Ms. Lewis gave Ayisha a familiar look of mild annoyance that I had been on the receiving end of at least twice in our conversation over the past ten minutes. The physical resemblance in the Lewis family, which included Ayisha’s two younger sisters, Billie and Linda, was strong, though Ms. Lewis always kept her hair ultra-short and natural. I’d never met Mr. Lewis—he was out of their lives by the time Ayisha and I were in the same grade and butting heads—but if you had told me Ayisha’s mother had reproduced through cloning, I would have at least considered the possibility.

“You texted me you would be outside and I have been waiting,” Ms. Lewis said.

She worked as the head of accounting at the state’s second-largest propane distribution company but she always carried herself like the CEO.

Ayisha gathered her purse and emerald-green wool coat, folded neatly on the same shelf. “Sorry,” she said.

I felt the need to speak up. “It’s my fault, Ms. Lewis. Ayisha was, uh, helping me with some stuff.” That was potentially accurate.

Ms. Lewis smiled at me. “Thank you, Finley. Nevertheless . . .” She fixed Ayisha with an expression that filled in the rest of her unspoken sentence and Ayisha quickly buttoned up the front of her coat.

“I’m coming, Mamma.” She looked back at me, her voice dropping low. “We’ll finish talking about this later.”

And as I watched Ayisha join her mother and walk out the front door, I knew for certain that we would, whether I wanted to or not. And I honestly wasn’t sure which way I was leaning.

The front desk officially closed at eleven p.m., and at eleven p.m. and fifteen seconds, the phone was forwarded to voicemail, the computer shut off, lobby lights dimmed low, front doors locked, and the sign that read WILL RETURN AT 7 A.M. was placed on the desk ledge for any stray guests who happened to wander by with questions.

By 11:03 p.m., I had taken my tired body into the kitchen and was in the process of nuking a cup of hot water in my new Blixen mug (because while I may have been discombobulated about Dad and Aunt Esha’s hand shenanigans, I still had the presence of mind to make sure that particular mug was officially part of my Please Don’t Sue or Write a Bad Review gift bag from Drakk and Axe).

Grandma Jo was one of the few people on the planet who was indifferent to the glorious superpowers of coffee, though her love of all things tea more than made up for it.

I selected a linen bag of lemon-ginger to go with my newly heated water and headed for the library with no intention of reading anything, but at the same time not wanting to go to my tiny room just yet.

Naturally, Arthur was already there.