And he didn’t say much more than that. I didn’t notice when he left; I was sitting with a student from Oslo. She was my own age and had, like me, quit her summer job to help out. I was moved when she told me that.

We slept on the floor at my father’s place, Magnus and I, side by side between other bodies. It was uncomfortable and safe.

The next morning we packed up the car. We were given Daddy’s old tent; he’d bought a new one. I had brought sleeping bags and camping stoves with me from Bergen. Then we set out for the mountain.

Chapter Twenty-Two: David

Chapter Twenty-Two

David

I was awakened by a bewildering sense of relief. She had left in the course of the night. She had not said anything about why, but it was probably because of Lou. And that was for the best.

Nonetheless it was as if Marguerite was still there, beside me in the bed. The warmth of her, the hollow in the mattress where she’d been lying.

I turned toward Lou, who was waking up. I smiled at her, wanting to suggest something—a walk, a game, a picnic. A game of tag beneath the trees. A treasure hunt, perhaps I should create a treasure hunt for her.

“Today I can go with you,” Lou said.

“What?”

“I don’t need to stay with Francis. I can go with you and ask about Mommy. I can go with you to the people who find people.”

Anna.

August. His four tiny baby teeth. The big movements he makes with his little arms when he pounds a toy against the floor. And the joyful sound he makes over the rhythm he creates.

Anna, her smile in the morning, her narrow eyes sparkling at me in bed. And rosy cheeks. She had always had rosy cheeks when she woke up. As if she’d been outside in the fresh air.

What was I doing?

“Fine,” I said, sitting up quickly. “Fine. If you want to come with me, that’s terrific.”

We went outside together. She was Lou, herself. Chattering away, but not about the can of corn. Maybe she had forgotten about it already or forgotten that she was supposed to be feeling guilty. Or perhaps she understood in one way or another that I was feeling even guiltier.

She was the way she’d been yesterday—light steps across the dry grass, across the dirt. She was here.

While me, I was floating somewhere else, without solid ground beneath my feet. I floated, rising and drowning at the same time.

There was no line today. A woman—I’d seen her before, one of the many who came here often—was standing at the door looking inside when we arrived. Then she pulled the door shut and left without looking at Lou and me.