The next few days were a blur of meeting other family members and seeing a little of the country. I hobbled around on my sore foot and took as many pictures as I could. There was never much light, so I was pretty sure only a handful would turn out. We did celebrate Christmas at a relative’s home east of Hvammstangi. There was lots of food—most of it looked wonderful, some of it gross, but I couldn’t really eat much.
On our last day, as I was laying out stuff to pack, Sarah burst into our room. “Mordur’s awake,” she said, “and he wants to see you.”
My father drove me to town and dropped me off in front of the small hospital, saying he’d come back in a little while. I went straight to Mordur’s room.
He was propped up in bed, dozing. When I sat down in the chair next to him, he slowly opened his eyes.
“Angie, I have a big hurt in my head.”
I laughed. “I’m not surprised. You’ve been through the wringer.”
“Tell me what happened.”
I told him what I could remember, but I knew I’d left quite a few details out. “I’ll give you the full story in a letter,” I said. I handed him back his father’s spearhead.
He took it from me and softly said, “Thanks. This means lots to me.” He smiled. “My last real good memory is sitting by the fire, talking to you. You were going to speak all about yourself.”
“I already did.” I chuckled. He gave me a confused look. I explained that I had visited him while he was unconscious.
“I guess I was a good listener, I didn’t interrupt you.” He blinked. “You leave today, right?”
I nodded. “In a few hours.”
“Thank you for letting me show you around. It was . . .” he struggled for words, “. . . it was an honor.”
“No problem,” I said, getting up. I felt tears in my eyes, but blinked them back. “We could have had a lot of fun. If everything had worked out differently.” I leaned over him and kissed him on the lips. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“As long as you promise to come back.”
“I will.”