Page 6 of Us in Ruins

There was no graceful way to flop over on a bed to come to your own defense. It was more fish-out-of-water than anything. When Margot finally righted herself, she said, “I know I’m not a pedigreed archaeologist, but I’m here.”

“Please. You don’t know an amphora from a krater. I bet you don’t last the week,” Astrid said.

Margot dropped down the ladder and squared her shoulders. Heat worked over her skin, her body temperature rising. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Astrid didn’t back down. “I’ve seen enough. Everyone else has done fieldwork before. You aren’t ruining my summer for me, one way or another—you’ll either give up and crawl home, tail between your legs, or I’ll get it through Dr. Hunt’s head that you don’t belong here, and she’ll send you home.”

Margot didn’t bother excusing herself to the bathroom. When she felt that first prickle against the back of her throat, she knew the waterworks were coming. She slammed the door behind her, and there was a crash on the other side. Guilt twined around her ribs—her overreactions never came without a price—but she couldn’t stop herself.

Her eyelashes clumped together, wet with tears. She ran her hands under cold water, letting the chill sink into the soft skin of her wrist. Her therapist said it helped soothe her central nervous system and deactivate fight-or-flight mode. Which was definitely needed at the moment. Red crept up the column of her neck like being around Astrid all afternoon had given her a bad rash.

As much as she hated to admit it, maybe Astrid was right. It was only day one. Her manicure was already wrecked. How was she going to survive six whole weeks?

An exhale shook Margot’s lungs. She couldn’t keep crying. Not right now. This was what she always did—she jumped headfirst into something, exhilarated and determined, but swam to shore when the waters were deeper than she imagined. Not this time.

Reaching into her pocket, Margot clutched the shard from the Vase. She traced her fingertips along the flecks of gold. It was a charm, warding off Astrid’s evil energy. When Margot looked at it, the ground beneath her feet felt solid again.

She’d made it this far. And maybe, she could belong here.

Like a shot from a starting gun, the gazillion-year-old corded phone she’d seen on the side table rang with a vengeance. Margot nearly leaped out of her skin, and she poked her head through the bathroom doorway. Astrid crouched on the floor and swept up the fragments of a black coffee mug, broken into chunks of porcelain—it must have taken a nosedive when Margot slammed the door.

“Easy. Don’t Hulk out on us again,” Astrid said as she deposited the pieces on the dresser. Then, turning over her shoulder, she snapped, “Are you going to answer that or what?”

“Do I look like a receptionist to you?” Suki grabbed the screaming phone and answered with a gruff “What’s up?” While whoever was on the other line spoke, her eyes zipped toward Margot. She pointed a finger at her and mouthed, It’s for you.

But it couldn’t be for Margot. Because no one knew she was here.

Suki nodded as if the caller could see her and then said, “You’re looking for Margot? Margot Rhodes?”

Margot shook her head wildly. Eyes wide, pleading.

“How do I know you’re not some creepy stalker?” A pause. “Oh, you’re her dad?”

Doomed. She was absolutely doomed. Margot clasped her hands at her chest, namaste-style. She begged with a harsh whisper, “Please don’t say I’m here. Don’t say anything about me. Tell him you’ve never heard of me.”

A few mental calculations placed it around one p.m. in Dogwood Hollow, Georgia. Lunchtime for her dad, breezing between meetings to grab balsamic and burrata paninis at Evelyn’s corner café. Late enough for him to realize she wasn’t answering his texts about whether or not she wanted potato salad on the side, which was a dead giveaway because Margot always wanted potato salad on the side. She’d masterminded the whole plan—it wasn’t that hard to disappear for six weeks. How could this have happened?

Suki listened for a second. “Yeah, okay. She’s right here.”

Margot’s whole body slumped. “Are you kidding me?”

“He said he was going to call the school back to unenroll you.” Suki covered the receiver with the palm of her hand, shoulders shrugged up to her ears. “Also, your dad sounds like kind of a DILF.”

“Suki,” Margot hissed.

“Just saying.”

The phone burned when Margot held it to her ear. Her voice sounded stiff, pinched. “Hiiiiii.”

“Hey, Gogo,” her dad said from the other end, and her heart squeezed at the nickname. Behind him, she could hear the bluebirds singing and the faint hum of the street quartet’s string instruments—they always gathered in the town square on Friday afternoons. Rupert Rhodes could hardly walk ten steps without saying hello to someone because when you’re the Deep South’s small-town version of a real estate mogul, you basically know everybody. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“What do you mean? You sound like you’re running late for a new client meeting. Maybe I can catch you after work.”

His sigh could be felt across the Atlantic. “You mean today or six weeks from now?”

Every brain cell in Margot’s head shifted into overdrive. Last night, while he was showing a house over in Copper Springs, she’d left a note under his coffee mug, outlining the details of her flight. Except she’d said she’d be boarding a flight to New York City to spend the summer with her mom in Manhattan doing... whatever it was her mom did without her. It wasn’t like her parents were on speaking terms. There was no way it could have backfired this badly this quickly.

But he’d called her. On a corded phone from the last millennia.

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