She went down the hall to shower and Oda sank into the pink-and-burgundy chair. She didn’t want to be here, spending money on this room and its view of fog. She wanted to sleep in her own bed and go to work in the morning. Her friends, her sister, and the whole culture had pushed her into this vacation. She didn’t want it. Hanne didn’t want it. Why were they subjecting themselves to it?

She went to the window. It had cleared slightly. She could see the sea and it was not placid. The waves were churned up white and whipped by the wind. Far out, great fishing vessels vied for territory. The horizon line was broken by several oil rigs, jagged prehistoric creatures on strong legs. She felt the ferry’s rumble before she saw it curve around the east side of the island and pull into the harbor. People were shimmering in their raincoats.

Hanne was back and combing out her hair.

“The ferry’s nearly in.”

“I can see it.”

“Go get your bag then.”

Hanne put down the comb.

She appeared below and ran down the street in bare feet with wet strings of hair rising up behind her.

The kind man met her with her suitcase. They spoke, a surprising number of back and forths that Oda could not fill in, and then Hanne came back up the hill, slower, with her bag.

They were Australians, the people above them. Their three long-haired children streaked around the dining room in their pajamas, grabbing decorations off the table and books off the shelves until the father caught up with them and they all disappeared in a flurry of giggles and flailing limbs.

“You were never like that,” Oda said.

“You tamped me down early.”

“Crushed your free spirit, did I?”

They ate in silence like the couple from Belgium beside them. The Australian man returned, the three children trailing soberly behind him.

“Do you remember the song you used to sing me about the girl in the polka-dot dress?”

For a time Hanne had begged for that song every night.

“Polky Polky I used to call it.”

“Dot Dot, actually.”

Hanne smiled. “Dot Dot. I thought you were the most beautiful singer in the whole world.”

Oda felt pitched up onto the crest of a wave, like one of those boats far out at sea.

Back in their room there was nothing to do but get into bed. Cold air, much colder than it ever got in Munich in July, came through the lifted windows. The quilt on the bed was heavy, the sheets tucked in tight. Hanne took the right side, closest to the wall. The bed cracked and creaked when Oda got in. She shut off the light.