“Take us by Tre Fiskar,” Astrid said, so they tied up at the dock on Grennell Island and took O’Hara to see the two family cottages. They stayed together, not pairing up in any deliberate fashion, until they reached the campsite on Tre-O. Astrid stood with her hands on her hips, her face far away while Minor explained the institution of fiskfika and the gatherings that had taken place here. O’Hara listened politely, then started kicking along the rocky shore, picking up flat stones and skimming them along the water’s surface. He had a good arm and a natural, athletic ease. Minor picked up rocks, too, but his dominant arm could no longer throw or skim. He piled them into little cairns instead.

“I’d like to see the house now,” Astrid said to Kennet, as though he were a realtor and she had an appointment. He hesitated, tilting his head questioningly toward the two men, but Astrid turned on her heel and started on the path toward the cottage.

“Mine, I’m just going to see the house a minute,” Kennet called.

“Sure,” Minor said, weirdly engrossed with his stones. Boyd had moved further on down the shore, almost out of sight, as if he couldn’t get far enough from present company.

This was a bad idea, Kennet thought.

When he reached the cottage, Astrid stood on the small porch, her forehead and fists pressed to the door, beseeching the place. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly. She’d run here so fast, she was winded. Or else she was crying.

“Asta,” he said.

“I’ve wanted to come back here,” she said, sobbing. “Every day since I got to Clayton. I didn’t know who to ask to bring me out. I didn’t want to explain why. I guess I could have asked Major, but…” She dissolved again into tears, her clenched fingers tightening. “I wanted to come back here. It’s all I wanted. All these years.”

“I know. Me, too.”

She turned around and roughly ran her wrist across her face. “Did you come here?” she asked. “After I left? Ever?”

“Once,” he said. “The day I found out you were married. I came and smashed a few things.”

“You must’ve thought me the weakest woman on the face of the earth.”

“I figured you didn’t think much of my strength, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I let you go.”

“I let you let me go.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he did what he did next. Perhaps some deeper wisdom realized this self-incriminating exchange was glossing over the real matter. He found himself coming up the last step, sinking to his knees at her feet and putting his hands on her stomach.

“You lost the baby,” he said. “It was ours, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”