26. Berlin
BERLIN
Lucy was spending another evening in Adam’s apartment trying to work up the courage to call Bj?rn, imagining his reaction to what would surely be the biggest shock of his life.
Of course, she had tried to tell him at the time.
On four separate occasions, she’d called, and each time she’d found the truth impossible to tell.
When she’d first learned she was pregnant (and was secretly imagining he might ask her to move to Denmark), he told her he’d just been accepted into the PhD program of his dreams and could not wait to throw himself headfirst into the serious study of philosophy.
He would become a professor, as he’d always wanted.
Unbeknownst to her parents, Lucy had congratulated him and ended the call without telling him she was twenty-four weeks pregnant.
The next time she tried, he told her his mother was dying of cancer.
A year after that, she called again, and he announced he was engaged to be married.
Each time she tried to tell him, he shared news that silenced her.
And then she tried once more, just before she met Mason, and his response that time made her rip out the page of her address book with his name on it and throw it in the trash.
Standing in front of the window in Adam’s living room, Lucy called in sick to work.
As guilty as this lie made her feel, she knew it would be impossible to concentrate on the project, and not only because of her panic about Bj?rn.
The lack of sleep was killing her. It was a miracle her bosses didn’t suspect she was out of the country and in a wildly different time zone.
She’d had one nerve-racking moment when they raised an issue with a Midwestern factory that put in a very low bid for cloth wall coverings.
They discussed whether Lucy should lay eyes on the material, in case it looked as cheap as it actually was.
But Lucy had quickly convinced them that swatches would be adequate to assess the quality and sheen of the fabric, and to her relief, they’d agreed to spare the expense of a trip.
Her laptop was open on the coffee table with a blank email draft.
All she’d entered so far was an address she’d found for Bj?rn on his website.
She was running out of time, but how to begin?
She poured herself a glass of wine from a bottle on Adam’s bar cart, sat down, and began to type: Dear Bj?rn, It has been about fifteen years since we last spoke, and I know you don’t want to hear from me. However,
She got up again and looked out Adam’s window at the balconies and turrets of the ivy-covered building across the street. A woman was walking down the sidewalk with three dogs on leashes.
Lucy looked up at the clouds and tried to complete the email. I know you don’t want to hear from me. However …
There was no stopping Jack’s letter from being delivered. So what choice did she have? However, my son wants to see you because…
Her phone rang, and she was surprised to see Greta’s name. They hadn’t spoken since the night Lucy got tipsy with Adam and Bettina, and Greta had basically hung up on her.
“Hello, Lucy,” she said, her tone as cool as the AI voice in the house. “How are you?”
Lucy could picture her counterpart sitting stiffly at her kitchen island, drinking coffee out of her mug, living some parallel version of her life.
Maybe Greta could be the one to call Bj?rn to break the news in that calm, even voice.
“Honestly, I’m not doing all that great,” Lucy said before she could think to censor herself.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not really.” Lucy didn’t think she should share anything personal with the likes of Greta. “Did my mom ever show you how to work the vacuum? I’m sorry again about the confusion with the cleaning lady.”
“It wasn’t the worst thing to happen,” Greta said. “Otto is helping with a bit of housework now. He’s even doing laundry.”
“Oh, good,” Lucy said, though in truth she found this admission shocking. Had he not done laundry before? “And how are the pets?”
“The dogs have grown on me,” Greta said, “and they’re the reason I’m calling. I’m going to New York for a few days, and your parents say they can help Otto with the pets until I get back. I hope that’s okay.”
Lucy was going to owe her parents a big, fat thank-you gift when she got back. “If it’s okay with them,” she said.
“And if you don’t mind me asking,” Greta said, “your mother told me you might know of a hotel in New York that isn’t insanely expensive.”
“Well, yes and no,” Lucy said, walking over to refill her wineglass. “It’s more along the lines of an Airbnb. It’s a property my company renovated in the Meatpacking District. But you might not like it.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Greta said.
“It’s not a normal hotel. There’s no front desk. And there’s no room service or amenities or anything.”
Greta didn’t say anything, and Lucy figured she was too snobby for such a super-hip, offbeat spot. “It’s in a brownstone that used to be a brothel, so picture a lot of red velvet and satin. It’s all very sexy.”
“Is it… dirty?”
“That depends on what you mean by dirty,” Lucy said, sitting on the couch. “I’ll send you a link so you can judge for yourself.” She put Greta on speaker and found the website. “Whatever you decide, I hope you have a good trip.”
“We’ll see,” Greta said. “I’m going to find out if my mother is having an affair with a man who’s ten years younger than me.”
Lucy put down her wineglass, shocked Greta would share such a thing. “That sounds complicated. And awkward.”
“At least I get to escape Dallas for a few days.”
“You mean escape the heat? Or do you not like Dallas?”
“I like many things about it,” said Greta. “Your house, for example. The museums. But I’ll be lonely after Emmi leaves. Otto has so many new friends at work, but your parents are the only people I’ve befriended so far. And I met one person I actually hate.”
“Really?” Lucy was in no mood to defend anyone in Dallas. “Who?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Please,” Lucy said, wondering whether it was someone she knew. “You can tell me.”
Greta sighed. “Just between us, there’s a doctor named Betsy Harper who works with Otto, and her husband is awful.”
Betsy and Bob. Lucy knew them, of course; Dallas could be very small. “Their daughter goes to my kids’ school—she’s a couple of years older than my girls. Bob has a reputation for being a womanizer.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that,” said Greta.
Lucy remembered Bob cruising past her house in his Mercedes the day after the house was egged. Just the thought of Rockwell parents made her feel tense. She stood back up. “Look, I know you’ve heard things about my son,” she said. “And I want you to know, he’s not what people say he is.”
Greta was quiet for a moment. “Some people like to hold on to the worst version of a story,” she said, “but I find it hard to believe Irene and Rex would have a grandson who disrespects people.”
Lucy looked at her screen, shocked. Maybe Greta wasn’t all bad. “I guess you know Adam will be in New York too,” she said.
Again Greta paused before answering. “He texted something about a trip,” said Greta. “Seems you two have gotten… close.”
“Oh yeah, Adam’s terrific,” Lucy said. “Are y’all going to see each other there?”
“I don’t think so,” Greta said flatly.
Lucy was sure Adam would be disappointed to hear it. “He might need a friend,” she said, “given what he’s going through.”
“I don’t know anything about what Adam’s going through,” Greta said, an edge to her voice. “He never even told me he was married, so I wouldn’t exactly say we’re friends.”
“Really?” Lucy tried to recall the conversation in which Adam had said he was getting divorced. “He just kind of blurted it out, I think,” she said. “Or maybe I pried? I can’t really remember.”
“Either way, he feels like he can talk to you,” Greta said. “I guess I lack that American openness.”
“Just so you know,” Lucy said, “Adam says the nicest things—”
“I have too much going on to see him anyway. Otherwise, I would ask him to bring you your mail. It’s really piling up, and some of it might be important.”
She listened while Greta rattled off the senders: a letter from the Dallas Theater Center, a program for the Dallas Symphony in the fall, a few bills Lucy would need to pay online. “And there’s an envelope here from the Rockwell School.”
“Oh,” Lucy said. She could picture the school’s blue logo on the envelope. Maybe this was one of their pleas for donations or something to do with the girls’ homeroom assignments. “Would you mind opening it?”
“Are you sure?” Greta said.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Lucy could hear the tear of the envelope, the crinkle of paper.
“Let’s see. ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Holt,’?” Greta read.
“?‘While the unpleasant events that transpired in the spring were deeply regrettable in myriad ways, there seem to be growing implications from Jack’s actions, beyond his unavoidable expulsion.’?” Her voice slowed and quieted, but she kept going.
“?‘It has come to our attention that several Rockwell parents have formed a task force with the mission of removing your family from the Rockwell community. These parents say their strong feelings stem from the misogynist nature of—’?” Greta stopped reading.
“Maybe I should just take a picture of the letter and text it—”
“No,” Lucy said. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt sick. “Keep going.”