So that’s that. I will put Astrid and Xandro in the attic, it makes the most sense. I don’t want to disturb Little and I really have no idea how you and Minor feel about continuing to share a room. I could move one of you into the spare room, but I’ll wait to hear if you want to stay together or if it’s time you had separate digs.

What is taking them so long to demob you? Ridiculous. Miss you terribly. Can’t wait to see your fat head, fat-head.

Love,

Marta

Kennet went digging in his pack for his diary, and withdrew the picture of Astrid from its pages. He propped it on the little standing locker next to his bed. Elbows on knees, fingers twined, he stared her down. He had the room to himself, so he could talk out loud and reply in his head.

“So you’re widowed,” he said to the photograph.

Brilliant observation. If you glance out the window, you’ll also see the sky is blue.

“And you have a son,” he said. “Zé’s son.”

Did you think they were married in name only? You dumb punk.

“You didn’t mention either thing in your letter.”

Because, you ignoramus, she was keeping it about you and your grief. It’s called kindness.

The windows in this wing of the abbey were high and narrow. Only blue sky showed through the diamond panes. Like the blue sky that shone through the windows of Marianne’s bedroom on Tre-O.

“Did Zé fall asleep, too? Leave the incriminating evidence behind?”

You cannot be this dumb and be related to Minor. Since it’s clear now you can divorce a family member, he’s going to serve you papers when you get home.

“And now you’re coming back to Clayton.”

Aren’t you happy?

He felt cold and tight within his skin, but nothing stirred in his heart that he could label.

Don’t you get it? It’s your golden time. It could come back. This is your second chance. This is what you wanted.

“But I didn’t think I’d get it,” he whispered. “I put her behind me. Over my shoulder. I wrote to a fantasy, not to her. It was just my little, dumb story in my big, fat head again.”

You must be crazy. This is what you would’ve killed for four years ago.

“But I’m not him anymore. I kill for other things.”

He sighed. It was no use pretending you felt one way when you felt another. But what use were you when you felt nothing at all?