“I don’t even think it’s about being an asshole. I think his actions were a violation of your trust. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the single worst thing you can do to a friend.”

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me. Between Rick and Eric, trust has been the Problem Virtue of the Year.”

At noon the next day, Ben came down to the kitchen, where he saw Lisa and his mother talking. “Well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” Ben’s mother said as she cut vegetables for the following night’s Thanksgiving dinner. Not fooled by Ben’s recent shower and his close shave, she could see the still-tired look in her son’s eyes. “What time were you two up until last night?”

“Probably around four,” Lisa said.

Ben’s mother dropped her knife on the cutting board and stared.

“Mom, calm yourself,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “We were just talking. Is that okay?”

“It’s none of my business,” his mother said. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t need to.” Turning to Lisa, he said, “How are you so awake?”

“I can’t sleep late,” Lisa explained. “I’ve been up since seven.”

In mid-yawn, Ben stretched toward the ceiling. “You’re crazy. Sleeping is the source of life.”

Suddenly, the telephone rang. “Hello?” Ben’s mother said, turning away from her vegetable slicing. Pausing for a moment, she responded, “Yes, he’s right here. Hold on one second.” She turned to Ben. “It’s for you. It’s someone named Rick.”

The color drained from Ben’s face. Surprised at her son’s reaction, Ben’s mother handed him the phone. Ben stretched the phone cord so that he was almost standing in the other room. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ben,” Rick said. “How’s everything at home?”

Pulling the cord even farther, Ben moved into the dining room. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Rick said. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay there. And I wanted to wish you and your family a lovely Thanksgiving. Is that okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” Ben said, struggling to keep his voice low. “I’m hanging up the phone now. If you want to talk to me, call me when I get back to D.C. Otherwise, stay the hell away from my family.”

“Ben, I just want you and your family to have an enjoyable Thanksgiv-”

Ben hung up the phone and forced a smile as he walked back into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?” his mother asked. “Who was that on the phone? Who’s Rick?”

“It’s just a friend from the Court,” Ben said. “We were having this argument about this case, and he wanted to talk about it. It’s no big deal.”

“Benjamin, don’t lie to me,” his mother said.

“Mom, I’m not lying!” Ben insisted. “It’s this jerk from work that I always disagree with. It’s fine. We’ll work it out.”

Before she could say a word, Ben was out of the room. “Lisa, c’mon!” he yelled from the front door.

Getting in his mother’s car, Ben was silent, his lips pursed in anger. He was already inching the car out of the driveway by the time Lisa opened the door and jumped inside.

“Don’t worry about stopping,” Lisa said as Ben pulled out of the driveway. “I’m fine.” Getting no response, she asked, “So what’d he say?”

“Nothing. He was just being an asshole.”

“I assumed that,” Lisa said. “Now tell me what he said.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Ben said. “I just want to enjoy myself today.”

“Just tell me…”

“Please,” Ben pleaded. “Let’s just forget about it.”

Lisa was silent until they turned onto the Massachusetts Turnpike. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?”

Taking a deep breath, Ben said, “First, we’re going to Beacon Hill, where you will not only see some of our fair city’s best architecture, but you will also partake in a Vito’s upside-down pizza.”

“An upside-down what?”

“We’ll be eating at a restaurant called Vito’s, where they serve two slices of pizza facing each other. Now stop ruining the story.” Resuming his calm, narrating voice, he continued, “After that, we will walk through the Boston Common and into the heart of downtown.”

“Are we going by the Cheers bar?”

“No, we are not going by the Cheers bar. This isn’t the Freedom Trail. You’ll see this city like a native. Naturally, that will mean that you’ll miss the U.S.S. Constitution, the Cheers bar, Faneuil Hall, and all the other touristy nonsense that people love to snap pictures of, but you’ll be a better person for it.”

“I feel enlightened already.”

“And if you’re lucky, I’ll show you my favorite spot in the whole city.”

“We’re going to the library?”

“I can stop the car anytime,” Ben said.

“I’ll be good. I promise,” Lisa said, pulling an imaginary zipper across her lips.

At four-thirty that afternoon, Ben pulled the car into a small, graveled lot off Memorial Drive. Theirs was the only car in the tiny lot. Lisa looked around suspiciously. “If this is your old make-out place, I’m gonna be sick.”

“It’s not my old make-out place,” Ben said, turning off the engine. “I told you, I’m bringing you to my favorite spot in the city. Did I lie to you about anything so far?”

“There were no skateboarders at Copley Square.”

“It’s freezing out,” Ben said. “Besides that, though.”

“The performers in Harvard Square sucked.”

“The best ones come out at night. Besides that.”

Thinking for a minute, she eventually said, “No, you have not lied about anything else.”

“Then follow me,” Ben said, getting out of the car. He walked against the cold wind that blew off the river and headed toward a narrow bicycle path that ran along the lot. The view from the concrete path was obstructed by a fence of aged and rotted wood currently covered with various spray-painted slogans. At a corner on the path, the wall ended, and Lisa could see that they were walking toward the Charles River. The walkway turned from concrete to wood, leading to a medium-sized boathouse next to the Charles. “This used to belong to Boston University,” Ben explained. “It housed all the equipment for the crew team. All the schools have them up and down the river: Harvard, MIT, Boston College, Northeastern, they’re all along here somewhere. And when B.U. raised enough money, they abandoned this shack for state-of-the-art headquarters closer to their campus.” As he walked to the edge of the dock, he pointed to his right. “From here, we’ll be able to see the sunset bathe the city in light. And that makes this the best spot in the city. The tour is finished. Tah-dah!” he said, turning around and taking a bow.

Lisa sat down and let her feet dangle off the edge of the dock. “You were right. This place is fantastic.”

“Eric’s older brother found it, and he showed it to us,” Ben said, sitting next to Lisa. “This is where I was when I wrote my college essay to get into Columbia, and it’s where I wrote my essay to get into Yale.”

“We should’ve brought the Grinnell decision with us.”

Ben glanced at his watch. “We’ll be able to see the sunset in about twenty minutes.”

“This city gets dark too early. It’s only four-thirty.”

“Wait until the dead of winter,” Ben said. “It’s pitch-black by four-fifteen. By having the country’s earliest sunset, we also get the highest winter suicide rate.”

“Now that’s something to be proud of.” Silent for the next few minutes, they waited for the sun to descend on Boston’s gray horizon. When she saw Ben staring at her, Lisa raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking about kissing me, aren’t you?”

“You wish,” Ben said, drawing back.

“Oh, please,” Lisa said. “You have that fawning look in your eyes.”

“Lisa, I realize I’ve brought you to a magical place, but not all fantasies come true here.”

“Don’t pull that crap with me,” Lisa said, pointing at Ben. “You have the same look you had the night we worked on the death penalty case.”