Kennet’s smile died. An invisible hand curled around his heart and squeezed hard enough to make his throat warm. He lifted a palm. With a tinkling clink, the thin strips of copper dropped into it.

“That’s real swell of you,” he said softly.

Little’s shoulders went up, down and around. “I miss her.”

“I do too, kid.”

“Think she’ll ever come back?”

“No,” Kennet said. “No, she won’t come back. But these will help me remember the best summer of my life.” He hooked an arm around the boy’s neck and kissed his head. “Thank you. I feel better.”

“Marta says dinner’s ready in half an hour.” Little dug his crown into Kennet’s side another beat, then headed for the door.

“Hey,” Kennet called after. “You know what Ma said to me before she died?”

“What?”

“She said, ‘One day, Little is going to surprise you. You watch.’” He jingled the loose fist with the pennies. “She was right.”

Little grinned. “She was always right.”

Dear Nyck,

Forgive me. Please, please forgive me…

The letter went on, written in Swedish in Astrid’s beautiful hand. Passionate, ardent words. Tender, genuine apologies. Heartfelt pleas for forgiveness. And through it all, love. Between every line, love. In the ring above an Å or the dots over an Ö, love.

He read it several times. The words in his head sounded far away, as if from the other side of a long bridge.

He’d crossed such spans before. He thought about the night he tried to beat the storm home and lost. All the Fiskare siblings got their fish warm that night, each taking five licks from Emil’s razor strop. But then Emil threw everyone but Kennet out of the pantry, made them wait in the kitchen while Kennet had to drop his trousers and take five for each brother and sister on his bare skin. Twenty in all. His fish not just warm but deep-fried.

Lying in his bed that painful, shameful night, Kennet felt lower than low. Disowned. Forsaken. Cast out. But then Emil came into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the mattress. He kissed Kennet’s head and talked to him. His voice was soft in the dark, as if he stood on the far side of a bridge.

A boy would lie there in sullen, martyred silence. A man now, and a captain, Kennet made the decision to cross over and he answered his father. When Emil asked if he understood and would remember, Kennet promised he would.

Emil said he was forgiven.

It took a long time for Kennet to believe it.

We all make promises, Asta. And they can be such heavy things.

It was time now to navigate the difficult ravine between a young man and an older, wiser one.