The email came in that afternoon: from the Registrar’s Office, CC-ed to the Bursar’s Office, subject line Enrollment Hold. Reading it three times didn’t change its contents.
Lyra’s phone rang halfway through her fourth read. You’re fine, she reminded herself, as much out of habit as anything. Everything is fine.
Bracing herself for impact, she answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“So you do remember me! And your phone does work! And you haven’t been kidnapped by a mathematically minded serial killer intent on adding you to his incredibly sinister equation.”
“New book?” Lyra guessed. Her mother was a writer.
“New book! She likes numbers more than people. He’s a cop who trusts his instincts more than her calculations. They hate each other.”
“In a good way?”
“A very good way. And speaking of mind-blowing chemistry and sizzling romantic tension… how are you?”
Lyra made a face. “Bad segue, Mom.”
“Answer the question, you avoider! I am going into daughter withdrawal. Your dad thinks the first week in November is too early for Christmas decorations, your brother is four and has no appreciation whatsoever for dark chocolate, and if I want anyone to watch rom-coms with me, I’m going to need zip ties.”
For the past three years, Lyra had done everything she could to seem
normal, to be normal—the Lyra who loved Christmas and chocolate and rom-coms. And every day, pretending had killed her a little more.
That was how she’d ended up at a college a thousand miles from home. “So. How are you?” Her mom really was going to just keep asking,
indefinitely.
Lyra offered up three words in response. “Single. Petty. Armed.” Her mother laughed. “You are not.”
“Not petty or not armed?” Lyra asked. She didn’t even touch on single. “Petty,” her mom replied. “You are a kind and generous soul, Lyra
Catalina Kane, and we both know that anything can be a weapon if you believe in your heart that you can maim or kill someone with it.”
The conversation felt so normal, so them, that Lyra could hardly bear it. “Mom? I got an email from the Bursar’s Office.”
Silence fell like a thousand-year-old tree.
“It’s possible my last check from my publisher was late,” her mom said finally. “And lower than I expected. But I’ll figure this out, baby. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Everything is fine. That was Lyra’s line, had been her line for three years, ever since the name Hawthorne had started dominating the news cycle and memories she’d repressed with good reason had come flooding back. One in particular.
“Forget about tuition, Mom.” Lyra needed to get off the phone. It was easier to project normal at a distance, but it still came with a cost. “I can take next semester off, get a job, apply for loans for the fall.”
“Absolutely not.” The voice that issued those words wasn’t her mom’s. “Hi, Dad.”
Keith Kane had married her mother when she was three and adopted her when she was five. He was the only dad she’d ever known. Until the dreams had started, she hadn’t even remembered her biological father.
“Your mom and I will handle this, Lyra.” There was no arguing with her dad’s tone.
The old Lyra wouldn’t have even tried. “Handle it how?” she pressed. “We have options.”
Lyra knew, just from the way he said the word options, what he was thinking. “Mile’s End,” she said. He couldn’t mean it. Mile’s End was more than just a house. It was the attic gables and the front porch swing and the
woods and the creek and generations of Kanes carving their names into the same tree.
Lyra had grown up at Mile’s End. She’d carved her name into that tree when she was nine years old. Her baby brother deserved to do the same. I can’t be the reason they sell.
“We’ve been talking about downsizing for a while now.” Her dad was calm, matter-of-fact. “The upkeep on this old place is killing us. If I let Mile’s End go, we could get a little house in town, put you through school, start a college fund for your brother. There’s a developer—”
“There’s always a developer.” Lyra didn’t even let him finish. “And you always tell them to go to hell.”
This time, the silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes.
