“Oh, of course not,” said The Professor. “The data he delivered were definitely reliable.” Did he look uncomfortable now? Spunky thought so. Maybe.

  “What I saw was excellent data,” said Spunky, “delving deeply into the whole population, and so the ‘nothing’ that Elyon came up with was a complete absence of associations between any statements on the DNA and the behavioral coming-and-going traits we were hoping to correlate.”

  “A distinction without a difference.”

  “You see, Professor, that’s why I thought I detected a lie, because you have the reputation of being a scientist. Not a dilettante, not a hobbyist, and certainly not a grant-grinder. Yet a scientist does not, doesn’t ever, regard reliable data that fails to show a correlation as ‘nothing.’ In fact, that’s important evidence to show that the propensity to return to a particular home town is not a genetic trait, as was long thought to be true of migratory birds, but instead is culturally acquired.”

  “It isn’t either-or,” said The Professor.

  “It’s pretty close to either-or,” said Spunky. “So it looks to me as if Elyon’s first-rate number crunching gave us the perfectly publishable result that cultures can promote homebody behavior whether genes support it or not. Wouldn’t you say that this is at least a preliminary indication?”

  “Absence of evidence is not—”

  “But evidence isn’t absent. The evidence is present and it’s clear. There is no statistically significant association between any of the examined portions of the DNA and the homing behavior.”

  “That is not a publication that I’m going to sign my name to,” said The Professor.

  “This morning when I got up I googled my way through the major donors to the foundation that gave you this grant, and it looks to me as if your donors would be unhappy if you published a paper saying that homing is a cultural trait in humans. Because that would mean that some cultures were better than others at bringing their members home again after allowing them to stray for a while.”

  “That’s not even controversial.”

  “Because nobody’s saying it. If you say it, backed up by our excellent fieldwork in Good Shepherd, North Carolina, it’ll leave you without access to a bunch of very deep pockets that you’ve been dipping your hand in.”

  “You’re coming perilously close to—”

  “Lese majestie? Only if you’re a king. Treason? Only if you’re a country. Blasphemy? I’m pretty sure you aren’t God.”

  “After all our years of association, Spunk, I’m sorry that you can think of me like this.”

  “Professor,” said Spunky, “Elyon and I are going to finish collecting our data in our population-wide study of Good Shepherd North Carolina. Then we’re going to publish our data in a paper from which you may remove your name but to which you may not add it in any position except last.”

  “That’s not happening, young—”

  “Oh, spare me the fake parental wrath. That paper can either say nothing at all about this little glitch in our funding, or it can say that because the data was not what you desired, you pulled the plug. That amounts to hiding unfavorable data, and that’s a serious sin in our line of work.”

  “My line of work,” said The Professor. “You don’t have a line of work, after this conversation.”

  “You can probably block the paper’s publication in any of the peer-reviewed journals, but it won’t change the fact that all those reviewing peers will read the truth about you and the way you deliberately skew data to meet the expectations of your donors. As a last resort, we’ll put it online and call a press conference. But wouldn’t it be better if we published it as science instead of as gossip? Wouldn’t it be better if the paper had your name on it because the grant was not interrupted, and because you’re the kind of scientist who publishes the data with a thorough analysis, no matter whether somebody’s balloon gets punctured by it?”

  The Professor sat there gazing off into space. What a shame he gave up the pipe a few years ago, or he’d look like he was posing for a J.R.R. Tolkien lookalike contest.

  “I’m sorry that this conversation had to be adversarial,” he finally said. “But that was my fault, not yours, because I was acting to cut off all conversation instead of listening to you. Your points are well taken. It’s not about appearances—not just about appearances. But my zeal to maintain my reputation for doing studies that are worth funding got in the way of my thinking and acting like a scientist. You reminded me of my duty, and I will now act accordingly.”

  Spunky tried to decide whether this capitulation was real or if she was being conned.

  “As of this moment, the funding for your GWAS is reinstated. How close are you to finishing?”

  “As Elyon told you, we’re at about ninety percent. I think it’s worth a few more weeks to get as close to a hundred as we can.”

  “Then you may have those weeks.”

  “Then I’ll head back and tell Elyon to unpack.” Spunky rose to her feet.

  “That really is what you came back for?”

  “Also, I wanted to see what small town life looks like—because I’ve learned that academia is one of the smallest small towns anywhere.”

  “Fair point,” said The Professor.

  “And the genome GWAS is going to show a lot of things that aren’t relevant to the study, that I would like to see through to their conclusion.” “It’s unethical to share the raw data with—”

  “Don’t worry, I know the rules at least as well as you do.”

  All the way back to the van, she half expected to have some goons from campus security stop her and put her in a dentist’s chair and hold a drill to her teeth and repeat, over and over, Is it safe?

  She didn’t even go back to her apartment to pick up her bag. She wanted to return to Good Shepherd before dark.

  10

  This time, when she got sleepy, it was broad daylight. She pulled into a gas station, filled up the van to the tune of more than fifty bucks, and then slept for half an hour. She woke up when her ringtone insisted.

  Elyon said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Did you find out what’s going on!”

  “I’m halfway back now. I was going to tell you as soon as—”

  “Do you see that thing my voice is coming out of right now?” he shouted through the phone. “It works in both directions.”

  “I should have . . . I should have called you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m really tired.”

  “We’re talking now,” said Elyon. “So you can tell me now.”

  “The grant is reinstated. I mean, our part of it. We’re going to finish up in Good Shepherd.”

  At first Spunky couldn’t understand why Elyon didn’t say anything. Then she heard just enough breathing and smacking noise to know that Jozette was there, heard the good news, and there was some serious happy-kissing going on. She ended the call.

  Well, that’s fine. I did my job. And now you can be happy with the best good fortune that ever came to you in your generally obnoxious life, Elyon.

  She immediately regretted the thought. A lot of Elyon’s obnoxiousness came from his upbringing, the world of snobbery and condescension of his parents. And a lot of it came from his genuine fascination with math and science, which made him oblivious to a lot of human things going on around him. But since he started eating with Jozette, he had been noticing more than he used to. He was becoming human. So not only would he be happier with Jozette, everyone else would be happier with him.

  The catnap had done its job, even if Elyon’s phone call did cut it short. She was back on the road in no time, tank full, determined to get up into Good Shepherd while there was still light in the sky.

  If I were in a crappy movie, this is when I’d crash the car, thought Spunky, as she woke up for the second time. Each time it had been only a micro-sleep, a tiny nod. She hadn’t left her lane. She wasn’t tailgating anybody and there weren’t a bunch of cars behind her wishing she’d speed up. She was alone on this road.

  This unfamiliar road, with sudden turns. With my brain cutting out every five minutes no matter how much I flex my muscles on the steering wheel or sing fake lyrics to songs I don’t know or yell back at talk radio. Bouncing up and down on the seat doesn’t keep me awake. Thinking about getting back to Eggie doesn’t fill me with adrenalin. If anything it makes me feel more complacent and relaxed.

  There was a light shining in her eyes. It was night.

  The car wasn’t moving. She must have fallen asleep and crashed. The person shining the light had to be a cop or an EMT.

  “Are you OK, Spunky?”

  It wasn’t a cop. It was Eggie. Elyon must have called him when she wasn’t home with the van by dark.

  “Did I crash?” she asked.

  “Very, very gently, in a parking place on a scenic overlook,” he said.

  It took her a moment to realize what he had said.

  “So I parked, then.”

  “I’m glad you left the window open.”

  “I was letting in cold air to keep me awake,” she said.

  “Didn’t work, but it did mean you heard me when I talked to you. Better than breaking the van window.”

  She closed her eyes again.

  “Here’s the deal,” said Eggie. “I’m helping you out of that van, and you’re going to take about five steps, leaning on my, to my car. Then I’m going to drive you home because I am actually awake.”

  “OK,” she answered, wondering what he had said.

  “I hope your quick trip back to the university was worth it,” he said.

  “Was,” she murmured as they took those steps to his car.

  “Because I thought you were really gone. Van missing, you missing, not even a note.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “So mad.”

  “I wasn’t mad,” he said. “But I felt like I had lost the most precious thing in my life. I thought you were gone.”

  “I’m back,” she said. “Didn’t Elyon tell you? We still have our grant. Stay through Christmas at least.”

  “Good thing,” said Eggie. “Wouldn’t want to miss the dueling pageants.”

  He closed her door, making sure she didn’t have anything dangling out of the car. Then he walked around and got in. His door closing woke her up again. “Was I asleep?” she asked.

  “No more interrogation,” he said. “You can sleep now.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  A few moments later, as if in a dream, she heard him say, “I want to marry you, Spunky. I know what that means. But I can leave Good Shepherd. I can go wherever you need to go. I’m with you for the long haul. Even when you’re asleep, I’ll be awake. Is that OK with you?”

  And in the dream, if it was a dream, she said, “What if I want to stay in Good Shepherd and wife it up with you?”

  Then she really was asleep.

  He carried her up the stairs to her apartment and didn’t bump her head on any walls and corners and banisters. She was impressed, because by now she had slept enough to be completely awake. But she kept her eyes closed, mostly, because it felt good to be carried.

  “I’m not going to undress you for bed,” said Eggie as he laid her on top of her covers. “Not my job, and you’re not drunk anyway.”

  “Am so,” she said.

  “Not even a little,” he said.

  “Drunk on being carried upstairs by the man I love,” she said.

  “Now, that’s just maudlin,” he said. “Fortunately, you won’t remember saying it in the morning.”

  “Will too,” she said.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to pry into whatever dream you were having in the car, because all of a sudden, out of nowhere, you spoke up, clear as day, and you said—no, it was just a dream, not fair of me to—”

  “Did I say, ‘What if I want to stay in Good Shepherd and wife it up with you’?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “It made sense in my dream because you said you could leave Good Shepherd and go wherever I need to go. But I don’t like science anymore. There’s too much meanness and fakery and lying and backstabbing.”

  “You can’t give up your career.”

  “A career is what you look back on. What you live is a life.”

  “Wisdom from a sleeping woman.”

  “Best kind,” she said.

  “Just for your information, what you thought I said in the car? That wasn’t a dream. I just thought you couldn’t hear me.”

  “So the part where you said you wanted to marry me?”

  “I’ve been saying that for weeks, every way I know how except words.”

  “I liked hearing the words. But it takes a real coward to propose to a woman in her sleep.”

  “Women like you don’t marry men like me,” said Eggie.

  “And that’s what’s wrong with this lousy world,” said Spunky. “Go away, I’ve got sleep to do.”

  11

  On the twentieth of December, Eggie drove her out to the crop-duster airport and took her into a locked hangar and put her in the co-pilot’s seat.

  “I can’t fly this, Eggie,” she said.

  “Then it’s a good thing I can.”

  It was a propeller plane, and he flew it to Atlanta, and they went to a jewelry store with a huge display of engagement and wedding bands, and he said, “Pick one.”

  He suggested a couple with good-sized but not flamboyant diamonds, one with a huge emerald “because Scarlett O’Hara had one,” and he seemed a little disappointed when she chose a simple band with no stone at all.

  “That’s a wedding band,” he said.

  “Don’t need an engagement ring,” she said.

  “How will everybody know you’re mine?” he asked.

  “Everybody who matters already knows,” she said. “Besides, you’ll be attached to my hand most of the time.”

  “So just the simple band,” he said. “Do I have to tell you just how big a killing I made on Wall Street?”

  “How many potholes could you fix for the price of a diamond?” she asked.

  He laughed. “You’re even crazier than I am,” he said.

  The ring didn’t even have to be resized. The jeweler seemed disappointed.

  “This won’t be our last visit here,” Eggie said to him. “But the lady wants the kind of ring that will never make any of our friends jealous.”

  “The plain band will mean that I’m married to you,” said Spunky. “Let ’em eat their hearts out.”

  12

  It was Christmas Eve, a couple of hours before the dueling pageants. Everything was ready, the town was packed with day tourists and all the rentable rooms in town had been rented.

  Elyon called Spunky into his clinic and tried to keep Eggie from coming with them.

  “Sorry,” said Eggie. “We’re attached at the hand.”

  “Well, I didn’t bring Jozette and she’s my wife, so this isn’t even fair.”

  “Quickest church wedding ever arranged for a bride who wasn’t pregnant,” said Eggie.

  “Enthusiasm,” said Elyon.

  “So what’s this discovery?” asked Spunky.

  “You have to promise not to tell anyone,” said Elyon to Eggie. “I wouldn’t even ask Jozette not to tell her mother, and there’s no way Miz Eliza could keep it to herself, so I’m not telling my own wife. OK?”

  “I won’t tell him and he won’t tell me,” said Spunky. “Before and after we’re married.”

  “I know what the division in the town was all about,” said Elyon.

  Elyon’s hand was now holding a couple of printouts, with handwritten names above the data identification numbers.

  “You did something unethical with our data,” said Spunky.

  “Yes I did,” said Elyon, “which is why it cannot be known. Also because if anyone heard what it says, I might be lynched.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” said Eggie, “but please stop the preambling and just tell us.”

  Elyon handed the papers to Spunky. They were comparisons of several people’s DNA.

  “He’s not related to any of the relatives on his father’s side,” said Spunky. “His closest living relative, since he never had children, is the Baby Jesus. The other Baby Jesus.”

  “Born on the same day. Half-brothers,” said Spunky.

  Eggie buried his face in his hands. “Sibling rivalry from the start,” he said.

  “A betrayed woman who couldn’t stand the thought of her husband’s bastard playing the Baby Jesus in place of her own legitimate child,” said Spunky.

  “A lot of people prayed for that sick baby to live,” said Eggie, “but I wonder if anybody was praying for him to die.”

  “No,” said Spunky. “She was a Christian woman, and she hadn’t committed any sin at all. Except wanting her own little boy to be the Baby Jesus in the 1930 pageant.”

  “You’re right. She didn’t wish death on a helpless baby,” said Eggie.

  “Maybe just a slightly longer illness so the doctors would veto his participation,” said Spunky with a smile.

  “Kind of a therapeutic illness,” said Elyon.

  “It was very sensitive of you,” Spunky said to Elyon, “to keep this a secret.”

  “I just think, ‘What would Spunky do?’ and then I actually do it.”

  “Keep that up,” said Eggie. “I do it, too.”

  “You do not,” said Spunky. “You should have heard me reaming out the Professor. I was not Christian. I was not kind.”

  “It brought you back to Good Shepherd,” said Eggie. “So clearly you were on God’s errand.”

  Halfway through the pageants, Spunky made Eggie walk her around to watch the other one.

  “Are they using the same script?”

  “Hasn’t been changed in more than a hundred years,” said Eggie.

  “Right to the second, their timing is identical.”

  “Didn’t used to be,” said Eggie. “When I was little, each pageant tried to drown the other one out and throw off their timing. But now they almost seem to be putting them on in stereo.”