Tessa applied the wire whisk to the bowl of eggs with more force than necessary, making a yellow and white maelstrom in the mixing bowl. Tonight was quiche night, since this had been her afternoon for volunteer work at the Crisis Center and she had her aerobics class at seven. Alex would be home soon. From her worktable by the kitchen window she could see the driveway, and she found herself watching for the car with increasing apprehension. It was not dread so much as a last trace of stage fright before the beginning of a performance.
She had talked about it that afternoon with Ginny at the Crisis Center, and they had decided that she was overreacting. A name on a piece of paper was hardly evidence of adultery, Ginny had pointed out, but she conceded that the situation would bear watching. The important thing was to remain calm and keep the lines of communication open. She told Tessa to remember that although the male libido was an emotional form of pond scum, men did not really want to leave their wives. Infatuations were simply passages in ego gratification; infantile, of course, but what else could you expect? She advised Tessa to behave just as usual, only more loving, more attentive, and more understanding. Finally she had given her a photocopied article on “Advanced Degrees as Community Property” and enrolled her in the center’s divorce law seminar. It never hurt to be prepared.
Tessa was sliding the quiche pan into the oven when she heard the car door slam, ending an imagined series of conversations between her and Alex. (“Of course you’re not having an affair with her, dear. You wrote her name on your notes because you have discovered the missing link and are thinking of naming it after her!”) Should she walk to the front door to meet him, or would that seem too artificial? What should she say?
She decided to stay where she was for the sake of the psychological advantage (the kitchen was her sphere; besides, she had to get supper out of the way in order to be on time for her class). When Alex came in, she was setting the table.
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” she told him. “I have to rush off to my class, but if you’ll leave the dishes on the countertop, I’ll do them when I get back.”
“I always do the dishes on your class night.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind doing them later. Want some coffee?” I sound manic, she thought. I sound like a stewardess. Trying to act normal is the most unnatural behavior of all.
“Coffee would be fine,” said Alex warily. “If it isn’t any trouble.”
“Not at all.” Tessa began measuring coffee for the percolator. “And how was your day?”
“Oh, fine. Got an interesting case today.”
“Alex-” Tessa started to say that she didn’t like to hear about his gruesome cases before dinner, but remembering Ginny’s advice, she amended this to: “That’s nice. Tell me all about it.”
“I don’t know much about it yet,” Alex admitted. “A group of Indians up in the mountains wants me to do an exploratory dig to help them get tribal recognition from the government.”
“Maybe I’ll have tea. I’ve been drinking that awful instant stuff all day at the Crisis Center, and I can already feel the caffeine on my nerves.”
“Tea will be fine, then, Tessa.”
“No. You have coffee. I’ve already started the percolator.”
“Whatever. Uh, anyway, this tribe wants me to find some evidence that the land they’re on is traditional tribal land. Apparently there’s some question of their losing it to a strip-mining operation.”
“I think I’ll fix a salad to go with the quiche. Would you rather have leaf lettuce or spinach?”
“Whatever’s easier. I think it should be an interesting dig. I don’t have any data on Eastern Indians for my discriminate function chart, and this will give me a chance to get some.”
“Spinach, then. Leaf lettuce isn’t really good unless you fry bacon to go with it, and there’s enough cholesterol in the eggs as it is.”
“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks. I’d be back in time for term break in case you wanted to take the beach cottage again this year.”
Tessa closed the refrigerator slowly. “Back?” she echoed. “Back from where?”
“Sarvice Valley, the place is called. We’ll be camping, of course, but there’s a little town nearby with a tourist court, so we can rent a room there to hook up the computer in.”
“You’re going away on a dig?” said Tessa, comprehending at last.
“Just a minor one,” said Alex faintly.
“I see.” Tessa’s voice was cold.
“You won’t need me for anything around here, will you?”
“What makes you think I don’t want to go, Alex?”
He shrugged. “Precedent.”
“Well, you’re right. I have too many commitments here to pick up and run to the mountains with you.” Tessa frowned as another thought occurred to her. “And I suppose you’ll be taking your graduate students with you?”
“Yes, of course. It will be good experience for both of them. It will be the first time for Mary Clare.”
“That,” said Tessa, “I find very difficult to believe.”
It was well past five o’clock when Milo finished up in the lab and returned to his office. The light was still on and the door was open. Milo’s office mate, Mary Clare, was curled up in her swivel chair making notes on index cards.
“Don’t you ever go home?” asked Milo.
“Look who’s talking,” she answered without looking up.
“What are you doing? Lecture prep?”
“Yeah. Getting my facts straight. Somebody always asks me a question that requires an exact date or a statistic, and I can’t quote that stuff off the top of my head.”
“Neither can I, but Alex sure can. I think he’s got that discriminate function chart memorized. But don’t worry; I’m sure you’re a good teacher.”
“Good as I want to be,” said Mary Clare. “I don’t plan to be stuck on a campus all my life. I want to be a real anthropologist-out there doing fieldwork.”
“Well, you’re going to get a taste of it pretty soon. This time next week we’ll be roughing it in Sarvice Valley.”
Mary Clare’s jaw dropped. “We’re gonna be
“Sarvice Valley. Don’t you know where that is? I figured you would. Mr. Stecoah talks just like you do.”
“I’ll bet he does!” snorted Mary Clare, momentarily distracted. “You and Alex couldn’t tell Loretta Lynn from Scarlett O’Hara! Where’s this guy from? Eastern Kentucky?”
“No. Sarvice Valley is in the area where North Carolina, Virginia and Tennessee all come together.”
“That’s closer than I expected,” said Mary Clare grudgingly. “But y’all still don’t know your accents. Now what’s this about a dig? I thought we were going to be doing local work this summer while Alex finished up the discriminate function chart.”
“So did I,” admitted Milo. “But all of a sudden he seems anxious to go. Maybe he’s just interested. The job is to authenticate an Indian tribe. Alex wants to meet with both of us in the morning, by the way. That’s why I wanted to talk to you first. Since you assisted him with the field archaeology course first session, we’ll probably get the diggers from that class.”
“Probably. What about it?”
“I was wondering: do you think we could use one more person?”
Mary Clare sighed. “If he’s moving us clear to the Tennessee line, I expect we’ll need all the help we can get. A lot of my people are signed up for classes this session and won’t be able to go.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Milo assumed his most unconcerned expression. “Oh, a friend of mine said she’d like to go on a dig sometime,
