Chapter 8
Mara Calls
Mara called from Copenhagen at six in the morning Boston time.
Lucy answered because best friendship was apparently stronger than common sense.
"If this is an emergency, say it quickly."
"You sound delightful."
"It is still dark outside."
"I have news."
"You are engaged?"
"No."
"You have been arrested?"
"No."
"Then call me at a humane hour."
Mara laughed. "How is Ben?"
Lucy sat upright in bed.
"Why are you asking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to sound casual and failing."
"I am asking how my brother is."
"Your brother is alive."
"And?"
"Annoyingly helpful."
"Interesting."
Lucy stared at the ceiling.
"Mara."
"Lucy."
"You did not arrange this because of that stupid crush I had a decade ago."
Silence.
Lucy closed her eyes.
"Mara."
"I arranged it because you needed help. The fact that twenty-four-year-old you used to turn pink when Ben walked into the room is historical trivia."
"I did not turn pink."
"You once spilled an entire glass of lemonade because he took his shirt off at the lake."
"The glass was unstable."
"Of course."
Lucy pulled the blanket over her face.
"Nothing is happening."
"I didn't say anything was."
"Good."
"You sound disappointed."
Lucy sat up again. "Go enjoy Denmark."
"Just remember one thing."
"No."
"Ben is not twenty-six anymore either."
The call ended.
Lucy remained in bed with the phone in her hand.
That was exactly the problem.
The Ben she had loved years ago had been a projection. A handsome, easygoing older brother who seemed capable of everything and interested in her only as an extension of Mara.
The current Ben was worse.
He was real.
He got tired. He worried about whether people wanted him or needed him. He knew how to repair a display wall and calm a crying child. He left coffee on Lucy's desk without asking how she took it because he had apparently remembered from years of family breakfasts.
That detail bothered her most.
At nine, Lucy arrived at the library.
There was a coffee on her desk.
Priya pointed toward the courtyard.
"Your firefighter brought it."
"He is not my firefighter."
"I did not use a possessive noun."
"You absolutely did."
Lucy picked up the cup.
Her order was written on the side.
Oat milk. One sugar.
Ben came through the courtyard doors carrying a box of extension cords.
"Morning."
Lucy lifted the coffee. "How do you know my order?"
He looked confused. "You've had the same one for years."
"You noticed?"
"Apparently."
He said it like it meant nothing.
Maybe it did.
But Lucy's heart reacted like it had been handed evidence in a case it had been waiting years to reopen.
She took a careful sip.
"Thank you."
Ben smiled.
"Anytime."
That was not helpful at all.