Dr. Alan Grant stood in his "office" in the trailer, trying to stuff himself into a jacket he hadn't worn for more than a decade.

Normally, if he was in his office, he'd be covered in a fine layer of Montana dust, a side effect of excavating in a dry region such as the Badlands, but he would never wear this coat if unless he'd cleaned up first. This coat represented his least favorite part of the job.

As a paleontologist, Grant's favorite activity in the world was to kneel in the dust and dig, brush, excavate the fossilized remains of the most fantastic creatures to walk the Earth. Dinosaurs were his first, and now, he realized, with a hint of remorse, his only love. Of course, there was paperwork to be done. No career anywhere goes without paperwork. But most of the time, it had included publishing papers on his finds and theories, or applying for grants to continue his excavation.

Grants hadn't been so much of a problem a decade ago, when all his work was funded rather generously be the Hammond Foundation. Then he had an additional three years of funding for that trip to Costa Rica with Hammond himself... Grant shook the thought away. In any case, that money had since run out, and he had to apply for grants again.

He hadn't published any papers recently either. Often, he compared paleontology to forensics or detective novels: one searches for clues to determine what the landscape looked like, how the animals behaved, how they died, and so forth.

However, it was also a lot like gambling: someone could have a nice winning streak, stumbling across a huge nest site, like Grant did. But eventually, that streak would come to an end.

To sum it all up, Grant and his team of grad students needed money, and had nothing to show for how they used it. Hence the jacket.

It was Grant's lucky fundraising jacket, a brown suede-like sports coat that he wore over a plaid-pattern shirt, with jeans and tennis shoes. Ellie had given it to him.

Ellie Sattler had long since moved on; "evolved," as she said. She now married a nice Ph. D-wielding doctor and lived in Berkeley with two young kids. She still lectured, but her career was now, of all things, writing books. From what Grant understood, she had made major changes in her life, but she still had the parrot, Jack. So, she husband, two kids, lectures, writing, and a parrot, all at the same time... what couldn't she do?

Grant intended to ask her.

He was dress in his fundraising jacket because he was, in fact, going out to Berkeley to raise funds at the museum. He again reminded himself that this was the worst part of the job. Everything else he could do at the camp, but now he had to go to a whole other state so that he could keep the camp. At least he could stop by and say hi to Ellie.

He had a flight in five hours, but he decided to get ready early. He managed to get a few extra clothes and the few hygiene products he had at the site crammed into one bag, to dodge the extra baggage fees. He was wearing the jacket for the flight, and would head off to a hotel for the night, spend the day with Ellie, lecture at the museum that night, and head home after that was done.

It dawned on him that he had just called this place "home." Home, with the grad students, like children who would inevitably leave for college; home, with the emptiness and the sand and the wind and the bones; home, the only place he'd been for more than ten years. The only place he never wanted to leave.

He remembered the good old days, with Billy, the geeky kid who wanted a computer at every teepee, and Ellie, of course. Grant had a beard back then. Everyone hated it, and so Grant kept it around. It used to be joked that Grant spent so much time digging, more dinosaur bones ended up in his beard than in the acid baths. Grant actually liked the beard.

It was Ellie who convinced him to shave it all off. "If I'm gonna work with you," she had said, "you are going to shave that beard."

"That's your one condition?" he had asked.

"Oh, no, I'll probably have loads of requests later. But for now, yes, that is my one condition." All the kids thought it was funny. They'd been telling Grant to shave the beard for years, and the new girl thought she could do it before she even signed on?

Imagine their surprise when he actually did it.

Grant took one last look around the office, and caught his reflection on a picture frame. It was a picture of Ellie, deeply tanned, Billy, not so tanned, other strong, tanned kids, and a bearded Grant.

But in the picture was also a bearded Grant, only twelve years had gone by. This second Grant was the reflection; the stupid beard had started to grow back. When Ellie told him to lose the beard, he discovered he received more donations, simply because he was clean shaven. He rubbed his hand against his chin, realizing he would need to shave before he left for the airport.

"Oh, boy," he muttered, staring at himself.