16. Berlin
BERLIN
The Wi-Fi was absolutely terrible . On her second night of meetings, Lucy blurred her background, hoping to mask the mayhem going on in the tiny apartment behind her, but that didn’t stop Harper from leaning in and saying, “What’s going on over there, Lucy? You’re really pulling focus today.”
It was midnight in Berlin and the girls were still up. “Sorry, my office is… being painted,” she said.
“Oh?” said Harper, sounding very suspicious. “Is that why your energy’s so off today?” And then she froze.
Lucy booted and rebooted the Wi-Fi three times. Alice and Zoe were arguing in the next room, so Lucy muted herself whenever she could during the consequential discussions they were having about construction schedules, materials, furniture, and communication flow.
She begged the girls to go to bed—and she could hear Jack trying to make them, promising candy the next day if they would sleep—but jet lag won out, even over bribery.
At almost two in the morning, Zoe pinched her finger in the bathroom door and wailed.
Lucy turned off her camera and muted herself to go comfort her, and when she returned to the meeting, she’d missed some crucial point a man on the Laurel team had made about branding.
He had to repeat himself for her, and Harper and Bryn made their annoyance glaringly obvious.
This project required her full concentration, and she could not concentrate. She wanted to shine, to make her coworkers as happy to have her on board as she was to be there, but so far, her performance was a disaster.
After logging off at three in the morning, she settled on two facts: she had to get the girls on German time and she needed a better place to work.
Later that morning, she turned off her alarm, rolled over, and looked around Greta’s room.
Across from the hard bed was an old, crackled painting of a floral arrangement.
It was pretty but dark—almost funereal with its black background and drooping blooms. Lucy studied the faded pink petals and the butterfly hovering just above a red poppy, feeling pretty sure she and Greta wouldn’t like each other.
Greta had actually emailed an itemized list of damaged items she’d found in Lucy’s house that she didn’t want to be held responsible for, attaching pictures of her dinged-up floors and stained carpets as evidence.
Lucy had written back, saying, “The way I see it, a house should be lived in and enjoyed. Please don’t worry about such things. ”
Greta had answered: “While I appreciate the sentiment, I hope we both agree to treat each other’s valuables with the utmost respect.”
Zoe had already broken one antique plate, and Lucy couldn’t make any promises that there wouldn’t be another accident or two. She didn’t answer.
She missed Mason with her whole body. Leaving Dallas hadn’t dampened the longing or distracted her from his absence; rather, she felt all the more unsettled to be so far away from him, and the lack of communication felt a million times worse now that she was in a foreign country.
She could not bring herself to write him again until she had better news to report.
Instead, she had imaginary conversations with him, conjuring his opinions on the cheesy painting on the wall, the hard mattress, the bidet.
She got dressed and went to the kitchen to make coffee in the French press, a device she’d had to google to learn how to use.
While it brewed or steeped or did whatever it had to do, she stood in the working Wi-Fi zone and checked her phone.
There was a message from her mother: Tank ate Greta’s shoe.
She locked herself in the backyard wearing nothing but a towel.
Even half-naked, she’s got style… practically regal.
Regal? That hurt; Lucy’s mom would never describe Lucy as regal. Cute maybe. Impulsive certainly. She adjusted her posture and started to answer her mom but thought better of it; it was the middle of the night in Dallas, and her mother always left her ringer on.
She’d gotten an Instagram message from Greta’s sister, Bettina, saying she planned to stop by sometime to say hello.
And there was a long email from Harper to ALL, outlining problems that urgently needed solving and asking team members to bring their A game.
Lucy wanted to—did she ever—but her C game was the best she’d managed so far.
She went back to the kitchen and pressed the plunger on the coffeepot. The only cups in the cabinet were Nymphenburg porcelain, and Lucy took a careful sip from a gold-rimmed cup, placing it back in its saucer gently, feeling like a dowager countess.
Jack came out of the little office where they’d removed the back cushions from the couch and made up a bed with sheets and pillows.
Lucy had not apologized for the sleeping arrangements, even though Jack was taller than the couch was long.
This apartment was far from ideal, but she had done the best she could to get them out of Dallas as quickly as possible.
Some sacrifices would have to be made this summer.
She only hoped her job wasn’t one of them.
“ Guten Morgen ,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Hey,” he said. He was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, and his hair was a mess. Like Lucy, he was not and had never been a morning person. He got out the small container of milk and box of cereal she’d bought the day before; both were almost empty.
“ Wie geht es dir heute? ” she said.
“Huh?”
“It means how are you today? Wie geht es —”
“Can we actually… not?” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Speak German?” Lucy said in surprise. “Don’t you want to learn the language while we’re here?”
“Not really,” he said. “It’s not like we’re going to be here forever.”
That remained to be seen. Lucy had no idea when it would be safe to go home.
“Well, we’re here now,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter, “for however long, and we should pick up a few words. It might even be useful to you down the road.”
“What for?” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but it could be.” She took a sip of her coffee. It was good actually, better than what she made at home. “Can you help me brainstorm? I need some good ideas on how to keep the girls quiet while I’m working.”
He didn’t answer.
“Jack?”
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” he said. “I can’t lock them in their room. They get in fights and act bratty and—”
“I’m not blaming you,” Lucy said. “I’m just—”
“Of course you are,” he said, looking through the kitchen cabinets. “It’s my fault we’re even here, and believe me, I feel guilty enough about all of this.” He ran a hand through his messy hair. “I sent an email to MIT last night.”
Lucy set her cup down. “You did?”
“I got myself into this mess,” he said, “and I have to fix it.”
“Well, what did you write? Like exactly?” Lucy had put thought into such a letter, believing there were several land mines that should be avoided, certain phrases—“dollar values” and “popular girls.” He needed to take responsibility while simultaneously rejecting the school’s version of events.
She had assumed they would write several drafts to get the tone just right.
“I just explained what happened,” he said.
“Explained it how?”
Jack got a bowl, shallow and thin-rimmed, and a spoon that Lucy suspected was sterling silver. “I just gave my side of the story. I know it’s a long shot,” he said, “but do you think they’ll listen?”
Lucy didn’t have the faintest idea but it seemed unlikely. “Maybe?” she said.
“I know you wanted to help me write it, but I felt like the email should come from me,” he said. He poured the cereal and put the box down. “I’m sorry you can’t work here. I’m sorry I ruined Dallas for all of us.”
“You didn’t ruin Dallas,” she said.
“I did.” He leveled his gaze at her. “And I can’t go back there, probably ever.”
“Of course you can—”
“I can’t,” he said, firmly enough that it startled her. “But you, Zoe, and Alice are going to have to.”
It was hard to imagine driving up to the elementary school and facing the other Rockwell parents. But it was possible the story would fizzle out over the course of the summer and people would eventually forget all about it.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said. “We’re out of the fray now, and we happen to be in this great city. Let’s settle in and make the best of it.”
Jack poured the milk and then put the carton away in the tiny refrigerator.
“I’ll get Zoe and Alice up this morning,” she said, “and we’ll do something really fun and wear the girls out so at least they’ll go to sleep at a normal hour.”
There was a loud knock on the door then, and Jack picked up his cereal bowl and went off to his room.
As Lucy went to see who was there, she couldn’t help but notice the absence of exuberant barking that her brain associated with the appearance of a visitor.
She opened the door to Adam, who greeted her with a bouquet of flowers. “Welcome to Berlin,” he said. He was in a T-shirt and jeans, and either he or the flowers smelled amazing.
“Adam,” she said, “that’s so nice.”
“I want to apologize for being rushed when you got here the other day,” he said. “I feel like a jerk for not helping you with the bags.”
“Too many stairs,” she said, “but we managed.”
She stepped back to let him in. Adam closed the door behind him, took off his shoes, and followed her into the apartment. Lucy went to the kitchen to look for a vase.
“I thought I’d check in,” he said, “to see how you guys are doing.”
From the kitchen, she could see him looking around the dining room with curiosity.
“This is exactly how I imagined it,” he said. “Wow.”
“Haven’t you been here before?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Greta has been to my place a few times, but they’ve never had me over.”