Part 32 (1/2)
”Of course.” I rub my cheek against his shoulder. ”It's you. You're my perfection.”
”Ah.” He pats my hip, his voice warm with tenderness. ”Good one, beauty.”
I smile, snuggling closer to him. We sit together for a long time, as the rain begins to lessen and the clouds slide away from the sky, revealing a sprinkle of stars and a perfect, spiral moon that will follow us wherever we go or wherever we stay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.
DEAN.
Archer's motorcycle is parked outside the railroad depot. The doors to the train shed are open, work lights glowing from inside, a radio playing the Stones' ”All Down the Line.” Archer is crouched by the side of the engine, working something with a wrench.
”Hey.” I stop near him, shoving my hands into my pockets.
”Hey.” He glances at my suit. ”Guess you're not here to work.”
”No. You got a minute?”
He nods and pushes to his feet. I sit on the steps of a cargo car, while Archer reaches into a nearby cooler and produces two cartons of chocolate milk. He offers me one. I take it, remembering how chocolate milk was a staple in our Castle tree house. Archer has never lost his love for it.
He sits beside me. I take a drink of the sugary milk, admitting it tastes pretty good. I set the carton down and rest my elbows on my knees, linking my hands together.
”You know that job I told you about?” I ask.
”The fancy European thing.” Archer tilts his head back to take a drink. ”Yeah.”
”When I was in Geneva,” I say, ”they offered me the job.”
Archer is silent for a minute before he says, ”So what did you tell them?”
”They want an answer next week. I have to turn them down.”
”You have to,” Archer repeats, looking at the engine on the opposite side of the shed. ”That's different from you want to.”
Silence falls. I don't contradict him because he's right.
”When I was a kid, I dreamed of something like this,” I admit. ”Traveling the world. Going to unknown places, having adventures. But when I met Liv, I thought she was all the adventure I'd ever need.”
”Now you think differently?”
”No, that's not it. I could live in a cave with her and be happy. It's more that... she had a s.h.i.+tty childhood and hated moving from place to place, being dragged around by her mother. She's never seen the appeal of traveling, seeing new things, meeting new people. So part of me wants her to know what that's like, and to have more adventures with her. With Nicholas. I've always wanted to give them everything, including the world.”
”But?” Archer asks.
”But not like this,” I say. ”If I took this job, I'd have to be away from them more than I already am. And Liv and I have both been spending too much time at work for too long. Something has to give for both of us. So I need to step down as project director of the train restoration.”
Archer is quiet for a minute.
”Well, d.a.m.n,” he finally mutters.
”I don't want to entirely quit,” I continue. ”It's a great project, and I still want to help out. I just can't direct it anymore. I was hoping you would.”
Archer blinks. ”You want me to lead the project?”
”You're way more qualified than I am,” I say. ”And Mr. Jenkins respects you a h.e.l.l of a lot more too. Now that the project is funded, you could hire a few more guys, get the work done faster and better than I ever could. It'd be like running your garage, only with historic trains.”
Archer looks somewhat baffled, like he'd never have expected me to ask him something like this. ”You're serious?”
”Sure. I can still help out with the research and stuff, but you need to be in charge.”
He doesn't respond for a minute.
”If it means I get to tell your sorry a.s.s what to do, I'm on board,” he finally says. ”Thanks, man.”
”Yeah, well, keep in mind you also have to let Florence Wickham squeeze your biceps at least once a week.”
He grins. I push to my feet. We hold out our hands at the same time and shake. When I leave the train shed, I feel lighter, like something heavy has been lifted off my shoulders. Something to do with my brother.
I head back to campus and call Florence to tell her Archer is taking over as project director.
”Oh, Dean, what a wonderful idea!” she says, with so much delighted enthusiasm my ego takes a hit. ”He's perfect for the job.”
”I thought you said I was perfect for the job,” I mutter.
”Oh, you're perfect for many jobs, my dear,” she a.s.sures me. ”But perhaps not this one.”
I grudgingly agree. After ending the call, I spend the rest of the afternoon working on a paper about castle architecture, which is much more familiar territory than old trains. I glance up when Frances Hunter knocks on the open door.
”This just came in for you,” she says, handing me a padded envelope.
The stamps are postmarked from Paris, and the World Heritage return address is in the corner. I peel off the packing tape and remove several folders containing reports from the UN a.s.sembly.
”As young people say today,” Frances remarks, ”they think you're the boss.”
”I told Hans I can't consider taking the job.” I leaf through a report about how to engage local communities in heritage preservation. ”I won't.”
”Clearly he thinks you can be persuaded otherwise,” Frances says.
”You know I have a life here.” I drop the report on top of the other doc.u.ments and push the whole pile to the side. ”Liv owns a business. We have a son, a house, a lawnmower. And no way do I want some other medievalist coming to King's and taking over the program I started. I still can't believe you think I'd consider saying yes.”
Before Frances can respond, there's another knock on the door. Jessica Burke comes in with a worn paperback.
”Sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to return this,” she says, handing me the book. ”I found a copy online. I have some good ideas based on Chaucer's portraits of knights and merchants.”
”Great. I'll look through my bibliography and see if there's anything else I can find for you.”