Page 43 of Troy Story
Without a word, Stuart went behind her and massaged her back and shoulders. As his firm hands kneaded her muscles, she groaned with relief. She’d spent too many hours sitting hunched over. When she leaned back into him, he kissed the top of her head. “Let’s walk a bit. All right?”
“You led me on with that massage, and now we’re just going to walk?” But when he pointed to the road, she took his hand and went with him.
As they strolled along the side of the road, he kept quiet. Was he waiting for her to speak first? To explain why she’d succumbed to a tantrum like a little kid? “Sorry. I don’t know why this is so hard for me.”
His voice was gentle. “Can I ask you something? Why get a PhD? Is it because you’ve invested five years at Harvard? You already have a master’s degree, which is a huge accomplishment.”
“Funny how my mom never seems to acknowledge that,” Dusty muttered. “But I don’t regret any of the time I’ve put into grad school. I’ve taken some great classes and gotten to work at a lot of amazing sites.” She’d always enjoyed the learning aspect of academia. It was the writing that killed her. And a dissertation involved a ton of writing. Best-case scenario, she’d have to crank out at least two hundred pages.
“Then is it because you want to teach? Or work in the curatorial department of a museum? Or do you want the honor of calling yourself Dr. Danforth?”
She let out a huff of exasperation. “You know I don’t care about titles or academic rank. It’s because of my parents.”
“I didn’t ask about them. I asked about you, Dulcinea Francesca Danforth. Do you want any of those things?”
Using her full name was a low blow. When a car sped by, she inched over. Walking along a country road at night wasn’t the safest move, but she liked the forward motion. It was easier to open up to Stuart when she wasn’t looking him in the eye. “No. But my mom threatened to cut me off if I didn’t get serious about my future. Which means the PhD thing matters a lot to her. I’m the only shot she and my dad have at carrying on our family’s legacy.”
Not only were her parents noted archaeologists, but her maternal grandfather was a professor who had excavated in Egypt for years. Her dad’s parents were academics as well. Everywhere she went, she was surrounded by brilliant people with PhDs.
“Don’t you think your folks would prefer it if you did something you loved?” Stuart asked. “You’re a talented artist—why not follow that path and see where it leads? I’ve known you for almost twenty years, and you’re always happiest when you’re drawing.”
As they continued walking, she mulled over his words. Though she loved archaeology, loved the act of discovery and the camaraderie of the crew, her happy place was at her illustration table, drawing the finds from the day’s work. When she was back at home, be it Boston or Cairo or London, she could easily spend hours lost in her art. Not so with writing. Even if she removed all other distractions, she found it a struggle to arrange her thoughts into coherent paragraphs. It was a wonder she’d made it this far in academia.
After another ten minutes, they turned around and headed back to the field house. Stuart led her over to one of the picnic tables and sat beside her with his hand resting on her thigh. “I’d never tell you what to do, but you’ve always stood up for everyone else. Why not stand up for yourself?”
She imagined calling her mother to confess she was dropping out of grad school. Or worse yet, telling her in person. She rubbed her hands over her arms, suddenly chilled at the prospect of a confrontation. “I don’t want my mom to hate me.”
“She wouldn’t hate you. Maybe she’d be disappointed, but she’d learn to live with it.”
As much as Dusty loved Stuart, he could be so oblivious. “Easy for you to say. You’ve done everything right—played by the rules, gotten perfect grades, finished your doctorate in record time, and landed a great job. Your parents must be proud as hell.”
“They are, but it still hasn’t been easy, and…” When his voice caught, she stared at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, yes, I’ve played by the rules, and I’ve gotten everything I wanted, and—let’s face it—I’m a straight white male, which comes with a ton of privilege. But academia is still a huge crapshoot. Do you know how lucky I was to land a teaching job? A tenure-track job at a great university? Of all the PhD students in my field, only a handful of us got jobs right away. The others? Working in contract archaeology, from project to project. Or taking an adjunct position that might not be renewed. Or doinganythingto pay off student loans in the hopes of finding a real job next year.”
She hadn’t considered how fortunate he’d been. Last summer, when he’d admitted he was worried about finding a job, she’d assumed he’d land one with little difficulty. But she also remembered that he’d applied everywhere he might have a chance, even if it meant he could end up in a city where he didn’t know a soul.
“I’m sorry it was such an ordeal. Is that why you’ve been so careful around Hughes?”
“Partly. I don’t want to screw up, not when there are dozens of recent graduates who’d gladly take my place.” He stroked her hair. “Anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I know your mom is intimidating, but think about what I said. No sense making yourself miserable, especially since a PhD won’t guarantee you a job.”
For the first time ever, she allowed herself to envision a different path. Making a living as an artist was risky as hell, but she’d built up a lot of connections in the archaeological community with her academic commissions. She’d also be willing to work in graphic design if need be. She’d rather produce commercial artwork than write a bunch of scholarly articles.
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate the support.”
“Anytime. Like you said when we were in Bergama, it’s easier to solve someone else’s problems than your own. Maybe that’s why I was so clueless about my relationship with Shelby. I kept trying to make it work, even when it was obvious she was totally wrong for me.”
After Dusty’s first night at the field house, when she’d argued with Stuart about Shelby, she hadn’t brought up his ex again. It was just too painful to talk about. But with Stuart giving her an opening, she seized the chance to ask the question that had plagued her for years. “Since we’re being honest, why’d you stay with her for so long? I know she was rich and athletic and stunningly beautiful, but she put you through so much grief.”
He let out a lengthy sigh. “My parents asked me that, too. When I first started dating her, I thought I’d found my match since she wanted the same things I did. But the longer we were together, the more critical she got. Like the way she’d mock me for being a ‘perpetual grad student.’ I put up with it because…she really messed with my head. So much that I was afraid if I ended things, I’d never find someone who felt the same way she did. Someone who loved me enough to want to spend their whole life with me.”
Dusty clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to hurl curses at Shelby. She wanted to jump back in time and smack her sideways for messing with Stuart’s psyche. “Are you serious? You’re an amazing guy. You’re kind, thoughtful, and so smart it makes my head hurt.”
“I’m also a giant ancient history nerd.”
She snorted. “Being a nerd is sexy these days. Plus, you’ve got a great body, and you’re rocking an incredibly hot beard.”
