Chapters (46)
- Cover
- Other Titles
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Friday
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- Saturday
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Sunday
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Monday
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Paula claps her hands in front of her like a little kid. “Hooray for you!” Her enthusiasm, Katriina realizes, is genuine. The house was probably almost as much of a burden to her as it was to Katriina. She claps her own hands weakly. Paula grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around, pushing her towards the door. “What are you waiting for, go finalize that sucker!”
“Okay,” says Katriina, feeling vaguely like she is going to throw up. She looks back at Paula, who pumps her fist in the air.
Seated again at her cubicle, Katriina puts her head down on her desk and closes her eyes. Beneath her desk, she picks away idly at her elastic, but she doesn’t even really feel like pulling it. She needs something bigger. A bigger punishment. With her head still on her desk, she reaches into her top drawer and pulls out her stapler. Then calmly, as though it is something she does every day, she staples the webbing in between her thumb and index finger, first on her right hand, then on her left. Be a better businesswoman. Then she picks up the phone and calls Fred, her mortgage specialist at the credit union to whom she filters business on a regular basis, and tells him she is going to buy a house.
TWELVE
Shawn wakes up to the sound of a train going by. He is so hungover and confused that for a moment he loses twenty-five years and he’s right back on the rails, trying to sleep amidst the shunting and the clanging and the squealing, the cold breath of fear on his neck. Then the smell of coffee leaps him forward, those twenty-five years rushing back, carrying him along right up to the present. Well, almost. He still doesn’t know where he is.
“I got you a coffee,” a voice says. It sounds like Katriina, but also not Katriina – lower, huskier, more laid-back. He keeps his eyes closed, knowing that when he opens them he is going to have to deal with whoever it is. Although even as he’s lying there he realizes it’s Hanna. He is on Hanna’s couch, in Hanna’s loft. He opens one eye and sees a white paper cup with a brown plastic lid sitting on a coffee table in front of him. Moving as few muscles as possible, he reaches for the cup and brings it to his lips.
“Ouch,” he says, putting the cup back on the coffee table.