“Maybe a cup of tea?” I ask.

“Oh, good heavens, no! I’m on my way.” She grabs her orange hat from the side table. “I was just popping by on my way into town, thought I’d make sure you were getting on.”

“Um. Yeah. I’m getting on.” In fact, I was getting on so well I was asleep, lady. But I don’t say that. “Doing fine.”

She holds a moment, contemplates. “To be true, dear, the professor did tell me to keep an eye on you. Not in any sort of suspicious way, mind you. No, dear, not at all.”

I’m barely putting this together in my muddled morning head, but she continues.

“He’s just such a kind man, truly. He was a bit worried you might be lonely. So, you see, you shan’t be rid of me, try as you might.” She smiles, a wink in it.

“Oh.” I think about it. “Sure. Yes, that’s . . . fine. Nothing like a little company, I guess. No, please do feel free or whatever.”

She sizes me up. There is something about her that comes across as wise . . . as if you could say anything you’d like and she’d see through it. She just knows. She’s been around. She’s seen it all. Truths. Half-truths. White lies.

“Oh, good. Well, I’m pleased to hear it.” She gives me a pursed smile and a nod, and then makes her way to the front door.

“Bye, then. Nice to see you,” I say, again trying to be polite.

“Yes, dear. Always a pleasure.”

She disappears out the door and the silvery, exotic tokens jangle. It’s strange I didn’t notice them. In a way, it makes no sense.

I go to the back door. Yes, there’s one on that door, too. Yes, it also jangles.

But how could I have not noticed before? Was I so caught up in my infinite musings? The jangling is not subtle. Not in the least.

I certainly didn’t notice them last night in my empty-house dream. But why would I? It was just a dream, Daffodil.

Both my lips are doing that thing where they scrunch up on the side . . . in dubious thought.

It’s only when I open my laptop and proceed to google that I have my answer.

It’s a talisman.

From either Turkey or Greece.

They’re meant to be hung on the outside of the house as a protection from evil spirits.

Well, I can certainly see the professor or his wife picking them up in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. A memento of the journey. A trinket. Nothing more.

And then, despite the fantastical nature of the idea, antithetical to any academic worth their salt . . . I can certainly see them placing the talismans on the doors. Just simply in the spirit of the thing. Not for any specific reason. An exotic token. A conversation piece. A gas!

The professor is not the superstitious type. I’m sure his wife just placed them around for fun, or for possible dinner conversation. After all, just because you place tokens from a souvenir shop, or the Grand Bazaar, all over your house, doesn’t mean you actually believe in whichever spell or symbol they’re meant to represent. It’s just a thing that rich people do. Collect things. Collect items and showcase them.