June 20, 1926

Sorry for not writing for – lemme check – four days. Can't believe it's already Tuesday. Oh, well I guess that's not too bad, considering that until this month, I'd gone about four years without putting anything non-academic on paper. (Pardon me while I pat myself on the back…)

Dad got back from that conference in Springfield way early this morning. What is it with men and disturbing the restful? Indy, as usual, slept soundly through the clatter of my dad slipping on the summer rain-soaked front steps, grabbing on to the doorbell for support, and fooling around with his keys before finally swinging open the door and pretty much falling through onto the carpet, luggage and all. It was inspired. Neither of us really being up for conversation, there was a hug and a kiss, and maybe brief greeting, but we both headed off to our respective rooms within about two minutes of his appearance.

I had no idea that anthropology seminars were so… draining.

He, of course, had been expecting the honorable Henry "Indiana" Jones, Jr. to show up all along (and, catch this, he's staying for the summer before heading back of to Libya… still trying to decide if this is good or bad). Why he didn't bother warning me, I'm not sure, but that's beside the point.

Things really changed between me and Indy once my dad got back—I haven't been updating in here, so maybe there's a little bit of catching up to do. Remember how I wrote that maybe I might be falling in love? Ok, so that might be official. He's AMAZING, and that's not a description I use lightly. His stories, his perspective, his unfailing humanity, and (oh God) his eyes—they're all like pieces of his amazing-ness. Christ, I must sound ridiculous. The best part is, I don't care at all. What does that mean?

Anyways. Like I said, things changed, but I never told you what from! This is ALSO going to sound really ridiculous, but Girl Scout's honor that every word is true:

We've spent, more or less, all day of every day out or in doing something together. On Saturday, we made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to take to one of those pebbly beaches on the lake. It wasn't so nice out; some big rain clouds were up north a little bit and the wind was blowing like CRAZY. That whole thing didn't really work out, except for the really super sweet part where he gave me his hat (remember that fedora I mentioned?) to keep my hair from blowing everywhere. We talked, a lot, because he is so easy to talk to about pretty much anything… that took up most of the afternoon, I guess. Not really exciting (for you, I mean). That night though, we went to see a super-late showing (midnight! I'd never be out that late if Abner was home) of "The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe" up at the Bijou Dream Theater—that was when he put his arm around me. No lie! Really! We were just sitting there in those decrepit red chairs, eating peanuts (which I don't actually like that much, but they were his idea so I just decided to go for it) and watching the movie, and suddenly I realize that his arm's been over the back of my chair for, I dunno, half an hour. I don't think I paid much attention to the movie after that – don't get the wrong idea – but I tensed up a little and looked over at him, which I think he saw, because then suddenly his arm was gone. Not what I meant to do!

I don't want to bore the living shit out of you with details about Sunday. In a nutshell: slept in, ditched church (not that Abner and I ever go anyways since Mom died), ate pancakes, spent the whole day at the Fields Museum, letting Indy lecture about the supposedly obvious similarities between ancient Paganism and modern Christianity… it was pretty easy to follow, but I think I've forgotten most of it at this point. Something about somebody ripping somebody else off like 500 years after they said or wrote something or other. Yeah, that's it.

Yesterday was as lazy as a rainy summer day (guess those northern rain clouds decided to follow through with Saturday's threats) could possibly be, and I mean that. We sat in my dad's library, which is the nicest room in the house, and read ALL DAY. I felt so good afterwards—reading three books in one day can make a person feel pretty accomplished. Indy read three also… granted, none of his were in modern English. Ugh. Somebody give me a reason NOT to want him, please. This is going to kill me someday. I just know it. I'm going to die of blue-grey shock… every time I looked up from Candide (a great book, by the way), he'd be looking at me in this way that I still don't totally understand. It was intense, but I could tell that it was trying not to be—maybe it was more curious than anything. Either way, even when I'd catch Indy staring or searching or whatever guys like him do… it wasn't creepy or intimidating at all, not even when he'd refused to look back down at his book for I don't even know how long, because it didn't feel like nearly long enough. And all I can do is keep telling myself that we're logical people, that this is all in my head, that I'm just some lovestruck girl seeing things that she shouldn't, wanting to do things (with a certain archaeologist) that she shouldn't. Can't. God, I hate that word.

Told you things changed when Pops got home. As soon as things start to take some kind of shape, Professor Ravenwood walks through the door and suddenly we're all business. "So, have you two been getting to know each other?" That was an awkward breakfast. Thankfully, all I had to do was ask some vague question about the conference and the atmosphere took a dramatic swing towards musty books and lectures that reeked of mundanity.

Indy and I haven't spoken a word all day. Does this mean he feels it too? What is "it"?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I hate this! I also hate that at the same time, I probably wouldn't trade it for the world.

Sorry to sign-off at such a weird place in the story, but I've got some thinking to do, and I've got this feeling like my brain's going to be moving so fast that I won't be able to get the words down quickly enough to say anything coherent.

Good night (and good luck to me),

Marion