Vilma was sitting up in the bed when he returned. She poked her mother.

“No, no, no,” he whispered. “Let Mommy sleep.”

“I’m awake,” Emma mumbled, her face pressed into her pillow.

“Now let’s see.”

Henrik put the thermometer in Vilma’s ear, waited until it beeped and read the number.

“No fever,” he said. “How lucky.”

“But I think I do have one.”

“Do you want to have a fever?”

“Yes!”

“Why is that?”

“Because then you can stay home with me.”

He hugged her, kissing her forehead.

“Mommy is home with you,” he said.

Emma had rolled toward them in the bed and was looking at him with sleepy eyes.

“When do you have to leave?” she asked.

He looked at the clock and saw that it said eight o’clock.

“Right about now.”

“When will you be home?”

“I don’t know. Some things have come up that I have to take care of.”

“‘Some things’? Yesterday you said that you were just going to work for a couple hours, and it was a lot more than a couple.”

“It took longer than I thought... I’m sorry...”

Henrik combed his hand through his hair, conscious that he had just done the one thing he shouldn’t do. He shouldn’t apologize for needing to do his job. Instead he should be telling his wife that a young man had been found dead in his apartment, and that was why he needed to do his job. But he couldn’t say that, not with Vilma right there.

“Listen, I really need to spend extra time at work today, too.”

“You always need more time. But think about us! We need more time, too.”

“What do you mean, more time?”

“With you. We want to be with you.”

He sighed heavily, knowing that it was a compliment. Maybe that was why it was so hard. He felt like he was deserting them.

“But it’s a difficult time right now.”

“What does that mean?” Vilma blinked at him.

“Go and play in your room for a little while,” Henrik said, setting her feet on the floor.

“Can’t you let someone else work today?” Emma asked when Vilma had disappeared through the open door. “It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?”

“Like this?”

“With you working every weekend.”

“I don’t work every weekend. Have you said that to Vilma?”

“That you work a lot? No, she’s big enough to understand that herself.”

“And you understand that I can’t just have someone else do my work, right?”

Emma laid her arm over her forehead and closed her eyes.

“I thought we were going to go out and buy a stroller,” she said.

“What’s wrong with the old one?”

“It’s five years old.”

“But it still works.”

“Barely. I saw a white one I like. At Babies “R” Us.”

“When did you go there?”

“Last weekend.”

“Without me?”