Digging Up Death

Chapter Four

8:42 a.m. Mari's Dressing Room

Staring into the vanity mirror surrounded with lights, I ignored the discomfort in my gut and forced my fingers to trace the grooves on my forehead. The tiny cracks on the once flawless surface taunted me, reminding me of my imperfections. Maybe if I had my own makeup artist like the anchors at KTXL I wouldn't seem as old as the artifacts we studied in class.

Marianna, you shouldn't be so concerned with your appearance; after all it's inside that counts. My stomach tightened.

Not the words I needed to hear from my mother.

I reapplied my anti-aging foundation, the pang in my gut fermenting, then swelling, reaching hidden transgressions I thought I had buried. I indulged the ache, then pushed it aside. I couldn't change the past. Focusing on the present, I made a mental note to schedule my next Botox treatment. ASAP. Too bad it wasn't an instant fix or I'd try and squeeze it in before my 3:00 interview.

After painting on my makeup like an artist restoring a relic, I changed into a comfortable Donna Karan, A-line, black skirt, slipped on my scarlet cardigan, and wrap tied it loosely on the side. The finishing touch . . . my favorite five-inch, black, leather boots with mesh upper. Perfect for class. A little too casual for my interview, but I had time to drive home and change intosomething more appropriate after my nail appointment. Something that screamed co-hostess of "Rise and Shine, Lyndon."

Someone knocked. Elizabeth? "Did you forget something?"

Fletcher crept in with his tail between his legs. The morning's humiliation played through my mind, the room suddenly warm and stuffy. "What are you doing here?" I sat at the vanity. Grabbed the powder brush.

"I came to see if you were okay."

"Don't do me any favors." I jammed the brush into the powder, swirling it around and around.

"I said I was sorry. What more do you want? Blood?" "You can start with a pint." "Come on. How long are you going to punish me?" "As long as it takes." I circled the brush over my face in quick motions, trying to avoid

gazing at his reflection in the mirror. "This isn't just about this morning, is it?" More powder. More brushing. "Listen, Mari. I didn't mean to. It was a stupid thing—" "Cheating on your Cultural Anthropology final was stupid. Chugging a bottle of Tabasco

sauce on a dare was stupid. Driving drunk after a keg party was stupid." My jaw tensed. "Just tell me what you want."

"I want you to go." "Fine." Fletcher turned to leave. "Old habits die hard," I mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

Through the mirror I saw him whip around, nostrils flaring.

I faced him, my chest burning. "What you did today was insensitive and cruel. Like when you left—"

"On a dig, Mari. Not the relationship." He raked his hands through his dark hair and for a moment I remembered the thrill of running my fingers through his thick waves. Winsome memories fought to overpower the anguish, but the pain gnawed at me like rats on a festering wound.

I couldn't forget. I couldn't forgive. I couldn't ..."I was sixteen and pregnant. You weren't there for me." The fire from my own glare burned my cheeks.

"But Jack was." Fletcher's eyes lit with revelation. "Now I get it. You were barely pregnant when I left. I wanted to come home after my summer archaeology internship, but you told me not to. You said continuing on through the fall and spring was an opportunity of a lifetime. I assumed you needed some distance after you lost the baby, but it was because of Jack. I asked my best friend to take care of you while I was gone. I guess he did."