Justice . . . is a kind of compact not to harm or be harmed. -Epicurus
I plop down on a large flat rock, drawing my knees to my chest. My mother rolls up her jeans. Peeling off her shoes and socks, she wades in the water up to the middle of her calves.
"Danielle," she says, her tone is a hair shy of scolding. "Have you told Drake that you have to go back to Texas to present your paper or that the professor wants to help with the excavation next month?"
"No, I haven't, not yet." I chew on the inside of my lip.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not sure how he's going to react."
"When will you tell him?"
"Soon, I promise. I just don't want to deal with that right now."
"Maybe he'll surprise you and go with you?"
"I don't think he can or wants to leave the ranch right now."
"Again, he might j
