Troy Story

Chapter 1

Dusty Danforth had faced down venomous snakes, deadly scorpions, and surly camels. None of them had proved quite as intimidating as her mother when she was in a disapproving mood. Her mother’s anger hardly seemed rational. If anyone should understand the need to spend the summer working on an excavation, it should be Dr. Louisa Danforth, world-renowned archaeologist and scholar of Egyptology.

But while Dr. Danforth had a PhD, Dusty did not. Hence the argument.

Dusty sat across from her mother on the balcony of their family’s apartment in Cairo. Despite the sweltering June temperature, Dr. Danforth was drinking Earl Grey tea from a china cup. Even during her years in the field, she allowed few things to disrupt her afternoon tea break.

She frowned at her daughter. “You can’t keep flitting from one project to the next. No matter how alluring they’ve seemed, none of them have resulted in a worthy dissertation topic. That’s where you should focus your attention this summer. Not at some dig site in Turkey.”

Dusty cast a wistful glance at the Nile, shimmering in the distance. “It’s just for two months. I don’t see how—”

“Dulcinea Danforth. You have spent five years in graduate school, and you have nothing to show for it except a handful of drawings. You need to get serious about your future.”

Not for the first time, Dusty fought back a surge of resentment. It wasn’t like she’d been doodling in a notebook. She was a trained archaeological illustrator whose artwork had appeared in dozens of scholarly publications. She had a master’s degree in Classics. And she hated the name Dulcinea. She’d been going by Dusty since she was three.

But if she didn’t offer a concession, her mother wouldn’t stop nagging. “Once the summer ends, I promise I’ll go home to Boston.”

“You won’t go jetting off to Cyprus again? Or Tunisia? I realize you’re old enough to make your own choices, even if you dress like you’re sixteen instead of twenty-six.”

Another hit. Her mother had brought out the big guns today. But not everyone could pull off a cream linen pantsuit and a perfectly coiffed bob the way Dr. Danforth could. Dusty preferred comfort over style, which was why she usually opted for baggy cargo pants and graphic tees. Today’s shirt was a vintage Muppets tee that she’d scored at the Dolapdere flea market in Istanbul.

“If you can acknowledge that I’m a fully grown adult then it’s time you treated me like one,” she said. “My clothes are my own business. Same with my summer plans.”

Her mother gave a world-weary sigh—the kind that made Dusty feel like a naughty little kid. “I realize that, dear, but sometimes you need a nudge. You get so caught up in these short-term adventures you lose sight of your goals. If you want a doctorate, you need to put in the work.”

Dusty was well aware her efforts to finish grad school had stalled out. Though she’d completed the coursework for a PhD in Classical Archaeology and had passed all her exams, she had yet to start writing her dissertation. Mainly because she vastly preferred drawing to writing. Only when she was immersed in her artwork did her creative spirit truly run free. She could spend hours sketching without noticing the time passing. Writing, however, was like a slog through a murky lake where she struggled to dredge up the words.

But no matter how much art she created—whether it was her detailed technical commissions or her fanciful, Egyptian-themed drawings—none of it would aid her in writing her thesis. The only way to complete the Herculean task was to settle on a topic, stick to it, and set everything else aside.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to keep letting you down,” she said. “Starting in September, I’ll give my dissertation my complete and utter focus.”

“Why not start now? What’s so important about this dig in Turkey?”

Dusty bit back a grin. “It’s pretty special, actually. Located near the Dardanelles in a place called Hisarlik. Ever heard of it?”

The briefest of smiles crossed her mother’s lips. “Naturally. The site believed to be the legendary city of Troy. I was eight when I read The Iliad for the first time. What a story—the agony of the Trojan War, with its tragic heroes and meddling Greek gods. I wanted so badly for all of it to be true.”

“Some of the stories could be. No one knows for sure. But I didn’t accept the job just because of the location. Stuart’s serving as the assistant director of the American excavations there. It’s the first time he’s ever had this much responsibility, and I want to support him.”

Unlike her, Stuart Carlson—her best friend and fellow dig buddy—had finished his dissertation last winter. Upon receiving his doctorate from UC San Diego, he’d landed a plum teaching job at the University of Boston. Though he wasn’t scheduled to start teaching until September, he’d been asked to help run the university’s dig at Troy. As soon as he’d asked Dusty if she wanted to join the team as the site illustrator, she’d accepted without question.

Fortunately, her mother had a soft spot for Stuart because his father was an archaeologist who’d spent years working with the Danforths in Egypt. As a result, Stuart and Dusty had grown up together, weathering countless seasons on their parents’ expeditions.

Dr. Danforth set her teacup on the wrought-iron table. “I would never dissuade you from helping Stuart. He’s like a part of the family.” She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “But is that the only reason you offered to join him?”

A flush of heat crossed Dusty’s cheeks. In a moment of weakness, she’d told her mother how she really felt about Stuart. Big mistake. “Of course. We’ve always been there for each other. But we’re just friends. That’s not about to change.”

“No? Because I heard from Stuart’s father that the poor boy is finally free of that vapid Shelby.”

Dusty gave an involuntary shudder. Tall, blond, and athletic, Shelby was the quintessential California girl, almost too perfect to be true. While Dusty couldn’t fault her for achieving perfection, she did blame her for putting Stuart through a lengthy and toxic relationship that had left him emotionally gutted.

“If you ask me, he wasted far too many years on Shelby,” Dr. Danforth said. “She was never right for him. Whereas you—”

“Nope.” Dusty held up her hand. “We’re not going to talk about this.”

“Fair enough. But Dusty…” Dr. Danforth narrowed her eyes. “After this summer, if you don’t get serious, I’ll have to cut you off.”

Dusty’s mouth fell open in shock. “What are you talking about? I earn my own living.” In addition to her academic commissions and her on-site gigs as an archaeological illustrator, she made a fair amount through her popular Etsy shop, where she sold her Egyptian-themed pieces.

“Your drawings may pull in enough to keep you clothed and fed, but you’ve spent years pillaging my frequent flier miles and making use of our family’s apartments without paying a cent. I let it happen, because I wanted to encourage your passion for travel, but you need to be grounded for a spell.”

Grounded. A hypocritical demand, coming from a woman who’d never managed to settle in one place. When not excavating in Egypt, Dusty’s mother split her time between an apartment in Cairo, a condo in Boston, and a townhouse in London. Even then, she never passed up an opportunity to give a guest lecture, lead a tour, or speak at a conference, no matter where it took her. Dusty’s father—also a fellow Egyptologist—had once accompanied her everywhere. Now that he was retired, he spent much of his time in Boston, which was why Dusty had chosen to attend graduate school there. But like her mother, she found it hard to resist the lure of travel. An incessant need to keep going, in the hope she might one day figure out where she truly belonged. 

Before Dusty could protest, her mother gave her the no-nonsense frown that effectively ended any argument. “After this project ends, I want you on a flight back to Boston. You need to stop running and focus on your future. Got it?”

“Got it.” Dusty offered a conciliatory smile. “Who knows? Maybe this dig will inspire me. I could focus on the site of Troy for my dissertation. I’m sure there’s loads to write about.”

When her mother didn’t smile in return, Dusty knew better than to promise something she couldn’t deliver. She’d gotten just as fired up on her last three digs, only to have her ideas fizzle out before she started writing. She stood, eager to put some distance between them. “Can I go now? I’m supposed to Zoom with Stuart.”

“Tell him hello from me, will you? And offer him my congratulations. Not just for the Troy project, but for landing a teaching job in Boston. I’m so proud of all he’s accomplished.” Dr. Danforth gathered up her teacup and saucer. “I won’t be home tonight, since I’m having dinner with the people from Ancient Excursions. They want me to lead another VIP tour through Egypt this fall. Quite honestly, I don’t know if I have it in me. Tourists can be so tiresome.”

“Like that tech bro who insisted aliens built the pyramids? Dad said you blew up at him.”

“I would never do anything so uncouth.” Her mother gave a wicked smile. “I just made certain he got an obscenely grumpy camel during our jaunt around Giza.”

Dusty had to hand it to her—as prim as her mom appeared when she was off duty, she was tough as nails in the field. Even while leading pampered millionaires around Egypt, she didn’t put up with any shit. Thanks to her, Dusty had never let anyone belittle her because she was a woman.

She retreated into the apartment, taking momentary pleasure in the feel of the cool tiled floor against her bare feet. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.

The tiny room contained two twin beds, leftover from the days when Stuart’s family would stay at the apartment after the dig season ended. She and Stuart would room together while their parents spent weeks in Cairo, networking with archaeology professors, museum curators, and dignitaries. Since both of them were only children, they’d grown up like siblings. Even as adults, they’d stayed close friends, no matter how many miles separated them.

But they’d never been anything more than that. Until that soul-crushing night, two years ago.

At the time, Stuart had been single, still reeling from a recent breakup with Shelby. When he’d come to Boston for an archaeology conference, Dusty had invited him to crash at her family’s apartment. Since her parents had been in London, she’d had the place to herself. To distract Stuart from his misery, she’d taken him on an epic bar crawl. But their drunken foolishness had led to a passionate session on the couch where he’d fulfilled almost all her secret fantasies, including the tender words he’d whispered to her in the heat of the moment.

Thankfully, she’d been just sober enough to hit the brakes before they had sex. In the short time it took her to fetch them some water, Stuart passed out on the couch. He woke the next morning, bleary and hungover, with no memory of anything they’d done. Dusty, on the other hand, remembered every detail. All weekend, she agonized over whether to tell him, but before she could summon up the courage, Shelby reached out to him, and they reconciled. 

Since then, Dusty’s feelings for Stuart had progressed from an embarrassing crush to full-blown longing. Now that he was finally single, she needed to seize the moment this summer.

She plopped down on one of the twin beds, pulled up her laptop, and logged into her Zoom account. Even if it was only 7:15 a.m. on the West Coast, Stuart was the type who woke at six without an alarm clock.

When his face appeared on the screen, his thick, sandy-blond hair still looked sleep-mussed. He was cradling an insulated tumbler, no doubt filled with piping-hot coffee. His ocean-blue eyes danced in amusement at the sight of her. “Hey, Dusty. I like the new hair color.”

She patted her short, dark hair, which now bore a vivid purple streak. “Thanks. I dyed it yesterday. Naturally, Mom hated it. When we went out to the market, she insisted I wear a hat.” She returned his grin. “I see you’ve grown a beard, Dr. Carlson.”

“You like it?”

“Definitely. You’re totally rocking a distinguished professor vibe.” And making me swoon more than ever. She’d always been a sucker for hot guys with beards. To stop herself from drooling on camera, she focused on the mountain of boxes behind him. “Why does your place resemble a storage unit?”

“Because I’m in packing hell, trying to box up my entire life in San Diego. I sold most of my furniture, but I still have too much crap for someone who’s only twenty-seven.”

“You’re such a pack rat. I’ll bet you could ditch half that stuff and not miss it. When are you driving out to Boston?”

“Next Monday. Please thank your parents—again—for letting me store everything in their condo. I’ve got a place lined up near the university, but the lease doesn’t start until August. I thought I’d have the entire summer to deal with this shit, but the Troy dig sped everything up.”

“So, basically, you’re driving to Boston, off-loading your boxes, and then hopping on a plane to Istanbul. All in the space of about ten days?”

He raked a hand through his hair, messing it even further. “That about covers it. Other than catching up on decades of excavation reports. Do you have any idea how many archaeologists have worked at Troy? It’s overwhelming. I’m hoping to make some headway on the plane ride over.”

She snorted. “You’re so disciplined. The only thing I ever do on those long-ass flights is watch movies.”

“Speaking of flights, are you coming? Did you get the green light from your mom?”

“I don’t need her approval. I’m my own person.”

“Says the woman who’s sitting in her parents’ apartment on a child-size bed.”

“First of all, child-size fits me perfectly since I’m not a great hulking giant like you. Second, why wouldn’t I stay here? This little room isn’t much, but it’s the one place I can call home in this corner of the world.” The wall facing her bed held a trio of bulletin boards, where she’d pinned dozens of drawings, photos, and postcards. The sight of them always improved her mood. “Anyway. I am coming. I can’t wait to spend the summer digging at Troy with you. I’m flying to Istanbul, then taking the bus to Çanakkale. I figured I’d come a day early, so we’d have time to catch up. Any chance you could get me at the bus station?”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” He flashed her an affectionate smile. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re going to be there.”

“Really?” Her heart did a skip-jump. Was he thinking the same thing she was? That this might be their chance to take their friendship to the next level?

“Yeah. This dig’s going to be stressful but having you around will make a big difference. You’re such a great friend.”

A friend.

That was all she’d ever been.

But maybe this summer, that could change.

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