Love on Tap

by Karis Walsh

  “In everything I do,” Tace said. She turned around with a smile. She hadn’t even had a chance to scope out the night’s prospects from among the bar’s clientele, and the brunette in front of her seemed to have saved her the trouble. “I’m Tace, and this is Allie.”

  “Lynn.” She set down the beer she was holding and shook hands with both of them, giving Tace a chance to check her out. She was pretty, with long legs and enough buttons undone to give Tace a hint of full breasts.

  Allie put her darts on the table. “Why don’t you take my place, Lynn? I’ll go keep your friend over there company while the two of you…play.”

  She left just enough of a pause between words to make Tace laugh. “What do you say, Lynn? Want to play?”

  “Definitely,” Lynn said. She stood in place for a few seconds and then slapped her forehead with a playful gesture. “Oh, wait. Do you mean play darts? Well, okay, I guess.”

  She bumped her shoulder against Tace’s on her way to the line and took aim. The first dart missed the board completely, but the second landed in the triple ring.

  “Either that was an extremely lucky shot, or I’ve just met a hustler. Which is it?” Tace rested one elbow on the table and took another swallow of beer. The evening was going exactly as she needed it to, apparently. Lynn was playful and nice looking, and she’d taken the pressure off Tace by approaching her first. A promising start to a rare fun and carefree night.

  Lynn paused before throwing her third dart. “Care to bet on which one I am?”

  “I’m game.” For anything. “What’s the wager?”

  “If I make less than thirty points on this next toss, I’ll buy the drinks for the rest of the night. If I make more, I get a kiss from you.”

  Tace was beginning to like this game. “Deal.”

  Lynn took her time aiming, and she dropped the dart in the double ring again. “Ha! Eighteen and eighteen, if I’m not mistaken, make thirty-six. Pay up.”

  Gladly. Tace put her beer down and walked slowly over to Lynn. She cupped Lynn’s cheek with one hand and leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. She lingered there a moment, not pushing further, but with a hint of desire in her firm pressure. Like the beer, Lynn’s kiss was nice and refreshing. Nothing earth-shattering, but Tace didn’t want fireworks. She wanted a break from normal for one night.

  “Another impressive skill,” Lynn said. She retrieved her darts and wrote her score on the board. She made an extravagant show of checking out Tace’s ass when she got up to take her turn. “You seem to be a woman with many assets.”

  Tace laughed and her shot went wide of its mark. “You’re distracting me on purpose.” She took careful aim and made a better throw.

  “I’ll behave. For now,” Lynn said. “Say, are you here for the seminar, too? I thought I recognized you from registration.”

  Tace threw her last dart without much care. She had a sinking feeling about the sudden turn her evening seemed to be taking. How easy to simply go along with the story. Yes, I’m here for the seminar. I noticed you, too.

  She couldn’t pretend, not even for one night. “No, I live here in town. What seminar?”

  “I didn’t know there were others going on at the same time. Mine is on curriculum planning for philosophy programs. Are you on faculty here?”

  Tace frowned. When she had been younger, she had been easily recognizable as a townie. Now, she was often asked this same question, and she wasn’t sure what had changed in her to make the difference. So Lynn was a philosophy professor. What would they have to talk about? Not that Tace had been planning on lengthy conversations tonight. But what would Lynn say when Tace told her she worked at Drake’s department store? That she had scraped by to get her high-school diploma, but nothing more? Tace wasn’t about to stick around and find out.

  She tugged her darts out of the board one by one and returned to the table. She stuck out her hand. “Lynn, it was great meeting you tonight. I hate to run off like this, but I just remembered something I have to do.”

  Not exactly a graceful exit, but Tace couldn’t think of another way to get out of the bar fast. Lynn shook her offered hand with a look of confusion on her face. Tace stopped by the table where Allie was chatting up Lynn’s friend.

  “I need to go,” Tace said. “Early morning tomorrow.” She walked toward the door, but Allie followed and caught her arm before she could open it.

  “What’s wrong, Tace?” Allie’s expression was concerned, but when she glanced over at Lynn, she seemed to read the situation all too well. “Tace, you don’t need to go. You’re worth more than any degree—”

  Tace stopped her with a wave of her hand. “Don’t, Allie. And don’t say anything to them.”

  “Of course I won’t. Okay, you can go. But wait for me to get my purse and I’ll come with you.”

  “No. Stay. Have fun.” Tace sometimes envied Allie’s confidence. She got along as easily with tenured professors as with the janitors at the college. She didn’t seem fazed by any differences between her and anyone else, but Tace couldn’t do the same. She couldn’t bear to be pitied for any reason.

  She walked outside and took a deep breath. The sun was starting to set, and the sky to the west was washed with oranges and pinks. Tace walked in that direction and pulled out her phone. She hit speed dial and waited five rings until Christiana answered.

  “Tace? What’s up?” Chris’s voice sounded cheerful and carefree. Exactly how Tace wanted her to sound.

  “Nothing much. I just wanted to check on you. Did you register today?”

  “I did. I got all the classes I wanted. Even the medieval lit class I thought might be full.”

  “Great, Chris.” Tace stopped at a crosswalk on Isaacs and smacked the button for the walk signal several times. “Do you have enough cash for books and everything?”

  “I’m good. Tace, are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Everything is fine. Look, I’ll call you later this week. E-mail me your schedule so I can see what classes you’ll be taking.”

  “I will. Take care, sis.”

  “You, too,” Tace said even though Chris had already ended the call. She was working on her master’s at Oregon State. Tace felt a muddled mixture of emotions every time she thought of Chris and what she was doing. She’d be the first Lomond to get a college degree of any kind, let alone an advanced one. Tace was enormously proud of her sister, and admittedly a little envious when she allowed the feeling to rise. Mostly, she never wanted Chris to experience the sense of being insignificant or unworthy that Tace felt when she met someone like Lynn. She wanted Chris to be proud and accomplished, and she’d make it happen no matter how hard she had to work.

  Tace turned right on Hobson Street. She was climbing the steps leading to her yellow-and-white Craftsman-style house when her phone buzzed again. Kyle. Great—just what she needed tonight. She sighed and answered.

  “Hey, Kyle. What do you want?”

  “I’ve got some exciting news, sis! When are you working tomorrow?”

  “Five to close. What’s the news?” Tace had no doubt it would be exciting, but probably not in a way she’d think was positive.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Can you meet me about ten?”

  He gave her an address on the outskirts of town, and she reluctantly agreed before hanging up. She unlocked her front door and entered the dark and silent living room. One thing she knew for sure. If her brother was involved, she’d better bring along her checkbook.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Berit Katsaros wove through the temporary city of tents and tarps on her way to the tin shack that served as the dig’s HQ. She stopped to rest for a moment and mopped her sweaty forehead with the corner of a red kerchief she had tied over her short blond hair. She was accustomed to the desert heat of Europe, Asia, and North Africa, but the combination of high humidity and near-constant rainfall here in the tropical lowlands of Peru sapped her energy. Since her first experiences with field school back in the su
mmers of her undergrad days, she had learned to remove her attention from physical discomfort and focus on the work she was doing. She had gotten too soft, too acclimated to a certain set of conditions. She had come to South America for a change of pace while she was between jobs—unable to sit still and be idle for long—and she was glad she had. Since she had first stepped off the floating piece of timber that had passed as a boat in Yurimaguas, she had felt the conflicting swing between the exhilaration of being in a new place with a new project and a weariness settling deep in her muscles and tendons.

  Work. Work would eventually ease her troubling lack of energy. She had been fighting a sense of ennui for months now, and the oppressive heat at this archaeological site was aggravating her emotions. She quickly covered the last few yards to the hut and opened the corrugated metal door, clenching her teeth at the squeal of rusty hinges.

  “You must be Jim. I’m Berit,” she said, crossing to the young man and shaking his hand. He was an inch or so taller than her five-eight height, with dark-framed hipster glasses and wearing black jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He still smelled like a newcomer. She inhaled the scents of detergent and shampoo and felt an almost physical longing for a shower of her own. Clean hair and freshly washed clothes, using all the chemicals the big detergent companies could supply. Heavenly.

  Give him two days using the shared latrine and bathing with a bucket of cold river water, and the olfactory remnants of civilization would be gone. She wondered whether his interest in this career would fade as quickly. His expression was one she remembered from her early days—eager and anticipatory. Certain he was about to uncover a find equivalent to the lost city of Troy. She had agreed to let him join the dig here as a favor to a friend, but she was hoping his enthusiasm would help rejuvenate her own. She always got energized by introducing young students and budding archaeologists to her world, although not all of them were able to sustain their own interest for more than a week or two on the job.

  “Thank you for having me here, Dr. Katsaros. I’m thrilled to be able to work with you and I can’t wait to get started.”

  “Call me Berit. And we’re glad to have you here. We’re very short-handed at the moment.” A phrase that usually didn’t need stating on any given dig—when were they ever not short-handed? “Come along and I’ll give you the tour. Bring your bag and we’ll stop by the dorms first.”

  Berit led the way to the two large tents set up behind the headquarters building. She pulled back the flap of one of them and pointed at a vacant bunk. A few of the other cots were occupied with sleeping workers who were taking a quick siesta during the heat of the day. Because of the heat and the number of underground sites, a lot of the archaeologists did their work during the cooler nights, with the help of large floodlights. Berit had discovered that when she needed time alone to refresh and recharge, she had to seek refuge in an excavated tomb or building or take a walk in the thick forest. At any given time, the sounds of snores filled the tents.

  Jim put his duffel bag on the cot and looked around. Berit could see his already disconcerted expression. She understood, and she’d gone through the same range of emotions herself. The transition from being an idealistic and unrealistic archaeology student—when too many of their future dreams and hopes were based on movies and television—to living in the actual dirty and uncomfortable world of a site was a wrenching one. What happened next, once disillusionment gave way to the reality of life in the trenches, either created or destroyed a career.

  “I guess when you called this a dorm, I was expecting something more like a…building,” he said once they were outside again. “Where are the, um, facilities?”

  Berit pointed toward the tree line. “A few hundred yards in that direction. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to smell your way to the latrine.”

  Jim smiled. “Doc Martinson said you weren’t one to sugarcoat life out here. I guess she wasn’t joking.”

  Berit returned his smile, with fond memories of her friend. She and Kim Martinson—Kim Price at the time—had entered grad school together at UC Berkeley. She had gone on to specialize in Classical Archaeology, while Kim had focused on the textual side of Classics. Kim had stayed in the States, married, and was now a tenured professor at Whitman College. Berit’s journey had taken her to far-off and ever-changing places, but the two had remained good friends. When Kim had promising undergrads with an interest in archaeology, she tested their resolve by sending them to work with Berit for a few weeks before they applied to graduate school. Why have them waste years of their lives and thousands of dollars if they aren’t going to cut it in the field? If anyone can dishearten the brave but foolhardy, it’d be you, Berit.

  Kim had meant her words to be a compliment, and Berit had taken them that way. Sharing her beloved work with fresh, young minds was rewarding, but giving them a dose of reality was even more important. She felt as if she was initiating them into an elite club. Anyone who wanted could join, and she helped students figure out if they were willing to commit to the lifestyle she had chosen. The dues were steep—often uncomfortable and primitive living conditions, and little pay relative to the amount of schooling and unpaid fieldwork necessary to gain a foothold in the discipline. The work was always intense. Intensely and earthshakingly boring at times, intensely mind-consuming and thrilling at others.

  Berit ducked under a piece of loose canvas doubling as a door to the excavation site and shook rainwater out of her hair. She and Jim stood in the spacious entryway to the burial site beyond. This area had long ago been cleared of artifacts, and now it was the center of activity at the dig. Textbooks and albums full of photos taken of earlier finds covered makeshift shelves that were carved into the walls. Long tables were covered with remains and pottery shards. Most cleaning, sorting, and cataloging took place here, along with the collaborative brainstorming Berit enjoyed with her coworkers. Questions were raised and answered around these tables, strengthening the sense of family she felt with her colleagues as they all worked together to decipher the past.

  “Kim said you had photography experience.”

  “Um, sure.”

  Jim was frowning. He had probably been expecting to be in the trenches with trowel and brush, unearthing incredible riches. Well, his romantic ideas were about to be squashed. Berit took a tripod and digital camera off one of the tables. “Your main job while you’re here will be as camp photographer. We need general shots of each dig site. Most are tomb chambers, but there are some outdoor trenches as well. We had a plastic sheet somewhere”—Berit held up a crinkly piece of clear plastic she found under the table—“for the rain. Anyway, you’ll also be taking find shots. The tripod is rigged so you can use it like normal, or you can suspend the camera underneath and take pictures from above bones in situ.”

  “Okay.” Jim took the camera when she handed it to him. He looked so disappointed, she felt compelled to reassure him.

  “I know it isn’t the most glamorous job, but it’s very necessary to what we’re doing here. Not only will you have access to all the trenches and tombs, you’ll also be able to observe a variety of archaeologists doing fieldwork. If you keep your eyes open and ask some good questions, this could be an extraordinary experience for you. Besides, since you’ll be viewing the finds from all angles, at each step of the process, you might be the one who figures out the use or meaning of an object. Something we might miss if we don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle like you will.”

  “I wasn’t complaining,” he said in a rush, as if hurrying to reassure her of his willingness to work. “I’ll do anything just for the chance to be here. It’s just…well, I think Dr. Martinson might have slightly exaggerated my photography abilities.”

  Berit bit her lip to keep from chuckling at his worried expression. Had she ever been so earnest and eager? She didn’t feel either one right now. “Exactly what is your experience with cameras?”

  “I can use the one on my phone to take selfies.”

  She burs
t out laughing and was glad when he joined her. A sense of humor always came in handy in the field. “The manual for the camera is in the case. How fast can you learn?”

  “I’ll have it memorized by tomorrow.”

  He said it with a grin, but she had a feeling he wasn’t lying. She’d need to have a little chat with Kim about padding her students’ résumés, but she understood why she had wanted to give this student a chance to prove himself. He reminded her of her younger self, and the comparison made her sad somehow. She couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe she was just tired. She’d been working hard for the past two years, and for her first free month in ages she’d chosen to come here to Peru.

  She took the camera from Jim and put the whole kit back where she had found it. “We’ll finish the tour and pick up the camera and manual on the way back.”

  She was about to lead him through the tunnel at the far side of the room and into the tombs when a man and a woman came through the opening with a gurney. Another of the skeletons. Berit felt the familiar prickle of excitement.

  “Is this the one?” she asked. She hurried over to the table. Introductions were made in the form of orders since she felt an urgency to get the body settled, even though the woman had been dead for centuries. “Jim, help Mark hold the stretcher and Lisa and I will move her.”

  Berit and Lisa each held two corners of the plastic sheet and lifted it off the gurney and onto the table. The bones had been carefully and precisely returned to the position they were in when discovered, and Berit was anxious not to disturb them during the relocation. She stood back and looked at the unusual positioning of the eroding skeleton.

  “Female, post-adolescent,” Mark said. “We have no idea why she’s the only one curled on her side, when every other body we’ve found has been supine.”

  Berit walked slowly around the table while the three made their formal introductions. Jim asked the same questions she and the other archaeologists had been asking since the find, two days before. Was she buried apart from the others? No. Did she seem to be either royal or wealthier than the others, or maybe of a lower class? No, neither seemed to be indicated. They had hoped to have more answers once the body was fully and painstakingly exhumed, but they still only had questions.