Mae turns her head to look at him, and he can see the freckles across the bridge of her nose. “We’ve been up for, like, two hours. You already need a nap?”
“It’s sunny,” he says. “And I’m still jet lagged.”
“You can sleep on the train. Now you have to talk to me.”
“Couldn’t it also be argued that we could sleep now, talk later?” he asks, stifling a yawn, but she just crinkles her nose in a way he finds irresistible.
“How did you decide to take a train?” she asks. “And why here?”
“Well, I don’t have a license, and Margaret hates to drive, so that ruled out a road trip.”
“You don’t have a license?”
“There’s one car and eight people in my house. Makes it a bit hard to practice. Plus, I’ve always thought trains were romantic,” he says, then immediately feels his face start to burn. “Not like that. I just mean…they’re sort of nostalgic. You know?”
Mae smiles. “My grandmother says she once left her heart on a train.”
“With a boy?” Hugo asks. “Or with her luggage?”
“A boy.”
“That’s good. Hopefully, mine wasn’t in my wallet.”
She reaches over and puts a hand on his chest, and he can feel his heartbeat quicken beneath it. “Nope,” she says, her face very close to his. “Still there.”
“It was her idea,” he says after Mae takes her hand away. “Margaret booked the whole thing. At the time, I thought it was because she wanted to spend more time together, and for me to be there when she got to Stanford. But now I’m not so sure. I think maybe she felt guilty.”
“For what?”
“Leaving me behind.”
They’re both quiet, watching a bird circle above. Then Mae turns her head in his direction. “Well,” she says, “you’re here now.”
Hugo reaches into his pocket for the piece of sea glass, pale green and startlingly smooth. He turns it over, watching it glint in the sun, then closes his hand around it.
“I’m here now,” he says.
It feels like it’sbeen years since they were last at Union Station, though it’s only been about twenty-four hours. While they wait on the glossy wooden benches, a video call from Nana pops up on Mae’s phone. She’s already starting to walk away as she answers, intending to find some quieter spot, but when Nana’s face appears, the first thing she says iswait.
Mae stops in the middle of an aisle, confused. “What?” she asks, looking down at the phone. Nana is sitting on the window seat at her apartment, the black cherry tree behind her already starting to turn yellow, and it’s been so long since Mae has seen her there, in her natural habitat, that she can’t help feeling a little emotional.
“Go back to wherever you were,” Nana says sternly, her face a little too close to the phone. “I want to clap eyes on this fellow of yours.”
“No way,” Mae says, glancing back at Hugo, who is sitting on the bench where she left him, reading his book of facts about the United States. “I’m not doing that.”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
“Nana.”
“Fifty.”
“No!”
“I’ll let you pick the movies at Thanksgiving.”
Mae laughs. “Fine.”
When she walks back over, Hugo looks up from his book. “Did you know that Chicago isn’t called the Windy City because it’s windy?”
