A Fugitive Truth
Page 32
I walked over to the little glass-topped case and carefully reorganized the lithic and ceramic pieces that Michael had mixed up, moved out of order. I didn’t feel a weight tumble off me, or anything dramatic like that. But I did feel as though a heavy, barred door had opened a crack, and that was enough.
I wondered about my attitude toward work too. Was I too dedicated? Was there such a thing, short of Harry’s compulsion? Was it worth it? I’d tackled everything else in my life so ambitiously, what would it look like, what would happen, if I made the same time for myself? For me and Brian? The little puritan inside of me shuddered to think of the work ethic channeled for fun. For living. Something like anticipation kindled at the thought, and I carefully set it aside to consider later. I had a lot of thinking to do, but now, not all of it was grim.
“Are we done talking about you, now?” Michael sounded like a six-year-old pushed beyond all bounds of patience. “It’s my turn, I want to tell you my secret.”
I could manage almost half a grin. I shut the glass case and turned to him. “Okay, what’s your secret?” I said like an indulgent parent.
But Michael wasn’t smiling. Michael had suddenly turned serious. “Emma, I can’t help myself,” he said, wringing his hands. “I’m so in love.”
My heart seized up in mid-thump and sat there immobile in my chest. “Ah, uh, that’s, I—”
“I know it’s sudden, but some good must come out of all this, don’t you think?” He was begging me to agree with him.
I could barely think. My hands went cold as my face went hot, remembering his talk of brainy women who were well endowed; Bucky was always telling me that I took her share, in that department. “Sudden—ah, well, yes, as you say—”
“I think we should get married right away, and Sasha thinks so too.”
“Sasha? Sasha?” I sounded like a confused parrot. “What can Sasha—?” Then light dawned and, with a big, nearly audible glug, my heart started beating again. It felt like it does when you swallow too much all at once. I could tell by the warmth of my face that I hadn’t finished blushing, though.
“Yes, what can Sasha be thinking, so soon after it turns out her boyfriend is—was—an evil, psycho madman who’s just croaked himself?” Michael mused dramatically. “Even if poor Harry was a misguided fellow with an overweening sense of duty to the past, I’m thinking that Sasha’s vulnerable now, and that gives me months, even years, before she learns to loathe me and becomes ex-wife Number Five.”
I laughed out loud. “What were you just telling me about power and responsibility?”
“This is different,” he shook his head and waved both hands, conveniently dismissing everything he just told me. “What do you say?”
“Well, maybe it is different,” I mused. “Sasha won’t be working in the same institution as you. And she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Maybe she—”
“Hopping Hades, Emma, I’m not asking for your blessing, I’m asking you if you’ll come to the wedding, if and when it happens! Jesu Christo mio, someone I know really does think she’s the center of the universe,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Is dinner soon? I’m starving. And where’s the can? I’ve got a bourbon rental I’ve got to return.”
Having directed Dr. Glasscock toward the bathroom, I went downstairs. I looked around, realizing the amount of work we’d put into the house, and it was so much better now that there was no comparison. I could ease up on myself, if I wanted to, give things a rest, to really enjoy what Brian and I had already. Bucky was right, and Margaret Chandler was right: fact and truth are different. The fact was that I’d felt overwhelmed, but in truth I could say I liked my life as it was now, and if I backed off on things that weren’t so important, like the repairs, and the things that were soon to be out of my control, like my tenure review, I might have the chance to enjoy it all. Like I’d told Harry, I really did have the right to decide for myself. And I had a right to enjoy it, too.
In the kitchen, Brian looked up from his dinner preparations, expectantly, a question in his eyes.
I walked over to the sink, rinsed out my glass, then set it on the dish rack to dry before I nudged myself gently under Brian’s free arm.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said. “Want some help with those carrots?”
But he didn’t even get a chance to answer me: the phone rang. Michael, of course, coming down the stairs, took it upon himself to answer it.
“No, it’s not Brian, it’s Michael, who’s this? Kam? What? Someone named Marty is having a baby? Isn’t that a guy’s name? Okay, keep your shirt on, buddy, I’ll make sure I tell them.” He hung up and turned to me. “Hey Emma—?”
But I was reaching for my bag, tossing the car keys to Brian, who was already turning off the stove.
“Sorry, Michael, but you’re on your own for dinner, I’m afraid. Sophia Asefi-Shah is on her way into the world, and there’s no way I’m going to miss that.”
Acknowledgments
As with every book—and endeavor—I’ve relied on many people for advice and encouragement. These include my own Diego, Ann Barbier, Pam Crane and Peter Morrison, Beth Krueger, the Thursday Morning Ladies (Cathy Bennett, Linda Blackbourn, Mildred Jeffrey, Roberta MacPhee, and Joan Sawyer), my agent Kit Ward, and my editor at Avon, Sarah Durand. My neighbor Pierre A. Walker, Professor of English, Salem State College was more than helpful with his advice on things academic. Detective Sergeant Leonard Campanello of the Saugus Police Department was generous and enthusiastic with his advice, and I thank him for it. I borrowed some of Harry’s examples of extreme bibliomania from Nicholas A. Brisbanes’ A Gentle Madness: Bibliophiles, Bibliomanes, and the Eternal Passion for Books. If anyone’s ever accused you of being nutty about books, read his book; you’ll feel better about yourself and your harmless, peaceable habit.
About the Author
DANA CAMERON is a professional archaeologist, with a Ph.D. and experience in Old and New World archaeology. She has worked extensively on the East Coast on sites dating from prehistoric times to the nineteenth century. Ms. Cameron lives in Massachusetts. Her web address is www.danacameron.com. A Fugitive Truth is her fourth novel featuring archaeologist Emma Fielding, following Site Unseen, Grave Consequences and Past Malice.
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Also by Dana Cameron
SITE UNSEEN
GRAVE CONSEQUENCES
PAST MALICE
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A FUGITIVE TRUTH. Copyright © 2004 by Dana Cameron. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2007 ISBN 9780061744082
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