Page 101

Astrid sits. She turns the pad so I can see three words down the left side.

SPONSOR.

SWEDEN.

MARRIAGE.

I read the last one twice.

She puts her hand flat over it. “The clock first.”

I drag my eyes back to her face. “Okay.”

“Today is day nine. Fifty-one is the maximum remaining, not a promise.”

“And Tova’s on the same clock.”

“Yes.”

Her hand stays over the bottom of the page.

I want the name of whoever decides whether fifty-one becomes less. I want an office. I want a number to call and one sentence that makes somebody move.

There’s no such sentence.

Astrid watches me find that out.

“The first route is another qualifying employer,” she says. “I have an interview with the university clinic on Thursday.”

I nod. Every question I’ve got is shaped like a task, and I keep all of them behind my teeth.

“The second route is Sweden.

“It would take time and it is real, and it is not a threat and it is not a failure.”

“I know.”

Astrid studies me. “Do you?”

I look at the piano. Three sheets of music stacked crooked on the top of it, a pencil lying across the keys.

“It’s home,” I say. “Just not this one.”

Her fingers shift on the pad. “Both are home.”

“Okay.”

The word tastes too small and I don’t go looking for a bigger one.

She lifts her hand off the page.

MARRIAGE sits under the other two.

“The lawyer asked whether I am in a genuine relationship with a United States citizen.”

I look at her. She holds it.

“I said there is a man.”