by Karis Walsh
Berit had been so proud of Tace on the night of her pairing challenge. Not just because she had pushed beyond her comfort zone by stepping into the spotlight and pitting her beers against a well-known and popular winery’s offerings. And not just because she had publicly tested herself against the very winery in which she’d once been treated as someone inferior.
Most of all, Berit had been proud and impressed because Tace had made damned good beer and excellent choices in her pairings. Berit had had a chance to sample the different dishes with the beer in between servings, and she’d marveled at the skill Tace had acquired in such a short time. Her taste combinations were sophisticated. Bold in some areas, like the IPA, and exceedingly subtle in others, like the fragrant hint of wildflowers in the stout.
Berit crossed her arms on her desk and rested her forehead on them. She loved the memory of the competition, but she wanted to cry when she thought of the horrible car ride home. She’d just been marveling over Tace’s gifted palate when Tace said she wanted to sell the brewery for Berit, because she loved her. Berit should have rejoiced to hear those words because they were echoed in her own heart, but instead they caused her pain. Tace had given up too much for love in the past. Now, when she finally had found her calling, she was ready to walk away from her new life and into Berit’s old one. Berit couldn’t possibly take more of Tace’s soul than she’d already given to others.
Berit raised her head and looked around her office. Even in here, where most of the mementos and photos were from digs or trips abroad, Tace’s presence was tangible to Berit. She remembered Tace helping her unpack those first, meager boxes. And Tace refuting her pretense of not caring about her classes or teaching. All the books and papers and visual aids Berit had acquired since their trip to Pullman were because of Tace, too. Berit had completely changed her teaching style after their talk.
Funny how her relationship with Tace had deteriorated as rapidly as her comfort as a professor had grown. Berit had found her teaching legs, thanks to Tace’s comments, but Berit had lost her grip on Tace. She missed her.
She’d miss her even more once all hope of even seeing her in the kitchen or passing her on the street was gone. Berit had panicked at the thought of Tace giving up her world to enter Berit’s. She wouldn’t be happy with the decision for long, Berit knew. Eventually Tace would grow resentful. She’d miss her home and hate the long hours sitting in the desert while Berit pursued her career. She’d miss her brewery, Joseph, Suds the cat, her brother and sister. Most of all, she’d miss the experience of creating something uniquely her own. Tace was the very definition of an artisan, and Berit wouldn’t let her give up her craft.
So she’d made up the story about Syria. Not completely, of course. The job was one of the potential offers she’d been considering, but she hadn’t agreed to join the team. It wasn’t even certain the project would get off the ground. But she hadn’t been able to think of any other way to make Tace stay behind.
Berit gathered the materials she needed for class and walked down the hall. She barely limped anymore and she hadn’t used her cane for a few weeks. She was ready to move on. To Syria or some other site many time zones away. Far from the temptation to call Tace and tell her she’d changed her mind. Tell her to sell the brewery, pack a bag, and come to wherever the hell Berit happened to be.
Berit set up the projector and brought up the presentation on her laptop while she waited for her advanced Greek students to arrive. The difference between this semester and the last one was startling to her. She felt sorry for the students who had endured her pained lectures in the first term, and she felt inspired by the excitement of the current crew.
“Hey, Dr. Kat.” The first student to arrive called her by the nickname she’d been given about the time her teaching style changed. It had been the first of many affirmations that she was doing something right.
Berit took a deep breath and forced thoughts of Tace to the back of her mind. She couldn’t bear to let them surface while she was working, or she’d break down in the middle of class. Get control, get through the next hour. She’d cry in her office after class was dismissed. “Hi, Leslie. How’s your final paper coming?”
They chatted for a few minutes until the rest of the class arrived. Berit dimmed the lights and showed the first slide, of a fragment of a tablet. She stared at it for a moment, forcing herself to breathe deeply and slowly. She’d gotten the idea for today’s class from Tace, who had asked about Berit’s first experience on a dig. Berit had shown her these same photos, and they’d spent three hours talking about ways of interpreting the past. Berit hoped this class would be just as inspiring to the students as Tace’s input had been to her.
“Since we’ve finished translating Herakles, I thought we could do some exercises in epigraphy, the study of inscriptions. If you look at the writing on this tablet, you’ll notice there aren’t any punctuation marks or breaks between words. In many cases, it’s clear where the breaks should be, but sometimes there are several possible ways to interpret the meaning of the inscription.”
Berit pointed at the missing corners of the tablet. “The stone here is badly damaged, leaving little text behind. My colleagues and I worked on this puzzle for over a month, and we came up with several very different translations. Usually in archaeology, we’re restricted to the small pieces of information we find. We need to make inferences and guesses about the rest, and sometimes we never know if we’re correct or not.” She walked away from the screen and perched on the edge of the table. She had to remain focused on her class instead of dwelling on the indecipherable and unsolvable puzzle of her and Tace’s ill-fated relationship. At least this archaeological conundrum had been answered to her satisfaction. “The fascinating thing about this story is what happened three months later. We actually discovered a more intact and legible tablet with the same writing. We were able to see the missing parts and determine how much of our conjecture had been right and how much was very, very wrong.”
Berit raised the lights and handed out sheets of paper with the incomplete inscription on it. “We’ll start working through this today in class, and I want you to finish translating on your own over the weekend. We’ll compare our versions next week, and then compare those with the inscription on the later find. Aaron, where would you put word breaks in the first line?”
Berit led the students through the difficult task of translation, giving them clues along the way and listening to them defend their choices when other students disagreed. She wanted to go home and share the experience with Tace, but instead she walked back to her office as soon as class was dismissed. She shut the door again, hoping a little peace and quiet would ease the tension headache she was beginning to feel behind her eyes, but she heard a sharp knock on her door as soon as she sat down. Kim opened the door and came in without an invitation, sitting in the chair across from Berit.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, tossing a paper onto Berit’s desk.
Berit picked it up and scanned it. “My evaluation of Professor Trying Too Hard. Who wears tweed jackets with suede elbow patches in a video like this? What’s he trying to prove? Maybe the more important question is, what’s he trying to hide?”
“Nothing!” Kim said. She sounded annoyed, like she usually did when she broached this subject. Berit figured she was cranky from lack of sleep, with a newborn baby boy and all. “He’s a very accomplished professor. And I know plenty of people who wear jackets like this.”
Berit raised her eyebrows and kept silent.
“Well, I know a few people who wear them. At least one.” Kim sighed. “My point is, you keep coming up with the most ludicrous reasons to reject every candidate we’ve had.”
“I do not,” Berit said. “I’m merely noticing some small but important details.”
“You haven’t said something positive about any of them.”
“I did so,” Berit said. She rubbed her temples. Anytime she had to discuss these applicants she got tense, a
nd the feeling was compounded by the way she and Tace had been circling around each other at home. She missed having her in bed. For sex, of course. And for cuddling and talking. For feeding each other dinner from take-out containers…
“Name one,” Kim said.
Berit sighed. She wanted to sit alone in the dark and feel sorry for herself, not have this same discussion with Kim. “I recall mentioning that Professor Hasn’t Washed Her Hair in Months had an interesting map on the wall behind her.”
Kim leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “I can think of two possible reasons for you to be this contrary. One, you aren’t taking your place on the hiring committee seriously. If so, you should excuse yourself from it.”
“What’s the other reason?” Berit asked, interested in spite of herself. She wasn’t quite sure why something about every single candidate seemed to jump out and irritate the hell out of her.
“You want to stay, and you’re subconsciously sabotaging anyone else’s chance of getting the job you want.”
Berit snorted. “Unlikely.”
“I don’t know,” Kim said, studying Berit with a shrewd expression. “I’ve heard some interesting reports about your classes this semester. It seems your students are actually enjoying them and are learning something. Maybe you’ve discovered you like teaching more than you expected.”
Berit rolled her eyes and gave a dismissive wave. She couldn’t come up with any other gestures to show her contempt for Kim’s suggestion. Yes, she was enjoying her classes more than she had last term. Yes, she felt proud when her students came up with original and interesting ideas because of her questions and prompts. But she only had to be here for another month. Would she be nearly as enthusiastic if she knew she’d be doing the same routine every day for the next thirty years? Not a chance. She was happy to be doing a good job, and she’d be relieved when she didn’t have to do it anymore.
“Well, we’re going to make a decision this week, whether or not you agree with our choice. You can decide if you want to treat this committee appointment with respect or not. If you do, we’ll be glad to hear your input. If not, resign.”
Kim left, and Berit picked up the evaluation form again. Kim was being ridiculous. Berit was one of the best choices for this committee because, after last semester, she considered herself an expert in bad teaching.
She sighed and tossed the form in the trash. She was finished with classes for the day, but she didn’t want to go to Tace’s house and hide in the bedroom. She could go for a walk, but everywhere she went she thought of Tace. She got a book off her shelf and opened it to the next day’s assignment for her Greek 101 class. Maybe she could find some way to make the material more interesting for both her and her students.
She tapped her fingers on the desk while she went through the chapter. This work wasn’t the same as fieldwork. The excitement of a find, the grit in her teeth, the change of scenery every few months or so—she missed them all. But she couldn’t deny that she’d been happy here, too, first-year Greek and all. When she’d been able to go home to Tace at the end of the day, when she’d had Tace to hold all night, she’d been…content? No, not the contentment she’d always dreaded because it led to stagnation. Tace had given her a sense of peace without tedium. She’d intrigued and captivated Berit, never bored her. Somehow the hours spent with her had made Berit’s entire day brighter, because she was always with Berit even if she wasn’t in the same room.
Berit still didn’t believe she was cut out to be a teacher. She was improving on the job, and she had moments of pure enjoyment while doing it, but she wasn’t convinced she belonged here. But if staying here meant having Tace in her life, then could she stay here and teach, day after day? Berit wasn’t sure, but she’d better figure out the answer before she packed up and moved to the ends of the earth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tace went into the small bathroom at the brewery and peeled off the gloves she’d been wearing while she cleaned and sanitized the cold-side equipment. She’d never realized how important these chores were until she started learning about all the contaminating organisms just waiting for a chance to sample her wort and beer. From the start, Joseph had been vigilant about cleanliness, and Tace gladly joined in the labor-intensive process. She sometimes thought they spent more time cleaning between batches than actually brewing.
She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face and arms. The temperature had risen into the eighties, but Tace didn’t mind the heat. She’d been working harder than ever since she and Berit had split—although with Berit still living in her house, they weren’t separated enough for Tace’s comfort. Every time she saw the glow of light under Berit’s door or passed her coming in or going out, she felt the nearly irresistible desire to rip down the barrier she’d put between them and take Berit into her arms. Tace was hurt and sad—the emotions she wasn’t supposed to feel because she’d known from the start Berit would leave. So she threw herself into the physical side of the brewery, heaving sacks of malt and scrubbing tanks until her arms were limp. Then she’d go outside and work in the yard, pulling weeds or dragging sacks of fertilizer across the yard.
She was falling into bed late every night, nearly collapsing under the stress of hard work and a broken heart, but she nevertheless tossed and turned while sleep eluded her. She was going to need to get past this, and soon.
Tace dried her hands and walked through the sparkling clean brewery, mentally rehearsing the words she’d use when she began doing official tours next week. She had shot glasses with her logo on them for visitors to take as a souvenir after their tastings. Stacks of T-shirts were neatly folded in the brewery office, with the labels of their regular beers on the front. She wanted to get seasonal items made eventually—sweatshirts for the winter beer and tank tops for spring and summer. She was getting new ideas almost daily now, but she wasn’t sure how much of her flurry of effort was due to her interest in the brewery and how much was just a desperate attempt to forget about Berit.
She stopped next to a mash tun and tried to remember what she was supposed to say at this stop on the tour, but all she could think of was the taste of Berit’s lips after she’d sampled the extract. She was in the malt room, too, with her hand cradled in Tace’s palm while they tasted the grains. She was everywhere in this building, in every ingredient in every beer. In every place in Tace’s heart.
She needed fresh air. And work. Tace headed outside to mow the already short grass. She had to find some way to sweat Berit out of her pores. She stepped through the door and saw Kyle’s car parked next to hers. He’d been helping at the brewery in exchange for room and board. Tace didn’t know how long his enthusiasm would last, but for now he seemed willing to help Joseph. He wasn’t supposed to be working today, so Tace scanned the yard, looking for him, but when she turned around she saw Berit instead. She was sitting by the old woodpile—Tace couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it—and flicking a piece of grass for Suds to chase.
Tace wanted to turn and run the other way, but she forced herself to walk toward Berit. They’d spent so much time being intimate and close, it was difficult to reconcile their ease in touching and kissing with the new tension between them.
“Hi, Tace,” Berit said when she got close.
Tace sighed at the sound of her voice. She’d missed it. She’d missed everything about Berit. “What are you doing here?” she asked. She sounded curt, but she couldn’t be anything else. If she opted for something softer, she’d lose her control.
“Kyle let me borrow his car. I wanted to talk to you, and I couldn’t wait until you got home.”
Was she leaving already? Would she be gone by this evening? Tace’s eyes felt wet, but she brushed at the tears with a jerky movement. “So, this is good-bye?”
Berit shook her head and glanced toward the brewery, as if expecting to see Joseph half-hidden in the shadows. “Is there somewhere more private where we can talk?”
Tace wanted to
say no, to tell Berit to get out of this place because Tace wouldn’t be able to bear it when she had left for good but reminders of her were everywhere. Even though Tace needed to protect herself, she couldn’t resist the look in Berit’s eyes and Berit’s need to talk. She shrugged off her personal misgivings about being alone with Berit and started walking toward the river, toward her favorite spot on the property and one still untouched by Berit’s presence.
Tace was careful to keep from touching Berit as they walked the short distance to the clearing on the corner of the brewery’s acre. She had mown the grass yesterday, and the surrounding hawthorns and salal gave the area a sense of complete privacy. This had been her mini-version of the hikes she’d been missing, her one place to get away from everyone and everything. Now Berit was here, and her memory always would be. Tace sat on the ground near the meandering stream and hugged her knees to her chest.
She wanted to maintain some distance, but Berit refused to do the same. She sat behind her, with her legs on either side of Tace, and pulled Tace against her, so her back was pressed against Berit’s chest. Berit had been silent on the walk from the parking lot, but as soon as Tace was in her arms, she spoke. “I took the job.”
“I know,” Tace said, trying unsuccessfully to pull out of Berit’s hold. “Syria. You told me.”
“Not Syria. I took the job at Whitman,” Berit said. She loosened her hold and Tace was free, but she didn’t move away. “I’ll be teaching here next year.”
Tace held perfectly still while she processed Berit’s meaning. “But you don’t like teaching.”
“I like it more this semester. And I’m better at it. Who knows how I’ll feel in another year or two.”
“Bored stiff?” Tace offered with a humorless laugh. Berit was saying the words Tace hadn’t dared hope to hear, but she didn’t believe them yet. She didn’t believe this plan—the one Tace wanted more than anything—would make Berit happy.