Edie
“Somehow, rain is just not quite as festive as snow,” I said with my head pressed up against the hotel window, one hand holding a glass full of whiskey, etched with “Season’s Greetings,” the other clutching the remote, which had been scanning through Christmas programming on hotel cable channels.
Frank lay splayed on the bed, tie loosed and mouth agape, and then after some time said, “I have no idea how you’re still drinking. I’m so full. I can’t believe they eat Christmas goose outside of Dickens’s novels.”
“I don’t think you were supposed to eat the whole goose.” I laughed.
General moaning came from the direction of the sleeping alcove as I tapped on the glass and drew spirals with my finger in the condensation left by my breath. “You know what,” I called over to him, “after all this time, I’m going to give you the bed and take the couch for myself.”
“Why?” Frank sat up earnestly. “Is the couch really good here?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. I’m just thankful for you. For this journey you went on with me, for being there for me as I navigated all of this, and most of all…” I walked over to him, sat on the bed, and smoothed his fine brown hair away from his forehead. “I’m proud of you for quitting.”
“Oh, the smoking?” he asked. “It’s hell. I’m only doing it because Colin—”
“No. It’s for you too,” I protested, cupping his perfectly angular chin in my glass-chilled hand.
“Well, if it’s time for Christmas sentiments already, then I’m proud of you for quitting too,” he said, propping himself up a bit.
“Well thanks, but I only smoked in solidarity with you occasionally,” I contested.
“No, Edie, I mean the whole ‘I am an island’ lonely wanderer bullshit. I think that we’ve both successfully escaped real commitment in relationships by depending on each other, and I’m proud of both of us for embracing a new kind of love.”
I snorted at this. “You may be pushing the holiday sentimentality a bit,” I joked.
Frank blinked at me, crystal sapphire eyes framed by dark, thick lashes, serious as ever. “It’s OK to love him. It doesn’t make you weak,” he said.
I returned to the large Georgian window of our hotel room, which looked out onto Saint Stephen’s Green. We had come to Dublin to celebrate my book—mine and Sully’s—being done. Frank went to pour a bit of whiskey from our Jameson bottle on the desk and joined me at the window. There we stood, looking out onto the lights of the city.
We had just had a big, ridiculous Christmas dinner downstairs in the Shelbourne, next to a Christmas tree with all the trimmings. We sat at a round table, Michael on one side of me, and Sully’s wife Mary on the other side. She had whispered her praises to me over the research I had done, squeezing my hand, eyes filling with tears at everyone’s toasts and the news that I would be the new visiting professor in Neolithic Archaeology at Trinity the next semester. Michael’s grandfather Mickey sat next to him, excited for a trip down south for the holidays, and Frank next to Mickey. They had become fast friends. Sully and Mary’s daughter, Caitlin, was away at school in America still, not returning for the holidays this year (a new boyfriend was the rumor), but their son Cian was next to Frank. Cian and Michael had recognized each other from school in Belfast a few years prior, and Michael had cleared his throat in an intimidating way a few times when Cian had had some pointed questions about the research.
I was patting his thigh next to me, letting the red wine flow, answering with ease. I was happy Cian was invested. His towering height reminded me of Sully, and I wanted him to feel he had a voice. I had him make some cover suggestions since he had studied graphic art, and Mary rubbed both our shoulders as we leaned over her looking at the publisher’s mock-ups. Her eyes gleamed with the joy of having family home for the holidays. I imagined she had been lonely for the past year, and I vowed to visit her regularly as long as I was in Dublin. Everyone was in a blissful holiday mood, and we finished the night with a round of pass-the-parcel with a gift Mary had bought and wrapped six or seven times, laughing and humming along to the Bing Crosby Christmas music that was piped through the dining room.
Around eleven o’clock, as the day before the solstice drew to a close and Mickey and Frank were falling asleep at the table, we decided to call it a night. Cian ushered Mary out to their car after a few tearful hugs, and the rest of us trudged upstairs to our two rooms; Mickey and Michael in room 102, Frank and I across the way in 103. “Silent Night” played as we kissed cheeks and bade farewell until the morning, when we would make the forty-five-minute trip to Newgrange. I could tell that Michael wanted to linger outside the door for a moment after Mickey went inside, but I felt so fuzzy and warm inside from all the red wine, Christmas cheer, and toasts of congratulations on the book that I was a little afraid of what I might say or do. He saw me backing away and gently pulled me to him, rubbing my nose with his.
“Sleep in heavenly peace, my Edana. Thank you for bringing me and the old man with ye for this wonderful weekend.” I felt the cadence of the next three words he wanted to leave his lips. But he felt me pulling away and just kissed my forehead instead.
“You’re welcome,” I answered with my hand on the door, which Frank had left slightly ajar. “I can’t wait for you to see it!” I said as I slipped inside.
It was just half an hour after that awkward farewell that Frank and I stood there at the big Georgian window, whiskeys in hand, comfortably silent for several minutes, as only best friends can be, with the Doctor Who Christmas Special playing loudly on the TV in the background, staring at the people down below running around to meet friends for a holiday pub party or running back home into the arms of loved ones.
Finally, I made my confession to Frank and to everyone below. “Look, I know I’ve been impossible, treating this whole dogged process of research and writing and finalizing Sully’s book like it’s sacrosanct…or like I’m Robert Langdon or something.” We laughed and sipped our whiskey. “In a way, it was a grief process for me, and I needed it in order to—to escape having to feel all the sadness again, having to relive the huge loss of it all. I didn’t think I could do it again. Lose another father.”
I took a sip of my whiskey, breathed on the window glass, and traced another spiral with the tip of my pointer finger while Frank looked at me, his eyes turned down in sadness like he was a loyal Labrador, standing by me as he had for the last decade, as I continued. “It saved me. I want you to know the crux of it. This whole cycle of the year, observing the ancient Celtic calendar, following the pagans around, learning the dances, visiting every functioning stone circle from here to the Hebrides. It brought my joy back because I realized my job is my vocation and I can do it with seriousness and joy, simultaneously. You and Michael helped me to see that. And Sully,” I added. “Sully used to say, ‘You can’t do a good job if your job is all you do.’”
Frank nodded, with a knowing smile that I knew meant he had the perfect literary quote at hand. “‘Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and in a more universal language?’” he said, raising his glass to clink mine.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“An American like you,” he answered. “It sure has been an epic adventure.” He laughed.
“You know, I’m happy for you and Colin. I like him. He can use a LiDAR really well.”
“He is very useful; I will say that.” Frank giggled, the sweet sound of effervescent love bubbling up. “I don’t have to tell you how much I like Michael or how perfect he is for you.” He raised his eyebrows.
“I think it’s so unfair that the bargain we have to strike for loving someone is the possibility of losing them. I don’t want to lose anyone else, but I think you’re right. It’s too late for me now, anyway.” I smiled.
“What do you mean?” Frank asked.
“He asked me to come to stay over from Christmas to New Years with his family. Apparently on Christmas Day, the whole village gathers at their ancient farmhouse and Mickey dresses up as Father Christmas.” Now it was my turn to giggle.
“That sounds incredible!” Frank said. “I think Hogmanay is bigger than Christmas on the Scottish Isles, so I’ll be up that way. We should do something together in the New Year. Maybe a boat ride and a bonfire?” I nodded and squeezed his hand, giggling. “We’ll always be soulmates, no matter who we fall in love with along the way,” Frank assured me as he finished his last sip of whiskey and made his way back to the bed.
I had gone to the mirror to remove my earrings, humming along to “Christmas in Killarney,” when I heard a light rap at the door. I slid across the carpeted floor in my stocking feet and received a light electric shock when I opened the door to reveal Michael, dressed in full-length coat, gloves, and hat.
“The rain stopped, and I wondered if you would mind joining me for a walk?” he asked, hesitantly smiling and rocking back and forth in anticipation.
“Isn’t it midnight?” I asked.
“Yes. I wanted to ring in the solstice with my favorite archaeologist,” he offered, eyebrows raised in supplication.
I got my coat and shoes, and we headed downstairs and past the giant Christmas tree, out onto Grafton Street. The shops were lit up still, and lights stretched across the cobblestone road, illuminating the night like the stars had on Mabon when we first kissed. We walked hand in hand, stopping to peer into pretty windows, tip buskers, and grab a walk-up coffee. I got a decaf, hoping I might sleep for a few hours before we left for Newgrange at 5:00 a.m. Michael got his usual cappuccino.
Before we knew it, we had reached the gates of Trinity College, where bright lights were cast onto the buildings nearby, dressing them up for the holidays. “Do you mind if I give you your Christmas present early?” he asked, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small box wrapped in gold paper. There was a small, folded paper on top that simply read, “to my love.”
I opened it very carefully, revealing a wooden box carved with a spiral. I looked up at him, smiling. “Your handiwork?” I asked.
He nodded. “Keep going.” Inside was a single silver bangle bracelet that was inscribed all the way around, “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”
“You remembered.” I said, deeply moved.
“I want you to know, Edie, that I’m endlessly proud of ye and I’ll support you whether you teach at Trinity or in Timbuktu. I just want you to know how much you deserve to be happy.”
My eyes filled with tears, and the drizzle that had picked back up in the last few minutes turned to tiny, fluffy snowflakes that landed in our eyelashes and hair. They covered my red wool gloves, and I pulled his face down to mine to kiss him. We were excited by the snow like little children and ended up walking around the city for the rest of the night, up Clare Street to the old Viking docks, over to Phoenix Park, and then back to O’Connell Street and up to the M-1 to catch the 5:00 a.m. bus to Newgrange. I don’t think I had ever talked that much in my life, but the conversation and kisses flowed ceaselessly as we walked for hours in the falling snow.
I didn’t arrive back to the hotel room until noon the next day. Frank had risen, ordered breakfast to the room, and was sitting at the table in the hotel bathrobe surrounded by waffles, bacon, coffee, and orange juice when I entered, sopping wet, exhausted, and absolutely electrified. We had seen the light as it snuck into the passage tomb, illuminating the altar wall. It had been one of the purest moments of joy in my life, and Sully was there, so vividly, in every moment of it.
“OK, sit down, have a waffle and some coffee, and tell me everything,” Frank said.
I laughed and slid down the door onto the carpeted floor. My feet were aching, and I needed to sleep. I covered my face. “You’ll never believe it,” I said.
“Wait, what?” Frank asked again, sitting up, even more interested.
“First of all, the passage tomb lit up even though no one thought it would this year with all the rain!”
“That’s great,” Frank answered, “but I feel like there’s more.”
“I told him I loved him,” I whispered, still not sure it was real. I hadn’t ever really felt it or said it to anyone before, so I was unsure of what I was supposed to be feeling.
“How?” Frank asked, mouth agape.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He said something to me, and then it was just like dawn at the passage tomb: There was a small crack that the light could enter, and it did, despite all the clouds and dismal forecasts. And all of a sudden I was just—”
“Illuminated?” Frank asked, smiling beatifically.
“Precisely,” I said as I crawled over to the bed.
“So what did he say, Edie? Don’t leave me hanging!” Frank got up, following me to the bed to tuck me in.
“He gave me this bracelet,” I said, extending my arm before closing my eyes to get some much-needed rest before our trip north to stay with Michael’s family for Christmas.
“And?” Frank asked as I dozed off.
“And he said…wait, let me remember exactly.” Frank laughed, sitting patiently at the end of the bed. “He said, ‘I have something to teach you about love. It’s not some fragile thing that shatters when we walk through something hard.’”