“You hired me to do a job,” she says softly, “and I’m doing it. Please trust that.”
“I’ll give you more space,” I say stiffly.
“Thank you.” She bites her bottom lip and smiles softly.
I notice the sheen across her face, the way her cheeks are flushed, how her linen shirt sticks to her curves, the sweat dripping down her neck, and I have a sudden reaction that is very, very unprofessional.
Clearing my throat, I quickly avert my gaze before she notices me staring.
If she notices the way I just ogled her, she acts like she doesn’t. She only turns to head back to the work tent.
Suddenly, she pauses and looks back at me. “For what it’s worth, what we’re finding, the pottery shards, the stone fragments, it’s all consistent with a significant structure. Henry’s theories are holding up. But we need time to prove it definitively.”
It’s an olive branch, and I should take it. Should thank her for the reassurance. Should acknowledge that she’s doing her job well.
Instead, I just nod and watch her walk away.
I stand there in the desert heat, feeling useless and frustrated and angry at myself for feeling useless and frustrated.
She’s right. I know she’s right. But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to step back, to relinquish control, to just… wait. Coming here might have been a bad idea. With the terrible internet, I can barely get any work done on my businesses back home. The thought of missing the opportunity to be here was unbearable, though.
When I return to the main area of camp, Lois is sitting in a folding chair in the shade outside Georgia’s tent, fanning herself with a piece of cardboard, while Ella plays with blocks in a playpen.
Lois doesn’t look well. Her face is flushed, and even from a distance, I can see she’s sweating heavily.
I walk over. “Lois? Are you all right?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, fine, dear. Just this heat. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
My chest tightens. She reminds me a bit of my grandmother. Kind but forthright. Positive. “Have you been drinking water?” I ask.
“Yes, yes. Fatima brought me a whole bottle. I’m just tired. The time change, you know. And the sun here is much stronger than back home.”
Ella babbles something and holds up a block triumphantly. “Ba!”
“Yes, El, very good,” Lois says, but her voice sounds thin.
“Maybe you should rest inside the tent,” I suggest. “It’s cooler.”
“Perhaps in a bit. The little one likes being outside where she can see everything.”
As if to prove the point, Ella walks awkwardly to the edge of the playpen and points at something in the distance. “Mama?”
“Mama’s working, sweetheart. She’ll be back soon.”
I should leave. Go find something productive to do that doesn’t involve hovering over Georgia’s excavation. But I find myself staying longer. “Do you need anything? Food? I could ask Fatima?—”
“You’re sweet to worry, but I’m fine. Just old and unaccustomed to desert living.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You go on. I’m sure you have important things to do.”
Important things. Right.
I wander back toward the work tent, then stop myself. Georgia asked for space. I need to give it to her.
Instead, I head to my own tent and force myself to sit at my laptop. There’s work I can do. Emails to answer, business matters that can’t be put on hold just because I’m in the desert. My board members need updates. My father probably has more complaints about the laundromat deal. And with the terrible internet, there’s no telling how long it will take just to send one message.
But I can’t focus. My eyes keep drifting to the tent entrance, to the slice of camp visible beyond it. The work tent where Georgia is laboring. The excavation site where her team is carefully uncovering the past.
While I sit here. Useless.
