Both girls were fawning over him as if he were some kind of movie star. I scurried to the cash register at the end of the diner counter and a good twenty feet from where the two girls showered the guy with kisses, hugs and questions. I thought I might make it out unseen until I realized that, aside from a rather grizzly looking cook in the back, the two girls were the only ones running the place.
The gruff cook smacked the bell to let them know that food was up. Both girls responded with a final hug before dashing off to their work, leaving me in clear view of my giant snow angel. I felt a bit like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s scope as I smiled nervously with my toothbrush and magazines.
“I see you made it safely to the emporium.” He grabbed a diner stool for support and leaned down to pick up his walking stick.
“And I see you managed to avoid crazy women drivers for the rest of your trek.”
“Yep.” He limped over to the counter and climbed up on top of the stool. I held up my toothbrush so the girl in stripes could ring me up. Suddenly, getting out of Karl’s Emporium sounded like a good plan. I paid for my stuff. There was only one pathway out of the store, and it led right past the guy. I tucked my magazines under my arm, lowered my head, and scurried to the door. Without warning, his walking stick went across the narrow pathway and he blocked my progress.
I lifted my face and looked at him. His light green gaze flustered me, and I nearly dropped my magazines. He stared at me like he had on the road. “Hey, Sugarplum, try not to kill anyone out there.”
My face felt warm with shame. He lowered his stick, and I hurried out of Karl’s Emporium without looking back.
Chapter 4
I drove with extreme caution the rest of the way and felt both relieved and somewhat nervous as I pulled past the two stone pillars Professor North had described as the entry point for his driveway. The house looked like an oversized cottage you might see in the English countryside only instead of vast green lawns, neatly trimmed boxwoods and a thatch roof, there was snow— lots and lots of it. I’d spent most winter holidays at home in perpetually sunny California, or the south of France. We’d even spent a few Christmases in Greece, but the turn-of-the-century house sitting alone with only the snow-capped evergreens as neighbors seemed like the perfect setting for a family holiday. Of course, the professor had made it clear that those quaint celebrations had vanished with the death of his wife.
The tires crunched the icy path up to the house, and the navy blue front door swung open as I shut off the engine. My phone rang and I didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was my mom. My gloves made it almost impossible to answer, which would have been all right except I knew the woman would keep calling until I did.
“August, we’re just about to board the plane. Why don’t you reconsider? We’ll have a great time in France.”
“Mom, I’m fine and I can’t think of a more productive way to spend my break. Besides, there’s snow. It’s almost like a real Christmas.” My last comment silenced her for a second.
“Fine,” she said bitterly, “but if you change your mind—”
Professor North trudged out to the car to help with my things. “Happy holidays, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”
Professor North always dressed casually, even for class, but he looked even more relaxed and easy-going without the lectern in front of him. “How was the trip up here?” Naturally, it was the first logical question to ask, and I was a clumsy liar.
“Well, let’s just say I’m glad to finally be here.” I lugged my heavy duffle out of the trunk, and he immediately took hold of it.
“I’m glad you’re here too. The waffle batter is ready and waiting. I opted for my time-tested recipe of banana and walnut.”
“I’m not terribly picky when it comes to my waffles and banana walnut sounds delicious.”
The comfy interior looked just as I’d imagined of a house once lovingly decorated by a woman and kept up these past eight years by a man. The walls of the small entryway were covered in flowery Victorian wallpaper that must have been vivid in color at one time but now had faded to pastels. A dark cherry wood side table covered with a thin layer of dust stood beneath an ornately framed mirror.
Professor North motioned to a coat rack. “You can hang your coat there. I’ve started a fire in the hearth in the living room, so it’s quite cozy in there. And, please, call me Thomas. There’s no need for academic formality during winter break. Helps me forget about work too.”
“Fine, but it may take me a few times to remember.” I hung my coat on the brass hook of the coat rack and followed him down a small hallway to the back bedroom.
He pushed the door open with the end of my duffle bag. The small room was stuffed with oversized furniture, including a very comfortable looking four post bed with lavender pillows and a plush quilt to match. “It’s perfect,” I said.
“I think you’ll be comfortable here. It doesn’t get used much. My wife’s mother used to stay here when she visited, which is the reason behind all the purple. It was her favorite color.”
I smiled. “I believe the correct term is lavender.”
“Yes, my wife used to correct me on that as well.” He walked over to door. “There’s a guest bathroom in here. When you’re ready, join me in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. I think I heard Ethan’s shower a few minutes ago, and he’ll be ready for breakfast too.”
“Great. I’ll be right out.” I took off my gloves and realized my hands had just barely stopped trembling from the horrifying moments on the road. I took a deep breath and tried not to think of what could have happened by reminding myself that the guy had not been hit. He was fine and I would never see him again. I needed to put it all behind me. I ran a brush through my hair and tied it back and then followed the mouth watering fragrance down the hallway.
Everything about the kitchen was what I’d dreamed about in the fantasies of my cozy family holiday at home— but smaller, and with less high-end, stainless steel appliances, and no mom in a pristine designer apron. My dash of homesickness vanished as the fragrance of banana waffles and hot coffee wafted toward me. Red and orange flames lapped at the fan-shaped fireplace screen, warming the kitchen and connecting living room.
Professor North glanced up from his waffle iron. His casual, at-home attire was nearly the same as his work attire, but he looked entirely different bending over a bowl of waffle batter instead of his lectern. He’d never been one of those stodgy, cold, hard to warm up to professors and I felt completely at ease in his kitchen.
“The coffee is fresh. Help yourself.”
I walked over and picked a cup up off the hook and poured some coffee. “How can I help?”
“Do you like whipped cream on your waffles?”
“Hmm, let me see. Tough question.”
He laughed. “There’s some cream in the fridge and a hand mixer in that drawer.” He pointed out the drawer with his elbow.
I set to work on the task of whipping cream. “What type of artifacts will we be cataloguing?”
“Nothing of too much value or interest, I’m afraid. The fragments found in an Egyptian dig that should have been catalogued long ago, but we’ve been putting it off because, frankly, the task can be rather tedious and time consuming. Anything discovered on the university’s dollar belongs to the college, and the pieces have to be entered into their data base.” It was fleeting but I was sure I’d detected a roll of his eyes with that last statement. “These artifacts came from digs in the past three years, mostly shards and broken pieces of pottery dating from the Old Kingdom and the Middle Kingdom.”
“That might be dull to you, but I can’t wait to get started. You know my passion is with Ancient Egypt.”
“I know. That’s why I asked you to help out.” He pulled a toasty waffle from the iron and lowered it ont
o a plate. “Ethan needs someone to prod him along too. He gets easily distracted.”
“So, to keep me focused, you provide me with a beautiful assistant.” Ethan North strolled straight to the coffee pot and lifted it from its stand. “No complaints here. Much better than an actual prod.” He smiled at me over the brim of his cup. Ethan North was tall and handsome and he carried himself in the same easy-going, confident style as his dad. When he walked into a classroom or hallway, he turned heads. He wasn’t one of those rare guys who could walk into a crowded room and suck all the energy toward him, but he was definitely the type who commanded attention.
He took a sip of coffee and then lowered his cup to the counter to shake my hand. “I’m Ethan, and you must be August.” His gleaming white smile matched everything else about him. He was the kind of guy any girl would be confident introducing to her parents, except possibly his ex-girlfriend, whose parents, if rumors were to be believed, had not been satisfied with their daughter’s attachment to the son of an academic.
“Nice to meet you. I’m excited to get started on our task.”
His smooth brow lifted, and he reached for his coffee. “That makes one of us.”
“Breakfast is served.” Professor North carried the platter of waffles to the kitchen table. I picked up the bowl of whipping cream and followed.
We piled the warm, fragrant waffles with fresh slices of bananas and whipped cream.
Ethan passed me the bottle of syrup, but I put up my hand. “I think the whipped cream and fruit is probably enough for a sugar coma, thanks.”
“Dad, I’ll only be able to spend a few hours on the artifacts this morning and then I’m meeting Connor and Wesley at the slopes for some skiing.”
Professor North’s scowl was far more measured and subtle than a true scowl like the kind my dad could produce, but there was no mistaking it. “You assured me you’d get this job finished during the break.”
“There’s plenty of time, and besides, now that we have August here to help, I’m sure it won’t take all that long.”
“She’s not here to replace you. She’s here to help you.”
The house was inviting, the food was delicious, but the conversation was much less enchanting. I felt less like a guest and more like hired help, unpaid hired help. And suddenly, working shoulder to shoulder with Ethan North had lost some of its appeal. “You know, if Ethan shows me what to do, I’m sure I could get most of the work done myself.”
“That is kind of you, Auggie, but Ethan will help.” Professor North cast a sharp glance in Ethan’s direction. “Just make sure to keep your extracurricular activities to a minimum this vacation.”
Ethan shook his head. “Vacation? Right.” He shoveled a forkful of waffle into his mouth and barely swallowed before speaking again. “Have you heard from Dalton?”
“Nope, not a word. Guess he won’t be coming home.” This new topic seemed to produce as much tension as the last one, and it dawned on me that Professor North wasn’t as unflappable as I’d thought. His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it. His charming smile returned. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” He winked at me and left the room.
Ethan glanced up from his plate. “I know I’ve seen you around campus several times. You’re with Trenton Peters, aren’t you?”
My eyes must have shown my shock at the question.
“Sorry, none of my business,” he said quickly and returned to his waffle.
“No, that’s fine. We’re not dating anymore.”
“Relationships are tough. I’m sorry. I hope he wasn’t too much of a jerk. Ultra rich people like Trenton think they can stomp on hearts anytime.” The glint in his blue eyes had faded, and it was obvious he was thinking of Veronica as he spoke.
“Actually, I’m the one who ended it.”
His eyes widened. “Really? Good for you. These people who think they can buy friends and affection with money need to be put in their place every once in awhile.” He added more syrup to his waffle. “So, where do you live in California?”
“Bel Air.”
His face shot up. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean all rich people deserved to be put—”
I laughed and shook my head. “Can we start all of this from the beginning because my dreams for an awesome family holiday were destroyed, and I had a harrowing trip up here, and I was really looking forward to this but aside from this unfrigginbelievable waffle and the charming lavender room, it has been a disappointing start.” I stuck my hand out. “Hi, I’m August Stonefield, but my friends call me Auggie. And I hope we’ll be friends because you seem like an amazing guy and I hate the name August.”
He stared at me over his loaded fork, looking somewhat surprised and then he smiled and took my hand. “Ethan North, occasional amazing guy and occasional asshat, but I’m happy to meet you, Auggie.”
Chapter 5
The restart on the morning had helped. Professor North had taken a long time with his conversation, and he had remained somewhat flustered or at least more flustered than his usual demeanor, but the remainder of breakfast had been pleasant and I was stuffed to the gills with waffles. And, I soon discovered that whatever Ethan lacked in character, he made up for in knowledge.
The shards of pottery that the professor had made sound so uninspiring were far from it. They were broken remains of a world so far removed from our own it was nearly impossible to believe it had existed. I’d been obsessed with Ancient Egypt since the sixth grade when we’d studied it for social studies, and while my parents had hoped I would follow my dad and brothers into the business world, or at least marry someone connected to that world, I’d followed my head and heart instead.
I lifted the clear bag and held the piece of dried clay as if I held one of my mom’s Tiffany champagne flutes, although her glasses were all replaceable. The rough-edged, dark red piece of pottery I held was not.
Ethan leaned over me and pointed to the broken wall of the fragment. “These layers of red and brown show that this piece of pottery was made from Nile Alluvium. It was a commonly used clay that could be fired at lower temperatures than the Marl clay.” His finger pointed to a tiny sliver of black in the broken wall of the piece. “After washing the clay with water, the potters had to temper the clay to keep it from cracking during the heating process. They added in grass or seed husks to keep it stable.” He lifted the bag and held it up to the light. “See this curve in the wall, this means the piece came from a Restricted vessel.”
I lifted my hand to stop him from telling me. “That means the body of the vessel was wider than the rim.”
He smiled. “Very good.” He lifted the slip of paper that was attached to the bag. “Each piece has been given a number, and, as you can see, there are many categories for each piece to be entered in the data base. This is the year of excavation and the context or area it was found. The rest of the codes signify vessel part, percent, size, diameter, hardness, slip colors and anything else that is pertinent. I’m afraid that’s what makes this all pretty boring and time consuming. There is a great deal of data to input on each piece.” He walked over and read the labels on the boxes. “Wait, here is something you’ll really like.” He opened the box and pulled out several bags. “The decorations or applications on these pieces were mostly done before firing.” He handed me a bag with a nearly square piece of pottery. Thin wavy lines had been drawn in succession to create a design. “The potter used a sharp tool to create this unique design while the clay was still wet. Sometimes the designs, or potmarks, were filled with pigment to make them even more ornamental. The ancient Egyptians were talented artisans. Today’s potters use a lot of the same methods to build clay pots as they did back then. Occasionally, you’ll find a piece where you can still see the clay coils that were used to construct the vessel. Some used potter’s wheels as well.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to make ceramics on a potter’s wheel, covered to my elbows in wet clay and creating art with my own fingers,” I said.
“We have a potter’s wheel down in the basement, but I’m afraid Dad and I don’t know how to use it. It belongs to my brother. Growing up, it was the one hobby he participated in where he wasn’t getting into trouble. My mom loved it too. The two of them could spend hours down there with the clay.”
“So, you don’t expect your brother to visit for the holidays? Your dad seemed somewhat disappointed when you brought it up.”
His mouth drew tight as if it was a sore topic. “Yeah, Dalton spends most of his life causing Dad disappointment.” He shuffled through the bags of artifacts, seemingly intent on switching subjects. While he’d not seemed the least bit interested in the job assigned us, his love of the ancient treasures was plain to see. “Ah, here is a perfect example of a technique known as fenestration.” Ethan held the sample up to the light. Three tiny diamond-shaped holes dotted what appeared to be the rim of an ash gray bowl. “When the clay is thick and close to dry, a tool is used to cut out the decorations. Then the vessel is fired and the holes are made permanent.”
“I can’t wait to get started.” For a few moments at breakfast, I’d wondered if I’d made a grave mistake by not going to France, but now I couldn’t have been more excited. There were boxes of artifacts to catalogue and it would take hours on the computer, but I looked forward to every minute of it.
Ethan sat down at the desk and logged onto the computer. “I’ll get you started and then you can work as long as you like.” He looked back at me over his shoulder. “Are you sure you won’t mind if I take off for a few hours of skiing?”