Page 1 of Troy Story
CHAPTERONE
Dusty Danforth had faced down venomous snakes, deadly scorpions, and surly camels. None of them had proved quite as intimidating as her mother when she was in a disapproving mood. Her anger hardly seemed rational. If anyone should understand the need to spend the summer working on an excavation, it should be Dr. Louisa Danforth, world-renowned archaeologist and scholar of Egyptology.
But while Dr. Danforth had a PhD, Dusty did not. Hence the argument.
Dusty sat across from her mother on the balcony of their family’s apartment in Cairo. Despite the sweltering June temperature, Dr. Danforth was drinking Earl Grey tea from a china cup. Even during her years in the field, she’d allowed few things to disrupt her afternoon tea break.
She frowned at her daughter. “You can’t keep flitting from one project to the next. No matter how alluring they’ve seemed, none of them have resulted in a worthy dissertation topic. That’s where you should focus your attention this summer. Not at some dig site in Turkey.”
Dusty cast a wistful glance at the Nile, shimmering in the distance. “It’s just for two months. I don’t see how—”
“Dulcinea Danforth. You have spent five years in graduate school, and you havenothing to show for it except a handful of drawings. You need to get serious about your future.”
Not for the first time, Dusty fought back a surge of resentment. It wasn’t like she’d been doodling in a notebook. She was a trained archaeological illustrator whose artwork had appeared in dozens of scholarly publications. She had a master’s degree in Classics. And shehatedthe name Dulcinea. She’d been going by Dusty since she was three.
But if she didn’t offer a concession, her mother wouldn’t stop nagging. “Once the summer ends, I promise I’ll go home to Boston.”
“You won’t go jetting off to Cyprus again? Or Tunisia? I realize you’re old enough to make your own choices, even if you dress like you’re sixteen instead of twenty-six.”
Another hit. Her mother had brought out the big guns today. But not everyone could pull off a cream linen pantsuit and a perfectly coiffed bob the way Dr. Danforth could. Dusty preferred comfort over style, which was why she usually opted for baggy cargo pants and graphic tees. Today’s shirt was a vintage Muppets tee that she’d scored at the Dolapdere flea market in Istanbul.
“If you can acknowledge that I’m a fully grown adult, then it’s time you treated me like one,” she said. “My clothes are my own business. Same with my summer plans.”
Her mother gave a world-weary sigh—the kind that made Dusty feel like a naughty little kid. “I realize that, dear, but sometimes you need a nudge. You get so caught up in these short-term adventures you lose sight of your goals. If you want a doctorate, you need to put in the work.”
Dusty was well aware her efforts to finish grad school had stalled out. Though she’d completed the coursework for a PhD in Classical Archaeology and passed all her exams, she had yet to start writing her dissertation. Mainly because she vastly preferred drawing to writing. Only when she was immersed in her artwork did her creative spirit truly run free. She could spend hours sketching without noticing the time passing. Writing, however, was like a slog through a murky lake where she struggled to dredge up the words.
But no matter how much art she created—whether it was her detailed technical commissions or her fanciful, Egyptian-themed drawings—none of it would aid her in writing her thesis. The only way to complete the Herculean task was to settle on a topic, stick to it, and set everything else aside.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to keep letting you down,” she said. “Starting in September, I won’t take on any new projects until I’ve written my dissertation.”
“Why wait until then? What’s so important about this dig in Turkey?”
Dusty bit back a grin. “It’s pretty special. Located near the Dardanelles in a place called Hisarlik. Ever heard of it?”
The briefest of smiles crossed her mother’s lips. “Naturally. The site believed to be the legendary city of Troy. I was eight when I readThe Iliadfor the first time. What an epic—the agony of the Trojan War, with its tragic heroes and meddling Greek gods. I wanted so badly for all of it to be true.”
“Some of the stories could be. No one knows for sure. But I didn’t accept the job just because of the location. Stuart’s serving as the assistant director of the American excavations there. It’s the first time he’s ever had this much responsibility, and I want to support him.”
Unlike her, Stuart Carlson—her best friend and fellow dig buddy—had finished his dissertation last winter. Upon receiving his doctorate from UC San Diego, he’d landed a plum teaching job at the University of Boston. Though he wasn’t scheduled to start teaching until September, he’d been asked to help run the university’s dig at Troy. When he’d invited Dusty to join the team as the site illustrator, she’d accepted without question.
Fortunately, her mother had a soft spot for Stuart because his father was an archaeologist who’d spent years working with the Danforths in Egypt. As a result, Stuart and Dusty had grown up together, weathering countless seasons on their parents’ expeditions.
Dr. Danforth set her teacup on the wrought-iron table. “I would never dissuade you from helping Stuart. He’s like a part of the family.” She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “But is that theonlyreason you agreed to join him?”
A flush of heat crossed Dusty’s cheeks. In a moment of weakness, she’d told her mother how she really felt about Stuart. Big mistake. “Of course. We’ve always been there for each other. But we’re just friends. That’s not about to change.”
“No? Because I heard from Stuart’s father that the poor boy is finally free of that vapid Shelby.”
Dusty gave an involuntary shudder. Tall, blond, and athletic, Shelby was the quintessential California girl, almost too perfect to be true. While Dusty couldn’t fault her for achieving perfection, shedidblame her for putting Stuart through a lengthy and toxic relationship that had left him emotionally gutted.
“If you ask me, he wasted far too many years on Shelby,” Dr. Danforth said. “She was never right for him. Whereas you—”
“Nope.” Dusty held up her hand. “We’re not going to talk about this.”
“Fair enough. But Dusty…” Dr. Danforth narrowed her eyes. “After this summer, if you don’t get serious, I’ll have to cut you off.”
Dusty’s mouth fell open in shock. “What are you talking about? I earn my own living.” In addition to her academic commissions and her on-site gigs as an archaeological illustrator, she made a fair amount through her popular Etsy shop, where she sold her Egyptian-themed pieces.
