Her mother went silent in the attentive way mothers do when new information improves a bad story. “A man?” “He got me through the gate.” “Like customs?”
“Like lying.” Jack smiled. Margaret said, “Is he handsome?” Claire covered the receiver with one hand. “I have to go.”
“Claire.” “Yes.” “Be careful. And call again when you know something.”
She hung up and found Jack trying not to laugh. “What?” “Nothing.” “You heard that.”
“Only the part where your mother correctly identified me as handsome from several states away.” Claire pushed the phone toward him. “Your turn.” Jack called his mother in Pittsburgh.
Claire tried not to listen and failed almost immediately.
“Hi, Mom.” Pause. “No, I’m not there.” Longer pause.
“Because airplanes have rules about blizzards.” He held the receiver away from his ear while a woman’s voice, bright and indignant, carried faintly through the line. “Yes, I know Uncle Phil drove from Cleveland. No, I did not personally cause the weather.”
Claire smiled. Jack noticed and turned slightly away, though he was smiling too. “No, I’m not alone,” he said at last. Claire’s eyebrows rose.