The world made sense to Nate and his Mr. Science mind; there was an intrinsic order that comforted him and that he seemed to enjoy sharing with others, and he never seemed to feel the need to ask himself the big questions, like “What’s missing?” or “What is our greater purpose in this thing called life?”

Now he blinked at her, nodded, and continued to watch her, waiting for an answer, clearly not going to give up until she gave him one.

She thought of how she spent her days, of her daily drives through the suburban landscape of strip malls, drugstores, restaurants, car washes, dry cleaners—so much light and noise; so many people out on little missions to do their errands, to buy curtains and antacids and pick up their freshly cleaned work clothes before hurrying off to work. It all seemed so meaningless.

What makes me happy? she thought.

The times she was happiest lately were when she did her occasional weekend stints volunteering at the Greensboro Museum, a tiny living history museum that re-created life in the mid-1800s for visitors. In her heavy ankle-length dress and bonnet, she’d dip candles and churn butter while visitors watched. She delighted in answering their questions about what life was like back then, about how the men and women spent their days. She was a historian and early America was her field of expertise, and like Nate playing Mr. Science, she loved to share her knowledge. But what she loved best were the quiet times at the museum, between tour groups, when she actually let herself pretend she’d gone back in time, that life was quiet and purposeful. There were cows to milk, gardens to tend, butter to churn, a fire to build to get dinner started.

As Nate continued to watch her, waiting, she took a long sip of wine, closed her eyes, and delved way back in her mind to the oldest dream she had, born from a childhood of reading the Little House on the Prairie books, reinforced by her college and grad school studies on life in colonial New England and the American pioneers.

She couldn’t very well tell Nate that going back in time would make her happy, so she said the next best thing.

“A house in the country,” she finally answered.

Nate turned to her, surprised. “The country? Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “A place with lots of land. Space for a big garden. For chickens and goats maybe. And a pantry. I’d like a pantry. I want to learn to can my own vegetables. To live more simply, away from traffic and noise.” As she said the words, she felt the truth in them—this was her dream, what she’d always secretly wanted. She looked at the pathetic gas fire, adding, “And I want a real fireplace that burns actual wood.”