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Chapter Sixteen
Jackson had spent the past two days finding an apartment in D.C. and coming to terms with the fact that he was about to take on the university-professor-in-a-big-city way of life. A way of life he never planned to subscribe to, but it was the best decision he could make to keep a foot in the archaeological world. He had hopes that being connected to Asherfield University might open a door to funding for a field project, but he’d have to be patient. Put in his time on the faculty. Keep his ears open.
Stop thinking about Isabel.
Like that’s going to happen.
He’d had a few texts and calls from her on the morning he’d left Maplehaven, but nothing since. He took that to mean she’d accepted his decision, knowing it was the right one for the situation he’d put them in. Of course Isabel wanted her grandfather to be safe. She hadn’t appreciated being captured either. He understood and he’d left so she and Eugene could avoid being put in harm’s way like that again. His letter had explained it all to her and she understood.
But he missed her. God, how he missed her. Her kind heart. Her smile. Her sense of humor. Her curves. Her generosity. Her silky hair. Her intelligence. Her smooth skin. Her voice. Her everything. He’d spent his first nights in D.C. lying in bed, wide awake, imagining Isabel next to him.
Imagining wasn’t close to having the real thing.
He’d get over this heartache some day. He had to. A person couldn’t survive feeling this hollow for long. When they’d parted as teenagers, he’d slogged through those first few weeks of college, wondering if he’d made a colossal mistake in attending early. In leaving Isabel behind. Over time though, he’d gotten involved in his studies, socialized a bit, and before he knew it, four years had streaked by and he was earning his next degree. He’d still thought of Isabel, but she hadn’t been this raw, jagged spot in his soul. He’d like to believe he’d undergo the same stages of ... well, of grief again, but something told him the rips in his soul were permanent this time. He’d gotten a glimpse of what it was like to have an adult relationship with Isabel and there would be no forgetting that.
Jackson adjusted the satchel hanging from his good shoulder as he walked across campus to the lecture hall assigned to him. His injured arm was still in a sling, his hand bandaged too. Everything looked good in terms of healing where the bullet had hit his shoulder, but if he moved that arm too much, he hurt later on. The sling reminded him to keep from overusing his arm and he didn’t want his first day teaching to be marked by pain tonight. He supposed it was good he wasn’t on a dig now. An injured shoulder and hand were no good for digging.
He brushed lint off his navy pants, checked to make sure he’d buttoned his light blue dress shirt correctly, and confirmed he hadn’t worn a bow tie like the crusty professor types he desperately didn’t want to become. He then climbed the steps to enter the building in front of him. A few minutes of poking around turned up the correct lecture hall. A handful of students were already in seats, but the lighting was dim so he couldn’t make out any faces. He approached the table and podium set up on the stage area and proceeded to hook up his laptop. A student came down to offer assistance when he saw Jackson struggle a bit with having only one good hand.
“Thanks,” Jackson said.
“No problem, Doctor Henley.” The student went back to his seat in the front row while Jackson faced the fact that being called Doctor Henley—not Doctor Hunky—would be an everyday occurrence in this job.
Better than having no job.
He would have preferred funding to return to field work, but a paycheck was a paycheck and he held out hope this university gig might lead to something more. He’d given up his something more with Isabel. The least this damn universe could give him was the archaeology fun he craved.
Jackson reviewed the course syllabus the university had given him while more students filled the lecture hall. He would have preferred to design his own lessons and assignments, but he’d been hired to replace an instructor for a class that had already begun so he had to continue with the objectives that had been given to the students at the start of the semester. At least he’d convinced the department head to let him swap out one of the required books and slip in one of his own. He’d put his personal stamp on this course and hopefully students would enjoy his approach.
Checking his phone and seeing that it was go time, Jackson cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium. Normally, he’d like to roam around the stage area and conduct the class as more of a conversation, but he didn’t know the syllabus by heart yet and truth be told, he was a little nervous about how full that lecture hall was. With the podium, he had somewhere to keep his notes and something to hold on to.
Holding something obviously made him think of holding Isabel and he worried that thinking about her was going to overwhelm him. He stretched his neck one way then the other and bullied himself into concentrating on Introduction to Archaeology.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said into the microphone, hating the tentative sound of his voice. He cleared his throat and continued in what he hoped was a more confident tone. “I’m Doctor Henley and I’ll be picking up where Doctor Daniels left off.”
A hand went up from a student sitting next to the one who had assisted him with the tech stuff. A question already? All he’d done was introduce himself. He guessed it was better than having an inactive audience though. He definitely wanted to encourage participation.
“Yes?” Jackson adjusted the sling a bit where the strap was biting into his neck.
“Is it true you were shot?”
Jackson swore the rest of the students all collectively leaned forward, waiting for his response. “Umm... yeah.” He glanced down to the sling. “It’s healing well though.” He scanned his notes, forgetting how he’d intended to begin his lecture.
“Excuse me, Doctor Henley?” This voice came from rows farther back in the hall and with the stage lights, Jackson couldn’t see much beyond the first three or four rows.
“Yes?”
“Was it another archaeologist that shot you?”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to be able to get to the content until he extinguished their curiosity. Probably wise to deal with this upfront so they could move on.
“Technically,” another voice echoed from a row somewhere in the middle of the lecture hall, “it was a team member of another archaeologist. Doctor Henley here showed true bravery in facing such unprincipled folks who see archaeology as a profitable business instead of a history-changing science.”
Had Jackson missed something in the news about what had occurred in Maplehaven with Ward and his mercenaries? As far as he’d seen, the incident wasn’t public knowledge yet. But this person had her facts in order.
The front few rows of students turned in their seats to face the voice as she continued.
“I don’t know if you all realize that you’re being taught by a man who was willing to risk his own life to save others and defend the true meaning of archaeology.” The voice sounded as if it was getting closer, as if the student was moving toward the stage, but the cavernous room and poor lighting over the seats made it difficult to pinpoint anything.
