Anna looked back at her phone. The email. The math. The possibility.
Then she looked at Bea, still absorbed in her homework in the back booth. Her daughter, who had spent a year in Florence learning to see the world differently, and who had come home to find... what? A mother who was finally figuring things out?
“Hey,” Anna called.
Bea pulled out an earbud. “Yeah?”
“How would you feel about staying at Meg’s place a little longer?”
“Define ‘a little longer.’”
“Through the first semester. Maybe longer.”
Bea considered this. “Would I still have my own room?”
“Yes.”
“Would you still be weird about my music?”
“Probably.”
“We’d stay closer to Stella?”
Anna smiled. “Three houses down.”
“Then I’m in.” Bea put her earbud back in, conversation apparently concluded.
She gathered her students’ portfolios, stacking them neatly. She’d finish grading later. Right now, she had a sister to find.
Meg was at Luke’s,because of course she was.
Anna parked on the street and sat for a moment, looking at the bungalow. It was a nice place—small but well-kept, the garden slightly overgrown in the way that suggested someone who cared more about tide charts than landscaping. But she did notice some new basic plants and smiled. That was new.
Through the front window, she could see Meg at a table, laptop open, phone pressed to her ear.
Working. Always working. Even when she was supposed to be relaxing.
Anna got out of the car and knocked on the door.
Luke answered, dish towel over his shoulder, smelling faintly of garlic and lemon.
“Anna. Hey. Meg’s on a call, but she should be done soon. Come in?”
“Thanks.”
The inside of Luke’s bungalow was exactly what Anna expected — surfboards in the corner, marine biology texts on the shelves, a tank of somethingbioluminescent glowing softly in the living room. And everywhere, small signs of Meg’s presence. Her sweater on the couch. Her coffee mug on the counter. Her organization systems slowly infiltrating Luke’s comfortable and steady presence.
“She’s basically moved in, hasn’t she?” Anna said.
Luke smiled, a little sheepish. “It’s been gradual. I don’t think she’s noticed.”
“She’s noticed. She just hasn’t admitted it to herself yet.”
“Probably.” Luke gestured toward the kitchen. “Want some tea? I just made a pot.”
“Sure.”
They sat at the kitchen table while Meg’s voice drifted from the other room—something about quarterly projections and timeline adjustments. Luke poured tea and didn’t try to fill the silence, which Anna appreciated.
