On Thursday evening Theo sent Leah a picture of a book.
It was a huge hardback about sea birds. The cover showed a gull looking distinctly displeased.
Do you want this? he asked.
Leah was at her kitchen table, finishing the piece of cake a customer had brought her. She wrote, Have you become a library?
Her phone rang.
“People keep bringing things,” Theo said.
“That's because they like you.”
“Some of them haven't met me.”
“They like Mara's version of you?”
She regretted it at once. Theo let the silence last just long enough for her to put her fork down.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It's from somebody who was at the party,” he said. “I mentioned a bird by the gate. That was enough, apparently.”
“What sort of bird?”
“I don't know. That was why I mentioned it.”
Leah smiled. “Now you can find out.”
“It's nine hundred pages.”
“Your bird could be on page two.”
“I looked. It isn't.”
He sounded less exhausted than he had on Tuesday. Leah heard a faint rustling, then he gave a small, annoyed sigh.
“Dropped the thing.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Somebody's getting it. It's too heavy.”
A voice spoke near him. He thanked whoever it was and moved the phone back to his ear.
“You can say you don't want it,” he told Leah.
“I don't think I'm your bird person.”
“Fine. I'll find somebody.”
She took another small piece of cake. Outside her window the bakery lights had gone out, leaving the shopfront dark. Her kitchen looked very bright by comparison. For the last two nights she had stayed up far too late with the lights on.
“What are you doing?” Theo asked.
“Eating cake.”
“Good.”
“A customer brought it. She grows apples and doesn't know what else to do with them.”
“Send her here. There's a man across from me who's making a list of every fruit he likes. I could give him a project.”
“Have you told him about your bird?”
“He doesn't like birds.”
Leah laughed, the sound coming more easily than she expected.
“It's all very complicated,” she said.
“Yes.”
They were quiet for a moment. She could hear things going on beyond him, a door opening, somebody asking for something. His life had become smaller and more crowded at once.
“I found the paper crown,” he said. “In a picture somebody sent from Saturday. On the portrait. I didn't notice at the time.”
“I saw it.”
“Do you know who put it there?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“You don't want to find out?”
“I want to leave it on. Give people something else to look at.”
Leah looked down at her plate. There was a little cake left, too much for one mouthful and too little to put away. She divided it with her fork.
“I'll make sure nobody takes it off.”
“You don't have to go there.”
“I can send a message.”
“All right.”
He sounded tired now. She heard him shift, trying to get comfortable.
“I'm going,” he said. “I've used up my interest in conversation.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“You're welcome.”
He ended the call. Leah finished her cake, sent the staff a line about leaving the crown alone and put her plate in the sink.
Her phone held several unread messages from Finn. She opened the newest. It was short.
I've told the people I said it to. About Adam. I'm not asking you to do anything.
Leah typed Thank you and sent it before she could start trying to read another meaning into it.
Then she turned the kitchen light out and went to bed.