Chapter 15: The Microphone

Marit's POV

The microphone was warm from the hand of the singer who had left it.

I stood under the garlands where Clemens had stood on Thursday, and I looked at sixty people who had watched me hand over a ring.

Some of them had their phones up again.

Good, I thought. Film this one.

"Thank you for coming," I said, and my voice came back at me from the speakers, steady and bright.

"Clemens's mother asked me to say I forgive them, so that you can all relax.

"I'm going to say something else first."

Pia had gone still by the cake.

Clemens was halfway across the floor, with his glass in his hand and Florian behind him.

"Six weeks ago, Clemens left a message for a friend," I said. "I'd like you to hear it, because he said he'd wait for a crowd.

"He said I'd cry less in front of people."

Somebody gasped, a woman by the bar.

I looked to the back of the pavilion, where a sound technician in a black shirt sat at a desk with a laptop.

Nils stood beside him with his arms crossed. He met my eyes, and he nodded.

"Play it," I said.

Clemens's voice filled the pavilion.

It was easy and low and warm, and it was enormous.

It came out of the speakers over the champagne, and the little tables, and the sugar flowers on the cake.

I did not need to listen.

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