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"Take me home," shewhispered.
Nodding, I hooked her pack over my shoulder. "I love hearing you say that," I said, my lips pressed to the crown of herhead.
"Then let me say it again," she said with a grin. "Take me home,Nick."
We collectedher things and headed home to Cambridge. I drove with her hand in mine because I required that connection. She talked about her research in the Solomon Islands, and her time there. I talked surgeries, and the one-hundred-mile bike ride Matt and I took last weekend. Nothing we discussed was remarkable but it feltsignificant.
It was the end-of-the-day conversation I'd missed these past three weeks. The pebbles of daily life that came together to form the whole of ourexistence.
"I ended up next to a chatty traveler on my last flight," Erinsaid.
"Did this person survive the journey?" I asked. My wife's withering death stare was enough to stop most people in their tracks, but there were always a few who ignored thesigns.
"Yes but barely," she said, a laugh ringing in her words. "This guy wanted to know where I was going and where I'd been. He thought he had me beat at the passport stampgame."
"Little did he know," Imurmured.
"Oh yeah," she said with a smug grin. "I whipped it out and had him on his knees within twopages."
"You're starting to sound a lot like Shannon," I said. "I'm not sure how I feel aboutthat."
"Sounds like a compliment to me." She jerked a defiant shoulder, inviting me to challenge her. I knew better than that. "When I showed him the stamps from Iceland, he ignored all the evidence suggesting that I knew something about the country and its customs because he decided to school me on holidaytraditions."
"That must've beenentertaining."
"It gets better," she promised. "He went on and on about the Icelandic custom of giving books on Christmas and how it dated back to medieval times. Since that's inaccurate—it started during the second World War when luxury materials were rationed but paper was not—I corrected hismisconception."
"It's a public service you're doing,Skip."
"Since we were on the topic of Iceland and holidays, I figured I'd add to his knowledge base and tell him about the thirteen terrifying ogres and their evil ogre-troll mother. They climb down from the mountains every holiday season to snatch up local children. They use them forsoup."
"And here I was, thinking the best part of your brain was the obscure history," I mused. "Apparently, it's Icelandicfolklore."
"That story did originate in medieval times, and the children were so afraid of Grýla and the Yule Lads, they wouldn't leave their homes aroundChristmas."
"How did your chatty traveler respond to this?" Iasked.
"He remembered that he had a newspaper to read," she replied. "My dark heart has that effect onpeople."
"I love you and your dark heart," I said. "Your ridiculous stories, too. Talk history to me,baby."
"During the Reformation, Oliver Cromwell and some tribalist Puritans went hard at removing the excess, decadence, and materialism from England. They canceled Christmas in 1645. That didn't last long, and Charles the Second reclaimed his seat atop the monarchy, but the sentiment stuck with the English separatists who later carried that orthodoxy across the Atlantic. Christmas was not a holiday celebrated by most seventeenth century settlers in North America. In Boston," she continued, "there were twenty-odd years when celebrating Christmas was a crime. It didn't become a federal holiday until after the CivilWar."
"Ahhhh." I sighed, my palm on my chest. "I needed that. It's comfort food and foreplay, all at the sametime."
"You're the only person who likes it when I dredge up this information," Erinsaid.
"You're the only person who can dredge up this information," I replied. "I tried to tell Hartshorn and Emmerling one of your bits of strange history, and it made no sense. You have agift."
"Is Alex coming to Patrick and Andy's party tomorrow night?" sheasked.
"She will be there, and she invited Stremmel to come along," I said as we exited StorrowDive.
"That's interesting," Erin murmured. "Based on everything you've told me about him, I didn't expectthat."
"Me neither," I said. "Hartshorn and I asked him to join us for dinner a couple of days ago. The suggestion was mildly mortifying tohim."
She rubbed her thumb over the back of my hand. "He'll fit rightin."
