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"You forgot this," Vanessa said, when I emerged from the bathroom. She held out my pink towel.
"Very funny." I grabbed the towel from her and tossed it onto the bed. "Are we going back to the site?"
She turned to face the laptop she had propped on the small writing desk in the corner. "I've got some numbers to crunch. I thought you were taking a nap."
I hadn't planned on it—my only thought when chasing Vanessa down had been getting to the bottom of her tantrum. Then again, now that I was scrubbed clean, the bed did look inviting. I pulled back the blankets and sat down. "Maybe just for a minute," I said, yawning.
"I'll wake you up for lunch," Vanessa said. She might have added something else, but I was already drifting off to sleep.
4
By dinnertime, we were back out on the dig site and Vanessa had grudgingly forgiven Raheem.
"It's not his fault he lacks sympathetic resonance," she said to me, closing her laptop with a click.
"I object." Raheem slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. "I resonate with plenty of people, thank you very much."
"Sit this one out, Golding," I advised. "At least wait until she’s speaking full sentences to you."
He shrugged. "Fine. Do we have a plan for tomorrow?"
Vanessa sighed. "Mostly prep work. The grad students are going to help Blanton take the last of the artifacts back to the lab at the university to get washed, so it'll be up to us to move the tents and equipment down to the other end of the field."
"And," Raheem added, "that survey guy's coming in the morning. The GPR expert."
A little thrill lit my chest. I'd done a bit of work with ground-penetrating radar in school, but apparently the archaeology department at the University of Kulmeira had developed software that far surpassed what we had at home. Dr. Blanton had shown me a few renderings from the start of the project, and I couldn't wait to see the GPR in action. "When?"
"He's supposed to be here right at eight," Vanessa said. "His name is—" She paused, scrolling through her phone. "Renaldi. Luca Renaldi."
"Sounds like an Italian movie star," Raheem said, raising an eyebrow.
Vanessa gave him a quick glance, as though she was considering whether or not to resume her usual banter. "Wonder if he's as hot as his name," she said finally.
Raheem grinned. "Good to have you back, V," he said.
We had dinner at one of the restaurants on Vanessa's long list of favorites. I ordered the kotletes, and Ona had been right—they were incredible. For a moment, I thought of Theo. It would be morning in Denver. Theo ate big breakfasts: omelets, bacon, massive bowls of cereal. My dad used to make congee on the weekends, and when Theo came over, there wasn't a single grain of rice left by lunchtime.
"Hey." Raheem nudged my foot with his. "Why do you suddenly look like your dog just died?" He paused. "Your dog didn't just die, did it?"
I looked at him blankly. "I don't have a dog.”
"I know," Raheem replied. "I was trying to snap you out of it. What's up?"
I sighed. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Raheem mimicked, his tone exaggeratedly glum. "River. Come on."
"No, honestly. I was just thinking about—" Don't say Theo. "My dad. I invited him to come visit while I'm here. He said no."
Raheem shoved an enormous bite of kugela into his mouth and spoke around it. "Families are complicated, man."
"Hear, hear." Vanessa raised her glass of wine. "Compartmentalize and repress. It's the healthy way to live."
I laughed. "And focus on the shirtless men, right, V?"
"Yep." Vanessa nodded sagely. "Abs and delts, friends. Abs and delts."
"Twenty bucks if you work that phrase into our next publication," Raheem said. He pushed his plate away. "I'm stuffed."
