Page 55 of Only One Tour Bus

I am recovering from an illness, after all. I could use the support, however fine I feel, just in case the tide turns. For safety purposes.

Callum is true to his word and calls a cab to take us to our first stop. It’s a luxury I don’t normally splurge for, but it’s nice to be close to him without the rest of Paris traveling with us.

The line for Sainte-Chapelle is surprisingly short for the summer, and we walk right into the space with its 1,113 stained glass windows.

“The light is perfect for this today,” I whisper to Callum. There’s no rule against talking, but there’s something about being in this mostly dark space with spots of jeweled-toned light that makes me feel like I’m walking in a kaleidoscope that demands quiet respect. I’m not religious, but the space itself, and all the history and people involved in it, still demands solemnity.

And the occasional picture. Pictures can be solemn. And very respectful. Even selfies, even though I doubt Callum would back me up on that.

Still, I snap some photos of Callum in the light, and then focus on the building. When I turn around again, Callum has his phone out and is taking a photo of me.

“Taking photos now? I’m such a bad influence.”

Callum’s checks turn red, even though it looks purple in this light, or more purple since everything is a little purple under the stained glass, and he extends the phone to me. “Thought you might like some photos. Since you’re obsessed with social media and documenting moments for a posterity that probably won’t care.” He sends it to me as we look at it.

He captured me taking a photo. Holding my phone with my face upturned, bathed in the light pouring in through the colored glass and by the screen of my own phone illuminating me. I look ethereal. More because of the magic Photoshop of this building than my face, but still.

“You’re very good at this,” I say.

“It’s not rocket science. Point, hit the button. The building did most of the work. And your face.” The words are an angry grumble. Literally the angriest compliment I’ve ever received.

“My face?” I squeak out.

“It’s…aesthetically pleasing.” He still sounds so gruff I only barely stop myself from asking if he’s the one getting sick now.

“Thank you,” I say instead, dazed and unable to handle compliments from the man while under the lingering influence of cold mediation.

“A piece of the Crown of Thorns is over there.” Callum points at something behind me.

As transitions go, it isn’t the smoothest, but as distractions go, the alleged crown that Jesus was wearing when he was crucified is a good one.

“Do you think it’s the real deal?” I ask. “Well, leaving religion out of it and looking at Jesus as a historic figure.”

“Who knows at this point. It’s been so long, and it didn’t exactly come with provenance. There are enough pieces of it floating around that not all of them can be the real thing. Unless he had the biggest head in recorded history.”

“I choose to believe it’s true. It’s the better story.” I nod, like that settles it. For me, at least.

“That’s not how history works,”

“But wouldn’t it be better if it was?”

“The truth can be interesting in and of itself. And it has the advantage of being the truth.”

“That’s definitely true.” I laugh at my own joke.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The sass I get simply trying to educate the masses.”

I point to myself. “It’s me? I’m the masses?”

“You know a good deal more than the masses.”

“So many compliments today. Did I imagine them all under the influence of cold medication? Actually, don’t answer that. I like thinking the answer is no.”

Callum shakes his head at me, which is an answer enough even though I specifically asked him not to give me an answer, as we walk past the relic. Not that I can see it through the ornate gold crown-shaped case it’s housed in.

We exit the building and Callum leads us to the entrance of the catacombs where the tour starts, my hand tucked into his elbow. He even extended his arm out to me first, before I could reach for him. What a nice Schrödinger’s date.

The catacombs are dark, the ceilings short, and the walls are lined with bones. It’s quite a contrast from the last building we were in, with its tall ceilings and patches of sparkling color.