“I knew it,” I said. “I fucking knew it.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, Cal.” But if this was the beginning of something more honest, I could take these little shards of pain.

We sat watching the people as they passed, our fingers entwined, saying very little. I kissed Elsa’s neck; it was good to feel her skin beneath my lips: so familiar, so ordinary, so alive.

“Do you and Bror ever talk about me?” she said.

“I kind of assumed you wouldn’t want me to,” I said. “Though I think he’d like it if I did.”

“What if I were to tell you a truly monstrous secret?” she said, her gaze level and easy.

“What if I already know your monstrous secret?” I said.

“You can’t,” she said. “You don’t know the first thing.” Her wolf eyes, all flecked with gold.

“What if I knew more than you think?”

“Not possible.”

“Elsa,” I said, “what have you done?”

She looked me in the left eye, then the right. She looked away.

She said, “Do you ever scare yourself?”

“No.”

“You’re never frightened of what you might do?”

“Never.”

She smiled. “Must be nice.”

“Elsa,” I said. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what?”

The color disappeared from her eyes. Time slowed. She bit down on to her lower lip. She inhaled once, then paused, then inhaled again.

“Okay,” she said. “So here’s the thing . . .”

“Cal. Over here. Happy fucking anniversary, mate.”

And so the moment passed, and we were on our feet and embracing our friends. And still I didn’t know if Elsa was joking, or if she was about to tell me about the Glock.

“Great piece,” said Jo, his arm across my shoulders.

“Yeah,” said Edvard.

I stepped forward to hug Jo, felt his stubble raking mine.

“How are things?” I whispered.

“About the same.”

But from his smile you would have thought nothing was wrong. “You really shook them up, Cal,” he said, turning to Edvard. “Didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Edvard stepped forward, hugged me with surprising warmth. “Yeah, management’s freaking out.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No,” said Edvard. “They should freak out. Happy wedding anniversary, by the way.”

Elsa embraced him warmly and said something that made him laugh, and she turned toward me and smiled.

Only Hedda was hanging back. Elsa’s oldest friend, clutching defensively at the hem of her dress. She was made up for the cocktail bar, not for the street, in her too-short black dress and her too-high red shoes. She looked exposed, shrinking in the summer light.

“Hedda,” I said. “Sorry about the change. You look beautiful.”

And when Hedda leaned in and hugged me there was no hostility between us, no sense of putting on a show.

“Beer,” said Jo. “The boyfriend’s buying.”

“Really?” said Edvard. “Am I really?”

“Handsome does as handsome gets told,” said Jo.