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sick at heart that she was nothing more than a charity case to him, she wanted no more to do with the man she’d loved for so long. No wonder he’d thought of her as his ward. She was obligated to him for every crumb she put in her mouth. But no more. She was her own woman now. She’d support herself. Maybe later she could finish her master’s degree. She had plenty of time for that. At least she had a job to see her through this difficult transition.
    She was forced to use her small bank account to pay the deposit on the new apartment, to pay for movers to transport her few possessions and for enough food to keep her going until she drew her first paycheck. She was so sick at heart that she hated the whole world. She couldn’t even talk to Tate’s mother, Leta.
    The new apartment was small, and not much to look at, but at least she’d be responsible for herself. Unlike the old one, it was unfurnished, so she started out with very little. She didn’t even have a television set. At least the new place was closer to the museum. She could ride the bus to work every day, or even take the metro if she liked.
    Colby came by to help her unpack, bringing a pizza with him and a small boom box with some cassettes as a house-warming present. They munched while they unwrapped lamps and dishes, sipping beer because it was all he brought for them to drink.
    â€œI hate beer,” she moaned.
    â€œIf you drink enough of it, you won’t care about the taste,” he assured her.
    She gave the can a dubious stare, shrugged, closed her eyes, held her breath and drank heavily. “Yuck!” she said.
    â€œKeep going.”
    She finished half of the can and ate some more pizza. After a few minutes, sure enough, it didn’t taste half-bad.
    He watched her grin and nodded. “That’s the first smile I’ve seen in days.”
    â€œI’m getting through it,” she assured him. “I start work next Monday. I can’t wait.”
    â€œI wish I could be around to hear about your first day, but I’ve got another overseas assignment.”
    She suspended the pizza at her mouth. Putting it down, she said worriedly, “Colby, you’ve already lost an arm…”
    â€œAnd it will make me more careful,” he told her. “I lost it because I got drunk. I won’t let that happen again.” He glanced at the can. “Beer doesn’t affect me these days. It’s just a pleasant diversion.” He looked at her. “I’m through my worst time. Now I’m going to help you through yours. When I get back.”
    She grimaced. “Well, don’t get killed, okay?”
    He chuckled. “Okay.”
    Â 
    During Colby’s absence, she celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday with a cupcake, a candle and a card from Leta, who never forgot. Tate apparently had, or he was holding a grudge. For the first time in eight years, her birthday passed unnoticed by him.
    She was now firmly entrenched at the museum and having the time of her life. She missed college and her classmates, but she loved the work she was doing. Acquisitions would be part of her duties as assistant curator, and she got to work in her own forensic archaeology field, Paleo-Indian archaeology. She didn’t really miss forensics as much as she’d expected to. It was almost as exciting to have access to rare collections of Folsom Clovis, and other projectile points, which were thousands of years old, along with bola stones, chippers and other stone tools and pottery fashioned by long-dead hands.
    Her new phone number was unlisted, but Tate called her once at the museum. She put the phone down, gently but firmly. He didn’t call again.
    Senator Holden did. “It’s my birthday Saturday night,” he said. “I want you and Colby to come.”
    â€œHe’s out of town. But I’d love to.”
    â€œGreat! We can talk about some new projects I’ve got