Esther pulled Dóxa gently away from the bench and let her thoughts wander back to what she spent most of her time thinking about these days: her writing. She had only an incipient idea for a book, but still it was so exciting that she couldn’t shake it. The idea had come to her at Christmas when she was placing a bouquet on her deceased friend Kristoffer’s grave. It had snowed that day, and the plot was covered with ice flowers. She stood for a long time in the cold trying to establish a connection with her friend, feeling stuck and dejected.

Why do we deal with death so poorly when it’s the one inescapable condition we all have to face? Where do you put your grief once all the rituals associated with death are over and everyone is busy moving on?

These thoughts buzzed around in the back of her mind like a stubborn wasp that would neither sting nor go away.

Esther had begun reading about death rituals in other cultures, about grieving and funerals. One morning in March she had woken up and gone straight to her computer to write—just disconnected thoughts about death to begin with, but now a text was starting to take shape. Her stomach tingled at the thought of her budding tale.

She leaned her head back and looked up at the new chestnut leaves, dangling limply from the branches like puppy ears. It was impossible to picture how they would soon lift themselves up to form resilient, bright green parachutes.

Death rituals and budding springtime greenery. Esther couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt better.

CHAPTER 4

The grayish-blue ocean waves crashed on the rocks along Langelinie, splashing salty sea spray on Jeppe’s and Anette’s cheeks. On the horizon they could see Trekroner Sea Fortress and the industrial buildings on Refshaleøen, and to the right, farther into the harbor, the old navy barracks on Holmen and the controversial opera house. Jeppe stopped by the Little Mermaid statue, where flocks of tourists were trying to take a decent picture in front of the disappointingly small statue, and threw away the rest of the hot dog that had made up today’s lunch. He tasted the oniony breath it had left behind and began fishing around in his pockets for cigarettes.

“Are you going to smoke now?” Anette asked him disapprovingly. “The Skytte family is waiting for us.”

Jeppe held the pack of cigarettes out to her with a smile. No one is more fun to tease than a former smoker. She shook her head and stuck her hands in her pockets while he lit one up and inhaled deeply.