Chapter 39

So ... I healed ... learned to live again ... the arm that was broken was never straight ... close ... weaker ... always tender. The healed burns were like holes ... holes in my soul. The bruises faded.

I have no idea what the assailant was thinking when he broke into my hospital room. Probably, “Where did she get the gun?”

When the ‘rope’ finally wore off, I was having nightmares. The doctors claimed Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

Just because he was dead didn’t mean it was over.

The forensic accountants found enormous offshore accounts.

“Young lady, we can’t do anything about the nightmares ... but we can sure take his money,” said the Judge. Court awarded ... non taxable.

Well ... shit ... more money ... it’s not like I needed more. I financed two Ph.D’s and paid off school loans for the entire crew. I was already financing quite a lot of the dig.

I failed my physical reevaluation. I wasn’t allowed to fly my mother’s Sandy.

The Flight Surgeon said, “Maybe next time ... in a year. Work on your range of motion.”

“I have two Airdrome ultralights ... can I fly them?”

“Only one at a time,” he said. He cackled. “One at a time. Get it?”

By the time I was mobile enough to notice, the summer session wound down. The professionals were starting in September. Professor Waters asked if I wanted to assist.

“Sure.”

So ... pretty much the professionals were the same crew from the summer. They had graduated, worked the summer session and were waiting on interviews with the Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management and the assorted State services ... oh ... and the plumb ... a single National Park desk job.

Texas is still hotter than billy blue blazes in the fall so the air-conditioned cave was much appreciated.

Dr. Waters scheduled a ‘get to work’ meeting and told me what the plan of the month was. Everybody showed up but I was the only clueless sucker.

“We’re going after the breakdown,” he said. “The breeze flowing in the cave mouth has to go somewhere, and your cat,” he nodded at Oci, “has been known to go missing after being seen on the top of the pile. All that detrius has to come out the mouth.”

Ya know what the prison guards used to say?

“See that rockpile?”

“This here is a sledgehammer ... make little rocks outta them there big ones.”

Of course, I was furnished leather gloves and safety goggles. It did wonders for my range of motion. Once I had a pile of little ones I tossed them out the cave mouth. Then I loaded them in a wheelbarrow and took that to a dumptruck.

Understand ... before I got ‘em ... the Professor had determined that they were of no archaeological value. I could bust ‘em up to my hearts content. I am pretty sure my money bought the sledgehammer, the shovel and the wheelbarrow ... I know I rented the dumptruck.

The breakdown was cleared by the time winter semester came around.

I did not transfer to Texas A&M. I did NOT sign up for Archaeology 101.

Daddy let me back in school. Grad student again.