Here it was, the moment, the reason for the vacation, the one thing that had convinced her to spend this money. After Fritz died, Oda’s friend Frauke told her that when she lost her husband the children had slept in her bed for a year. But Hanne, even that first night, wanted to sleep in her own bed. If Oda tried to cuddle with her in her room, Hanne said she was too hot and asked her to leave. But here they would be together in the dark, where perhaps it would be easier and safer to talk to each other.

“Are you comfy?” Oda asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Not really.”

“We could tell each other stories.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could tell you a story about something. About me or you when you were little, or Grandmother. Or Papi.” She let that hang there a moment. “Then you could tell me one.” Oda rolled onto her side to face Hanne. She hoped Hanne would turn toward her but she did not. She remained on her back, in profile, her face dark against the last blue light of the day.

“I’m tired.”

Oda woke up several hours later. The room was black, the kind of dark that had terrified her as a child when she slept at her grandparents’ in the country. It still made her uneasy. She turned sideways on the bed so she could see through the window. Out on the water there were specks of light from the oil rigs. Metal things clanged on boats moored in the harbor. Against their hulls the water sounded like dogs lapping, quick and frantic. She lifted her head off the pillow and found a few green lights closer in, running lights on the ferry in its hold. She didn’t know it slept here at night. It made sense, in case of an emergency. It wasn’t rumbling now, but she remembered what its rumbling felt like, and the thought of that comforted her.

When it was light enough she read in bed, turning the pages quietly, careful not to wake Hanne. Down below, plates were being placed on tables. The smell of fresh bread and sausage filled the room. Oda felt a racing in her body, an urgency that had no reason to exist now. She didn’t have to get up for work or make Hanne’s lunch or get her to her Saturday lessons or to church. She wondered how other people adjusted to vacations. It was such an unpleasant feeling, like gunning a car in neutral. It pulled her from the book she was reading. Her eyes could not take in the words. It was like the months after Fritz died all over again.