“Watch your mouth.” Emil smiled as he passed a plate with a slice of cake. “Tell you something. I loved my father, but he was a man of his time and he never once sat down with me and your Uncle Nyck and asked, ‘How are you feeling, boys?’ To him, the war was over and that was that. But you and I know it’s not so simple. So it seems a good time to ask…how are you feeling?” He raised a single finger. “And if you lie and say ‘fine,’ you’ll get your fish warm.” The finger pointed toward the pantry. “Don’t think I can’t still do it.”

Kennet’s laugh was a little shrill. His heart kicked up as he rubbed his sandy eyes. “Not fine,” he said. “And I appreciate you asking. Because a lot of the ways I’ve been feeling make me think I’m going a little crazy.”

Emil’s big hand fell on Kennet’s forearm and squeezed. “The world went crazy, gullgosse. You, your brothers and all the boys like you were innocent bystanders.”

“I changed,” Kennet said, his voice raising, taking an edge of panic.

“Of course.”

“I’m so different from who I used to be. I don’t even know who…or what…”

“Take a breath now.” The weight of Emil’s hand grew heavier, pressing Kennet into place. “Remember who you’re talking to, hm? It’s not easy being back at home. You don’t just turn off war like a light switch. You don’t see your brother die, see your best buddies killed, see God knows what else, then shrug and say, ‘Oh well, c’est la guerre.’ Whoever does is lying. Or they’re truly crazy.”

Kennet cut off a bit of cake with the side of his fork and put it in his mouth. It was Marta’s walnut cake—light spongy vanilla with a vein of chopped nuts and spices running through it. Kennet’s favorite. But it tasted like nothing, as did the cup of coffee.

He felt like turning the table over. All the joy had been sucked out of the world. All his favorite foods reduced to tasteless bread and water.

Was he being punished?

“Paps, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“Go ahead. Everything’s all right.”

“Did anything happen in the war that still haunts you?”

Emil closed his eyes and his head tilted. “Did something happen to me? Or did I do something that haunts me?”

“Did you do something?” Kennet whispered. He was trembling in his clothes.

Emil’s eyes were still closed. He took two careful breaths before speaking again. “Kennet, I think you’ll understand when I say I only want to tell this story once. Förstår du?”

“Yes.”

“At the battle of Soissons, I shot and killed my best friend.”

“By accident?”

“No.”