Artifact by Gigi Pandian Page B

tired that I could have fallen asleep in one of the chairs in the lobby.
    “My key doesn’t fit,” I grumbled through a yawn as I tried to open the door to my room.
    “That’s because this is my room,” Lane said, pulling my hand back from the door handle.
    His hand was gentle, but I felt his strength. He drew the key from my fingers. He led me over to my door and unlocked it for me. He pushed the door open and quickly scanned the room.
    We stood close to each other. I could feel Lane’s breath on the top of my head. He hesitated in the doorway.
    “Get some sleep, Jones,” he said.
    I felt cool metal as he pressed the key back into my palm.
    “We want to catch the early train,” I said, yawning again.
    “Train? Shouldn’t we catch a flight? I know I’m not the biggest fan of flying, but I can handle it.”
    “They’ll be out at the dig all day. We’ve got time.”
    “Come get me in the morning when you’re ready to leave.”
    I didn’t remember falling into bed, but I awoke to bright sunlight streaming across the bed, hitting my face.
    I’d overslept.
    I meant for us to catch the earliest departing train to Scotland from King’s Cross Station. That way we’d have time to examine our new surroundings. Even with our late departure, with the seven-hour train ride we’d still arrive in the late afternoon.
    English train stations, full of hearty British food and interesting people from around the world, are some of my favorite places on earth.
    The trains themselves fill me with much the same feeling, with the added benefit of scenic landscapes passing before my eyes. A romantic might think of Murder on the Orient Express or some other classic book involving intrigue on a foreign train. I, however, am not a romantic. It’s the meditative respite I appreciate.
    Lane and I boarded the Scotland-bound train and found seats in a coach car. We dumped our luggage in the compartment at the end of the car and settled into our seats. We barely made it before the train pulled out of the station.
    I hadn’t had time to buy food at the station. Since the train had both a dining car and a roving snack cart, I wasn’t worried about keeping properly nourished.
    The engine hummed and we started moving. As we chugged along smoothly, I looked out the window. Lane was reading a book, but when I turned from the window he looked up at me.
    “You like it here, don’t you?” he said.
    It should have made me nervous that he was always able to read my mind. For some reason, it didn’t.
    “It’s the perfect balance,” I said. “When I’m overseas in an English-speaking country, it’s similar yet different enough at the same time. It’s liberating.”
    “I know,” he said. I had the feeling he wasn’t making small talk. That he did know what I meant.
    “I’m not supposed to fit in here,” I said. “I’m a foreigner in India, where I was born, and to some extent I’m even a foreigner at home. But here, it feels much more natural being asked where I’m from since I’m not in one of the two countries I’m actually from. There aren’t the same expectations about who I’m supposed to be.”
    “It gets tiring being an outsider in places where you’re not supposed to feel that way.”
    I looked at him—really looked at him. Not his physical features, but at what the image he presented seemed to be hiding.
    “Where are you from?” I asked.
    A flash of emotion shone in his eyes for a moment. Indecision?
    “Minnesota.”
    “You don’t look like you’re from Minnesota.”
    “I’m from Minnesota like you’re from India.”
    He returned to reading his book. He stayed on the same page for an awfully long time, shifting in his seat.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “Something.”
    “What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
    “That’s not what you wanted to say.”
    “We have to get to know each other,” Lane said. “I’m supposed to be your significant other. We need to know the basics