Page 49 of Troy Story
“Because sometimes you can’t just sit back and let terrible people do shitty things. Sometimes you have to take a fucking stand.”
Didn’t she get it? Even after their talk last night, she still didn’t understand what he was up against. It wasn’t like he condoned Dr. Hughes’ behavior. But this was his boss. Not just his boss but a senior professor in the Classics Department at the University of Boston. If he didn’t play by the guy’s rules, he could lose everything.
“You make it sound so easy,” he spat out. “But you can do whatever you damn well please. It’s not like you have anything to lose.”
She blinked quickly, as though his remark had wounded her. “How can you say that?”
“Because you don’t have anything at stake! Not like me. If you get kicked out of Troy, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll go work somewhere else. Knowing you, there’s another job around the corner—in Cyprus or Tunisia or Egypt, or anywhere your mom’s name carries a ton of weight. That’s what you’ve always done. I don’t have that luxury. I can’t allow anything to jeopardize this job.”
He knew his accusations weren’t fair. Worse yet, they were hurtful and dismissive. But he wanted her to understand how much pressure he was under. A mistake like this could derail his teaching career before it even started.
“I know, and that’s why I made sure you weren’t implicated,” she snapped. “So that I wouldn’t put you at risk. But clearly, you think I can leave whenever I want. That it won’t make a damn bit of difference because I’m so disposable. Maybe Ishouldleave. Is that what you want? I’m sure it would make your boss happy.”
Fuck.As upset as Stuart was, the thought of losing her made him physically ill.
His failure to respond only made Dusty angrier. “Your silence says everything. You want me to go? Say the word and I’ll pack up my shit and take the next bus to Istanbul. Like you said, there’s always another job.”
“No.” His voice broke in agony. “Please stay. Just…keep out of trouble. Okay?”
Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself from his grip. “You got it, Dr. Carlson. I’m going to lunch.”
He said nothing, watching as she stormed away, his emotions a stew of anger, resentment, and guilt. Even if he had more to lose than she did, he’d just diminished her completely, acting like her contribution to the dig meant nothing. He’d never felt that way, not once. He’d just wanted her to realize why he couldn’t speak his mind like she did and why he had to play things so carefully.
He glanced at the sketches she’d done. Perfect, as always. But under the drawings was a cartoon entitled “Operation Odysseus Fail” that showed three wide-eyed women in lederhosen, surrounded by Trojan warriors with spears. Of course she’d given the mission a code name. That was such a Dusty thing to do.
Setting down the drawings, he went to join the others. For now, he’d let her be. But once he got his turbulent feelings under control, he’d have to make things right with her.
CHAPTERTWENTY
By her third day of banishment, Dusty had sunk into a grouchy funk. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt this lonely on a dig. Her mood wouldn’t have been as bleak if she’d been able to enjoy her time with the others when they returned from the site each afternoon. But the rift between her and Stuart was so painful that they could barely stand to be in the same room together.
Though she was still angry at him for keeping silent when she was exiled, what hurt the most was the way he’d lashed out afterward. Implying that she had nothing at stake. That she could pick up and leave Troy like a heartless bitch.
He was wrong. She had plenty at stake. Even if there was always another job, she wantedthisone. Not just because of him but because she cared about the project and wanted to see it through to the end. Now she wondered if it was worth it.
After the crew left for the site at six thirty that morning, she resigned herself to another lengthy stretch of solitude. She’d been working at her illustration table for a few hours when the door opened suddenly. She jumped in fright, knocking over her coffee. Grabbing a spare piece of paper, she blotted the spill, grateful it hadn’t ruined any of her artwork.
Mort poked his head in. “Morning, Dusty. Sorry if I frightened you.”
“It’s fine. I’m just a little jumpy. How was your tour?”
He gestured to the chair opposite hers. “Mind if I sit? You’d think I’d be tired of sitting after all those hours on a bus, but we did a lot of walking.”
“Please, have a seat. How did you like Ephesus?”
“Marvelous. The ruins were stunning. Aphrodisias was equally spectacular, so naturally, Clarissa took loads of photos. She told me she’d make me one of those digital scrapbooks when we get back. I’m not like your generation—having the photos on my phone isn’t good enough.”
“My dad’s the same way. He still gets his photos printed from the drugstore.” She stood up. “I’m going to get more coffee. Do you want a cup? I made the pot a half hour ago, so it’s still fresh.”
“Sure. Thank you. I take it black.”
She went to the kitchen, refilled her cup, and poured one for Mort. When she brought it back, he took a sip. “Not bad. But I had real Turkish coffee on the tour, and it was much better.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She sipped hers slowly, glad to be sharing it with someone. “Where’s Clarissa?”
“She insisted I drop her off at the site because she wanted to get right to work but then realized she didn’t have her hiking boots. Can’t exactly dig in sandals. I came back to get them and noticed the light was on in here. Why aren’t you at the site?”
The last thing she wanted to do was relive the humiliating scene with Dr. Wagner, but Mort needed to know the truth. She gave him a quick recap, hoping he’d realize what a heartless bastard Dr. Hughes was. It was time he stopped idolizing the guy.
