“I’m tired.”
Oda woke up several hours later. The room was black, the kind of dark that had terrified her as a child when she slept at her grandparents’ in the country. It still made her uneasy. She turned sideways on the bed so she could see through the window. Out on the water there were specks of light from the oil rigs. Metal things clanged on boats moored in the harbor. Against their hulls the water sounded like dogs lapping, quick and frantic. She lifted her head off the pillow and found a few green lights closer in, running lights on the ferry in its hold. She didn’t know it slept here at night. It made sense, in case of an emergency. It wasn’t rumbling now, but she remembered what its rumbling felt like, and the thought of that comforted her.
When it was light enough she read in bed, turning the pages quietly, careful not to wake Hanne. Down below, plates were being placed on tables. The smell of fresh bread and sausage filled the room. Oda felt a racing in her body, an urgency that had no reason to exist now. She didn’t have to get up for work or make Hanne’s lunch or get her to her Saturday lessons or to church. She wondered how other people adjusted to vacations. It was such an unpleasant feeling, like gunning a car in neutral. It pulled her from the book she was reading. Her eyes could not take in the words. It was like the months after Fritz died all over again.
But he had been dead nearly two years. He’d gone to work at the hospital on his bike and been hit by another doctor in a car. The ambulance had traveled less than half a kilometer to reach him but he was already gone.
He’d died with less than two thousand euros in the bank. She’d been certain there was another account somewhere— he’d mentioned wanting to set one up after Hanne was born—with savings for her. He’d trained to be a doctor, but instead of going into practice as he’d planned, he’d taken a postdoc residency with a hematologist he admired, which led to another in infectious diseases and another researching the typhus outbreak of 1847. He’d had so much curiosity. There was always the promise of a solid regular salary just ahead, one more year, one last itch scratched. Oda hadn’t minded, not really, not for a long time. She did the books for several of Fritz’s medical school friends who had started their own practices and that brought in some extra money. It also made her feel safe, going over his friends’ numbers. Fritz wasn’t earning that kind of money, but he could be. At any moment he could have an income like that. Instead he died. And there was no other bank account.
Or a life insurance policy—another thing she couldn’t quite believe. She sat in the office of the company where she had hers and asked the man to look again at his computer screen. She was sure they’d filled out the papers at the same time. Hadn’t they had a joint policy? Sometimes names get dropped, she explained to him. It had happened with the same computer program he was using. One of her clients had it. Could she have a look? She expected the man to rebuff her, but he let her come around his desk, seize the mouse, and click away. She explained what she was doing, where she was searching. She never found a policy in Fritz’s name, but a few days later she got a call from that insurance agent suggesting she apply for a full-time position that was opening up there. She was good at her job. She told people her story, the lack of a policy for her and her young daughter, and it moved them. It made them her customers.
Above her in the center of the ceiling a steady banging began, deliberate blows with a hard object against a bare floor. Footsteps. A voice that got louder—muffled words Oda could have understood had they been in German.
Hanne slept through the chaos, the banging, yelling, stomping. Finally they all went down for breakfast, clumping down the stairs for so long it sounded like a family of eighteen, not five. There wasn’t exactly quiet after—they made a racket in the dining room—but Oda was able to return to her book. The racing feeling was fading, disappearing. The words started to make sense.
Hanne rolled onto her back, then over again on her stomach, a sure sign she was coming out of sleep.
“All your page turning woke me up,” she said through her hair.
“It was the people upstairs. They were louder than a marching band for the past two hours.”
“I didn’t hear them. Just you. Can’t you lift the book up so the pages don’t drag against the sheet?”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“We need to get up. I don’t know when they stop serving.”
“I’m not hungry.”