Before Sunrise

“Your degree would be in law, right?”

He nodded.

“Did your family come to your graduation?” she asked curiously.

He didn’t answer her. It was a deliberate snub, and it should have made her uncomfortable, but she never held back with him.

“Another case of instant foot-in-mouth disease,” she said immediately. “And I thought I was cured!”

He chuckled reluctantly. “You’re as incorrigible as I remember you.”

“I’m amazed that you did remember me, or that you took the trouble to find out when and where I was graduating so that you could be here,” she said. “I couldn’t send you an invitation,” she added sheepishly, “because I didn’t have your address. I didn’t really expect you, either. We only spent an hour or two together last year.”

“They were memorable ones. I don’t like women very much,” he said as they reached the unobtrusive rental car, a gray American-made car of recent vintage. He turned and looked down at her solemnly. “In fact,” he added evenly, “I don’t like being in public display very much.”

She lifted both eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”

He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. “Because I like you,” he said. His dark eyes narrowed. “And I don’t want to.”

“Thanks a lot!” she said, exasperated.

He stared at her. “I like honesty in a relationship.”

“Are we having one?” she asked innocently. “I didn’t notice.”

His mouth pulled down at one corner. “If we were, you’d know,” he said softly. “But I came because I promised that I would. And the offer of the job opportunity is genuine. Although,” he added, “it’s rather an unorthodox one.”

“I’m not being asked to take over the archives at the Smithsonian, then? What a disappointment!”

Laughter bubbled out of his throat. “Funny girl.” He opened the passenger door with exaggerated patience.

“I really irritate you, don’t I?” she asked as she got inside the car.

“Most people are savvy enough not to remind me of my heritage too often,” he replied pointedly after he was inside with the door closed.

“Why?” she asked. “You’re fortunate enough to live in an age where ethnicity is appreciated and not stereotyped.”

“Ha!”

She lifted her hands. “Okay, okay, that isn’t quite true, but you have to admit that it’s a better society now than it was ninety years ago.”

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

He drove as he seemed to do everything else, effortlessly. His hand went inside his jacket pocket and he grimaced.

“Looking for something?” she asked.

“Cigarettes,” he said heavily. “I forgot. I’ve quit again.”

“Your lungs and mine appreciate the sacrifice.”

“My lungs don’t talk.”

“Mine do,” she said smugly. “They say ‘don’t smoke, don’t smoke…’”

He smiled faintly. “You bubble, don’t you?” he remarked. “I’ve never known anyone so animated.”

“Yes, well, that’s because you’re suffering from sensory deprivation resulting from too much time spent with your long nose stuck in law books. Dull, dry, boring things.”

“The law is not boring,” he returned.

“It depends which side you’re sitting on.” She frowned. “This job you’re telling me about wouldn’t have to do with anything legal, would it? Because I only had one course in government and a few hours of history, but…”

“I don’t need a law clerk,” he returned.

“Then what do you need?”

“You wouldn’t be working for me,” he corrected. “I have ties to a group that fights for sovereignty for the Native American tribes. They have a staff of attorneys. I thought you might fit in very well, with your background in anthropology. I’ve pulled some strings to get you an interview.”

She didn’t speak for a minute. Her eyes were on her hands. “I think you’re forgetting something. My major is anthropology. Most of it is forensic anthropology. Bones.”

He glanced at her. “You wouldn’t be doing that for them.”

She stared out the window. “What would I be doing?”

“It’s a desk job,” he admitted. “But a good one.”

“I appreciate your thinking of me,” she said carefully. “But I can’t give up fieldwork. That’s why I’ve applied at the Smithsonian for a position with the anthropology section.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Do you know how indigenous people feel about archaeology? We don’t like having people dig up our sacred sites and our relatives, however old they are.”

“I just graduated,” she reminded him. “Of course I do. But there’s a lot more to archaeology than digging up skeletons!”

He stopped for a traffic light and turned toward her. His eyes were cold. “And it doesn’t stop you from wanting to get a job doing something that resembles grave-digging?”

She gasped. “It is not grave-digging! For heaven’s sake…”

He held up a hand. “We can agree to disagree, Phoebe,” he told her. “You won’t change my mind any more than I’ll change yours. I’m sorry about the job, though. You’d have been an asset to them.”

She unbent a little. “Thanks for recommending me, but I don’t want a desk job. Besides, I may go on to graduate school after I’ve had a few months to get over the past four years. They’ve been pretty hectic.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Why did you recommend me for that job? There must be a line of people who’d love to have it—people better qualified than I am.”

He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. There was something that he wasn’t telling her, something deep inside him.

“Maybe I’m lonely,” he said shortly. “There aren’t many people who aren’t afraid to come close to me these days.”