Chapter 15: Sauna

Dewey's cabin sat on a rocky point north of Two Harbors, with the lake right at the door.

By the time the sun went down the next evening it smelled like onions and butter.

Ole stood at the stove in Dewey's apron, flipping pierogi in a cast-iron pan.

"A neighbor taught me on Lake Avenue," he said. "Fifty years, and she never gave me the dough recipe. I stole it."

"They're good, Ole," said Dewey with his mouth full.

"They're a crime." Ole beamed. "Eat, dear. You're skin and bone."

I'm five foot ten and I own thighs, but I ate.

I had slept all day on Dewey's couch with a quilt over my head and a thermos of coffee on the floor.

The Gathering was at ten.

The door to the back room opened and Emlyn came out with his hair flat on one side and his glasses in his hand.

He had slept in the windowless room behind the sauna, under three blankets.

He had kissed me through the dark before he went.

"Good evening," he said. "Is that onion?"

"Sit," said Ole. "You'll not eat, I know, but sit."

He sat.

He watched Ole eat his supper, and he watched the old man's hands.

I saw something in his face ease that had been knotted for sixty-four years.

"Dewey," I said, when the pan was empty. "Is the sauna hot?"

"Been hot since noon. Cedar benches. Bring a towel."

"I'd like Emlyn to see it."

"He can't sweat."

"I know," I said. "Come on."

Ole winked at me over the dishes.

We walked down the path in our boots and coats, thirty feet through blue snow, with the lake going black beyond the pines.

Inside the sauna it was dark and close and smelled of wood and smoke.

The stove glowed orange behind its rail, and the air hit my face.

I hung my coat on a nail.

I undressed in the heat, boots and sweater and pants, while he stood with his back against the door and watched.

He had his glasses on again.

He took them off and set them on the shelf, then stripped down to the skin.

His body was pale, slim and scarred from hip to ribs, and in the stove light the freckles were dark on his shoulders.

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