“I am,” Kennet said slowly. “But some things I wrote may shock you. Horrify you. I need you to know about them. It’s… It’s like how you told Zé about us.”

“You’re trying to make me not want you.”

“I’m trying to make sure you do. I need you to know how war changed me. I need you to know the things that made me put up a wall between myself and the world. I’m not being poetic when I say that, Asta. I haven’t been able to smell or taste anything in months. You and Marta and everyone pushing me to eat more and I swear I’m hungry but eating is just such a goddamn joyless chore.”

Beneath wide eyes, Astrid’s mouth formed soundless words, “Oh darling…”

“But I did things too. Things that broke the rules of war and put me on a level with Nazis and Japs.”

“Nyck, no.”

“Yes. And I want you to know. I want you to be sure. You don’t begrudge my spoils of war, but you need to know what happened.”

“All right,” she said quietly.

Kennet slumped a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t start reading it tonight. Don’t lie awake in the dark with my thoughts in your head. Read it by sunlight.”

“I will read it by the brightest lamp I can find. I’ll come talk to you about it at high noon. I won’t secretly decide you’re an abhorrent human being, leave in the middle of the night and disappear forever. I think you’ve had quite enough of people you love vanishing.”

“That’s true,” he said, his voice thinner than smoke.

No more leaving. No more going. Stay still.

Astrid stood up decisively and reached for the chain that led to the light socket. She couldn’t quite reach, so Kennet pulled it and plunged the space into darkness.

They stood there, with the dark pressing them from all directions and Astrid’s cheek against Kennet’s pounding heart.

“A fisherman he had been in his youth,” she whispered. “And still a sort of fisherman was he.”

“Still.”

Her arms tightened about him. “Still, Nyck. I believe this. Still.”

No more leaving, he thought. Stay still.

Guarding the Perimeter

Kennet left the attic and went downstairs, feeling thirsty. He thought he heard voices from the kitchen, but all was dark within, shadowy and sleeping. The back porch light was on, though, and through the kitchen door’s window Kennet saw O’Hara and Minor sitting on the back steps. Both zipped into jackets, each with a cluster of empty beer bottles by his hip. The night was cold, and their breath made little puffs in the air.