“I need a thrower,” Willow said. It was clear from her tone that she didn’t mean she wanted him to toss her up in the air, like any normal child would. No. She was talking about needing someone to throwotherpeople, on her command.
Ben’s confusion morphed into startled surprise as he looked from me to Jane.
Told you,I wanted to say. And he didn’t believe me when I told him Willow was already actively recruiting for her evil army.
“You donotneed a thrower,” Jane said.
Willow sighed and rested her cheek on Ben’s shoulder. “Fine. He can be my palandin.”
“Your what?” I asked.
Jane frowned. “Palanquin, did you mean?”
Willow nodded.
“Where did she even hear that word?” I asked her mother.
“No idea. The kid is way too smart for her own good.”
Willow pulled her head up and pointed over Ben’s shoulder toward the living room. “Mush!”
Ben did as his future leader bade, dropping her off on the couch, where she settled back into her nest of blankets and hit unpause on the remote, filling the room with theLittle Einsteinstheme song.
“Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Ben told Jane when he returned, extending a hand toward her.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said. Her brows climbed when her hand disappeared beneath his. “Want anything to drink? Coffee, tea, booze?”
“Water is fine,” he said, releasing her.
She flexed her fingers a little, as if testing the joints. “Come on into the kitchen. We’ll talk in there if that’s okay with you, so I can keep an eye on Her Supreme Majesty.”
Ben shot a glance over his shoulder at Willow as we followed Jane out of the room. “You weren’t joking,” he said to me.
“I never joke about diabolical masterminds,” I told him.
“Di-a-bo-li-cal,” Willow repeated from behind us in a creepy little kid voice that made it sound like she was savoring this new word.
“That’s great,” Jane said. “Please expand her vocabulary some more.”
Ten minutes later, the three of us were seated at the kitchen table. Paper littered its surface. Ben and I each held a copy of Jane’s article. She had notepads and pens and medical journals cluttering up her side.
“This is really good,” Ben told her as he set the article down.
My sister smiled a little shyly and didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks.”
Ha! It wasn’t just me he effected. Even happily married women were susceptible. I felt vindicated in my initial difficulty corralling my crush.
“What do you want me to contribute?” he asked.
“Honestly, whatever you’re willing to,” she answered, picking up a pen.
“Legally, I shouldn’t be doing this, so nothing that could give away who I am.”
“Understood.” She finally managed to meet his eyes, her own full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry about your brother. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. If you want, I can remove mention of him from the article.”
I loved my sister for this empathy. So much. Beneath the table, I reached out and grabbed Ben’s hand. This was going to be difficult for him. He never talked about Zach, or at least he hadn’t with me, and now he might have to do so for all the world to read about.
I meant to give him a reassuring squeeze and then let go, but he surprised me by turning his hand beneath mine and threading our fingers together.
