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A second later Miles appears so close to the camera that all I can see is one blue eye.

“Mom!”

“Back up.”

He does, barely.

Wells is standing behind him with his backpack already on.

“You made it?” Wells asks.

“I made it.”

“What time is it there?”

“Just after four.”

He glances toward something offscreen, probably the kitchen clock.

“So you’re eight hours ahead.”

“Yes.”

Miles pushes back into the frame.

“Did you see Big Ben?”

“I have not seen Big Ben.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just got here.”

“Well, that’s no excuse.”

I laugh.

Wells says, “He’s been waiting to ask you that since breakfast.”

“I can tell.”

My mother takes the phone back long enough to angle it toward both boys. They are dressed for school, hair still slightly damp, lunches packed on the counter behind them. Everything looks exactly the way it should. That helps more than I expect.

“How was homework?” I ask.

“Fine,” Wells says.

Miles says, “Mine was stupid.”

“Meaning?”

“It was too easy.”

“That is not a problem.”

“It is if you’re bored.”

Wells rolls his eyes.