Chapter 14: What He Owed

Anders's POV

I drove to the cottage because I did not know where else to go.

Britta's car was in the lane, and the kitchen light was on.

I sat in the truck with the engine ticking for ten minutes.

Then she opened the door and stood there with her arms folded over her cardigan.

"You can come in," she said. "You can't sit on the porch. Those are the terms."

I almost laughed.

I didn't.

Her grandmother's kitchen smelled of cardamom and wood smoke.

She pointed at a chair at the table and sat across from me, with a mug of tea she did not drink.

"Say it," she said. "All of it. I want it in order."

So I told her.

I told her about the funeral, and the boathouse, and half a bottle of my father's whiskey.

I told her Kristin had come to find me, and that I had known exactly what I was doing.

I told her I left at six in the morning.

I told her Kristin drove me to the airport, and that neither of us said a word in the car.

"And then?" Britta said.

"And then nothing. I never called."

"Not once?"

"Not once. I was ashamed. I thought if I stayed away, it would stop having happened."

"Did you love her?"

"No."

"Did she love you?"

"I don't think she looked that far ahead."

Britta turned the mug a quarter turn on the table.

She had not moved her face at all.

I had expected her to flinch, and I'd have taken that.

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