Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Can I play with the bubble stuff after?” Clara asks hopefully as I pull loose the stick of tape and start slowly unraveling the wrap.
“Typical,” Maja says. “You give them all the toys in the world and they still want to play with the packaging it came in.”
Finally, it’s nearly unwrapped and I’m starting to figure out it’s some sort of pottery or dish.
And then … my heart stops.
This can’t be what I think it is.
“What is that?” Clara asks, reaching for the bubble wrap. “It looks boring.”
But it’s not boring. It might be the most magical, priceless thing I’ve ever held in my hands.
It’s a black vase or pot with handles, with a gold painting that stretches all around it depicting a few scenes. Greek scenes. It’s ancient as all hell, and as far as I can tell, absolutely real.
Aksel clears his throat and gestures to it. “It’s a red-figure bell krater,” he says. “Made from terracotta. I’m sure you know what it was used for.”
I nod slowly, having trouble finding the words. “It was a vase used in ancient Greece, to mix water and wine in.”
“Like an ancient punchbowl,” Stella remarks in awe. “Aksel, where did you get this? Please don’t tell me you bribed a museum. Indiana Jones would be very upset.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says dismissively. “It was obtained legally at auction.”
Auction. He bought it. I can’t imagine what it would cost. This vase is older than I can wrap my head around.
“It’s from 430 B.C.,” he says to me. “And the painting is supposed to depict Zeus, Apollo, Athena, and some other Greek gods that I can’t remember. It’s an origins story, so they said.”
“430 B.C.,” Maja says, whistling. “That’s 2,400 years old.”
“Whoa,” Clara says. “No wonder it looks like that.”
Actually, the vase is in remarkably great condition. I just … I don’t understand why he gave this to me. This is history. This is something bigger, more expensive, more important than anything in my life. It doesn’t even belong in my life. I grew up in a shack in the outback.
My hands are actually starting to tremble so I put the vase on the floor and glance up at him. “Aksel. Thank you but … I can’t keep this. This belongs in a museum.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t. It belongs to you.”
“It’s too much.”
“It’s yours. I went to the auction house specifically to get it for you. I know your love of history and ancient Greece.”
“I can’t accept it.”
“But you will.”
Meanwhile, everyone else’s eyes are volleying back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match.
“Aksel…”
“It’s yours,” he says emphatically. “Just tell me that you like it.”
My eyes widen. “Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s … everything.”
He looks relieved, his brow smoothing, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Good. Then you’re keeping it. That’s an order.”
“But.”
“But nothing,” he says, waving his hand. “It’s a remarkable piece of history, but it’s a dime a dozen in the world of cultural artifacts. It belongs to Aurora James now and no one else. I know you’re the best person to keep it safe.”
“Yeah, you’re a goddess,” Clara says. “You get to keep it.”
I look at everyone with my chin up, trying to keep tears from rushing to my eyes. I breathe in deep through my nose, feeling it burn, then manage a smile. I can’t believe he did this for me.
Why would he have done this?
Of course, now my present to Aksel looks lame as fuck compared to a vase that was made before Jesus was around. I mean, he’s a bloody king, he has everything he could ever want or buy. So I made Maja dig through old photos and find the picture of him posing beside his wrecked Datsun rally car, the last rally car he ever drove. Then I superimposed “Why I Took Up Sailing” on top of it, had it blown up, printed out, and professionally framed. I figured he could hang it up in his office.
But even though it’s not an ancient heirloom, I at least made him laugh when he saw the photo. And honestly, making Aksel laugh, seeing his wide smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, is just as meaningful as the vase and just as rare.
After the presents are all done, we ignore the mess of discarded wrapping papers and play another tradition, which is to each light a candle and stick it on the tree in a special holder. This game should be called “Fire Hazard” but the point of the game is to stay up and see whose candle burns out last.
Maja is the first to call it quits, heading up to her room. Then the girls fall asleep, curled up with their new plush toys at the foot of the tree.