guess she likes to serenade people. You should ask if you can borrow it, play something. Like Daniel. Have everyone fawn over you. No one can resist a guitar player.” She gasped. “Maybe that’s why Zoe brought it.”

“No one would be fawning over me,” he said flatly. “Students should not fawn over me.”

Kate flashed him a tight-lipped, crooked smile, nodded once, then turned back toward the trail. She passed him, and he watched her walk. Those old jeans were doing her many favors.

His gut tightened. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to concentrate on anything else.

Pine cones. That squirrel. Bear droppings.

Jumping off the cliff they were skirting.

—

At the next break, while Jorunn waxed poetic about the magical views, Kate and Ben lay on the grass in the shade, letting their bodies huff and puff to a slower heart rate. At least that was what Kate was doing, and she figured Ben was in a similar boat, if only because he’d become increasingly taciturn.

When Kate felt better, she took in the scenery with Sam, Zoe, Alex, and two undergraduates whose names she’d forgotten. They saw a black bear—it ran away in terror, whining. Kate snapped some photos. When Jorunn recommenced her march up to higher ground, Kate found Ben still on his back, knees skyward, hands tucked under his head, acting the pillow.

“Hey, boss.” She knelt beside him. “You ready? Jorunn’s heading out again.”

He grimaced. “I need a bit longer.”

“’Kay. I’ll let the others know.”

Alex agreed to take up sweep, and Kate returned to Ben’s side.

“You should go,” he said, then winced.

“And leave you to the whims of black bears and squirrels? No, sir.” She sat cross-legged at his side and sipped her water. “You hungry? I’ve got jerky. Teriyaki and traditional.”

He gave a slight shake of the head.

“How much farther are we along the trail? Are we halfway along? Please tell me we’re at least halfway.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Eh, a third, I think.”

“Fuck.”

He chuckled, then winced again.

“Alright, out with it. What happened? Twist an ankle? Squirrel attack?”

He laughed, then groaned. “Faen!”

“Shit, you really are in pain. What’s going on?”

His sigh lasted no less than five seconds. “It’s my back. Hips. The whole area.”

“Oh. Ohhh, shhhit. Did you slip a disc?”

“About three years ago. It still hurts, sometimes, like now, in the low back.”

“Lumbar.”

“Right. And the area between hip and spine.”

“Sacroiliac joint?”

“That.”

“Fuck.”

Kate offered Ben’s body a moment of silence, mourning the loss of youth that the bad back years dragged in. He was in his early forties and still an archaeologist. She was impressed he could walk at all—the profession was brutal on the body.

How might an archaeologist’s skeleton compare to that of a construction worker, a farmer, or an ancient warrior? Robust muscle attachments from wielding heavy equipment, osteoarthritis from repetitive motions, healed injuries…

And she realized, “That’s why you sleep in the trailer.”

“It is Alex’s. He drives it here, lets me use it.”

“Well, that’s nice of him.”

“He is a good friend.”

Kate frowned. “Shit, Ben, I’m sorry. This sucks. Why did you come on the hike? Stuff like this, you can’t push yourself.”

“I was fine last year. Walking is supposed to be good.”

“Yeah, sure, in moderation. Not uphill for multiple miles carrying a pack and a water jug.”

He covered his eyes with his heavily inked forearm.

She sighed, her upper body sinking into itself. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen: we rest for as long as you need until you can walk, then we turn back.”

She lifted the brim of Ben’s floppy hat, and he peered up at her with one bright eye.

“It’s downhill,” she continued, “and we’re not yet at the halfway point. Forget the hike. You’ve seen it before, and I’ve seen enough. We can call it good.”

“Will not turning back look bad? We are supposed to be leading this group.”

“Jorunn is leading the hike. That’s its own thing. And we’re adults and can do whatever we want. They’ll understand.”

Ben grumbled but said, “Okay.” He reached for the two-way radio at his hip, but when he clicked the talk button, nothing happened. He fiddled with a few more buttons.

“Battery dead?”

“Perhaps. We can tell them what happened when we arrive at camp. There is a third radio in the kitchen.”

Using her backpack as a pillow, Kate lay beside Ben and gazed at the evergreen-laced sky. “Have you done any physical therapy?” she asked.

“Yes. And it helped. But I was never normal again. I wonder if I ever will be.”

Distant laughter from up the hill echoed down.

“Time to see the doctor again, I guess,” she said.

“Maybe.”

A pleasant breeze swept over them, and the boughs above them danced.

“It is not a good feeling, weakness.” He patted his belly. “My doctor said a lot is here. Have to get stronger. Get it all back. I lost a lot of strength.”

“You look plenty strong to me.”

“I think all this muscle is only for keeping my fat upright.”

She held in a laugh. “Nothing wrong with being fat. But you’re big-boned. So am I. Not like these gracile skeletons I analyze sometimes. Some people are built dainty, but not you, not me. I’m chunky. Hardy.” She raised a tight fist into the air. “Human skeletal variation is a beautiful thing. And it’s mainly the skeleton that keeps you upright, by the way. Muscle and tendons for locomotion. Fat for flavor.”

Ben laughed, then audibly regretted it.

“I have over-the-counter painkillers with me,” she offered. “Anti-inflammatories.”

“Okay.”

She rummaged through her pack, then handed him the pill bottle, followed by an opened pack of jerky.

“Eat,” she said, “or the ghost of my mother will nag that the pills will tear a hole in your stomach.”

His eyes went wide as he bit into a piece of jerky. “I…forgot about that. About your parents. I remember now, seeing something about it on Facebook.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I think I said something then, online. But I am. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“My sister’s husband also died in a car accident. About a year ago. But, it was a drunk driver, not a deer.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

They shared a closed-mouth, tight-lipped, solidarity smile that somehow said everything that needed to be said. The conversation ended with that quasi-smile, and Kate was thankful for it. She didn’t particularly feel like crying right now.

When Ben rose to his feet, Kate followed, picking up his water jug, and they began their slow descent back to camp. Ben’s gait was awkward, somewhere between a waddle and a limp, favoring his left leg or hip as he pressed both hands against the base of his spine.

“I think I need a cane,” he said.

“Maybe you do. We should keep our eyes open for a good walking stick.”

He voiced his agreement, and it didn’t take long for him to spot a candidate near the path. He tested its strength by leaning on it and pounding the earth with it as he strode.

“I think it will work,” he said, stopping to break off the twigs. “I can polish it at camp.”

Between the beard and the tattoos and the walking stick, Ben looked even more like a seasoned, grizzled adventurer. Like a Viking.

“I like it,” he said. “Works like a cane, but I just look like a cool outdoorsy guy with a walking stick.”

“You are a cool outdoorsy guy with a walking stick.”

He stopped at her side to toss the walking stick to his other hand. Grinning, he said, “Indeed.”

As they approached camp, he said, “I should lay down. I will feel better after.”

“Do you need me to get you anything? An ice pack?”

“Yes, I should probably do that.”

After Kate made sure Ben was settled in his trailer, she retrieved a large refreezable ice pack from the camp house kitchen.

“Hallo?” Jorunn’s voice crackled from the two-way radio hung on the kitchen wall. “Hallo? Esben? Kvar er du? Bjøøørni…”

Kate studied the radio as Jorunn muttered more foreign words, then pressed the talk button.

“Hi, Jorunn, I’m here.”

“Kate? Is Esben with you?”

“His back was hurting, so we returned to camp.”

Jorunn spat out a series of expletives that Kate only partially understood.

“Hang on,” Kate said, then knocked at Ben’s trailer door.

“Ja. Come in.”

The trailer was as expansive as Kate had expected. A two-person walkaround bed, a kitchenette with a narrow fridge, a dining nook with padded benches, a recliner, and a closet that was probably a bathroom. The trailer was the sort that would be attached to a truck, and instead of a cab it had an expansive window at the end opposite the bed with a bench below.

Ben was reclined in the bed, knees toward the ceiling, his face buried in the crook of his elbow.

“You okay?” Kate asked as she brought him the ice pack. “Sorry. Silly question.”

He accepted the ice pack with a Thank you and placed it under his lower back. The movement seemed to pain him, and he had to catch his breath.

As Kate handed him the radio, Jorunn’s staticky voice called out again in English and Norwegian.

Ben pushed the talk button. “I am here, Jorunn. Kate and I returned to camp. My back is hurting again.”

“Yes, she told me. Is it very bad?”

“Nei, nei.”

“Okay. See you later, then. You rest now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben grinned as he handed the radio back to Kate.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, stepping back from the bed. “Water? Tea? Or I could leave you alone.”

“No, stay. But tea would be nice, now that you mention…” He motioned to the kitchenette, where an electric kettle sat unplugged. “In the top drawer.”

Black for her, chamomile for him. She relaxed on the recliner and waited for her tea to cool a bit. Ben rested, eyes closed, quiet, his hot tea mug nested on his chest. For a while, he winced whenever he moved, but by the time he sat up to drink his tea, he looked less uncomfortable. When the ice pack was no longer cold, Kate placed it in his little freezer.

“Any better?” she asked.

“Yes. I sometimes fatigue quickly, feel stiff, and then the stiffness stings like knives. Inflammation.”

He inhaled his tea, gaze remaining on his mug, on his hands that held the mug.

“How did you hurt your back?”

“I don’t know.” He gripped the mug tightly, fingernails bleach-white against his sun-kissed and earth-stained fingertips. “From leaning forward or lifting weight. One day, it just…” He pressed his lips tightly together. “The MRI showed two herniated discs. They are somewhat better now, mostly healed. But…” He swept an arm out, showcasing himself.

The walking stick, rough with twig stubs and galls, leaned against the wall next to the bed. Kate finished her tea, set the mug with some water in the trailer sink, then picked up the walking stick.

“You rest,” she said, tipping the branch toward Ben. “I’ll go polish this.”

Esben felt mildly better by the time lunch was served, after which everyone gathered in the mess hall for Erik’s afternoon lecture on the history of Viking archaeology, why North American colonies failed, background about Newfoundland’s indigenous populations, the history of Andre Hjem, what they found so far, and what else they expected to find this summer.

Having heard Erik’s speech before, Esben sat at the dark end of the mess hall near the kitchen, vaguely paying attention. He was simply there as a supervisor, ready to answer questions. A boring ninety minutes.

Had he sat next to Jorunn, Alex, or especially Kate, he would have been rudely distracted. He and Jorunn, in particular, had a habit of chatting about anything and nothing, including at the least appropriate times. So he sat alone with his necessary perfect posture, somewhat propped up by his newly polished walking stick that now boasted a cloth grip near the top.

Kate sat beside students on a sofa set against the wall. Her reactions shifted in response to the varied topics, her concentration locked, brows lifting when something piqued her interest. When the light of the projected slides shifted to a golden tone, Esben was reminded of the image painted in his mind of Kate by the campfire on his twentieth birthday: glowing, fiery, divine.

He took a slow, deep breath, willing the knot in his stomach away.

“It feels wrong when I look at her,” Esben admitted to Alex that evening over tea.

Alex peered at him across the trailer’s little dining table. “Looking at her feels wrong? Exactly what awful things swim through your mind when you look at her?”

“Not like that. I just look. I can’t look away. My mind is almost blank, except… Nothing obscene. I only have feelings.” He waited for Alex to hand him an I told you so.

“What happened this morning?” Alex asked.

“My back was hurting, so we returned.”

Alex sipped his tea. “And that is all that happened?”

“Aside from talking, yes.”

“They have returned, the old feelings?”

“I don’t know. It has been one day.”

“A lot happened this day.”

Esben rolled his right shoulder and cricked his neck, then glared at his tea.

“If it feels wrong when you look at her, what you think about her, then you either tell yourself to get over it or tell her how you’re feeling to end your self-torture.”

Esben shook his head.

“I understand. Perhaps you are not ready. But it has been two years since you and Lina split. And, what, three years, since…?”

“Two and a half.”

“Okay. You must stop feeling sorry for yourself. The past is the past. Do not worry if Kate is available. Be her friend. She likes you as such—that is obvious. More, I cannot say. Be her friend, and the rest may follow.” Alex smiled warmly. “And stop worrying so much. You will give yourself more grey hairs.”

“Funny.”

“And true.” Alex stood and made for the door. “Everything alright with my trailer? Water flowing?”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

“Good. Bonne nuit.”