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It’s actually Astrid who has done most of the decorating in the house. When our mother was here, she put away all our family’s things into boxes in the attic, I guess to make her own mark. Looking back, that was probably a red flag in itself, like she felt she’d be erased if her stuff wasn’t surrounding her. Then, after our mother left us, we took all her things and put them in the attic. As the oldest female in the house, Astrid took it upon herself to give the house a feminine touch. I would hate to think of the place it would turn into if it were just Uncle Per and I.
Speaking of Uncle Per, he’s in the living room, watching TV and snacking on a plate of gingersnaps.
“Uncle Per,” Astrid says in Norwegian as we step into the room, sunlight sneaking in through lace curtains. “This is Anders girlfriend, Shay.”
“Hei,” I tell her sharply, my eyes flitting to Shay and back, incredibly grateful she can’t understand the Norwegian we’re speaking. “Friend from America. From high school.”
Uncle Per is staring at me with a ‘yeah right’ look on his face. He looks over at Shay, eyes her up and down and then grunts. “Tell her she is welcome, whoever she is.”
Shay has that awkward look on your face that you get when you don’t understand the language everyone is speaking. “He doesn’t speak English,” I explain to her. “But he says you’re welcome, make yourself at home.”
“Oh.” Shay looks at Uncle Per and shoots him a genuine, blinding smile that would melt the coldest block of ice. “Tusen Takk.”
Well I’ll be damned. For once, my uncle musters a smile. And even though it’s fairly easy to remember how to say thanks very much in Norwegian, the sound of it coming from Shay’s lips stirs something in my soul.
After that, Astrid shows Shay to the room she’ll be staying in, Tove’s, then suggests they all get some beers and relax by the fjord.
I have to say, as much as I would love to take part, I have work to do. I skipped on it early to go and get her, and I can tell from the way that Uncle Per is watching TV, half comatose, that he’s done for the day. Besides, I don’t exactly feel like sharing Shay with my sisters—god knows what they’ll tell her. I’d rather have her alone and to myself.
For what? I ask myself. You really think she’d be interested in you that way, after all that happened? After all this time? It’s been so fucking long.
I swallow hard and try to put myself in the right headspace.
It’s not easy.
As the girls go down to the water, I head into the fields. It’s lambing season, which means usually Uncle Per or I will be up at dawn to see if any lambs have been born during the night. It doesn’t happen that often, considering we don’t have many sheep left, and the lambing season stretches on for a few months. We’re at the end of it now, but even so, I know there are two ewes that have yet to give birth.
I feed the lambs and ewes in the lambing pen, making sure they have fresh grains, hay, and water, then head into the main barn and do the same. The cows are out to pasture, and I do a walk around the perimeter checking the fence. Tomorrow morning I’ll be taking over the early shift, getting the cows in to be milked and then it’s a full day. I was lucky to get the day off while I did.
With that thought, I head back to the house, wash up, and put the kettle on for tea. I peer through the window, craning my neck to see if the girls are still down by the water. It’s been two hours and I know Lise is in charge of dinner tonight.
“Hey.”
I whirl around to see Shay standing in the doorway, smiling unsurely at me. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the alcohol, though I’d like to think it’s from the sight of me.
“Hi,” I respond, leaning back against the sink. “It’s getting cold out.”
“I know, I’m not built for this Nordic weather like you are,” she says. “I was going to get a sweater. Maybe a scarf.”
“My sisters should be coming now anyway; Lise is supposed to cook tonight.”
“Do you all take turns?”
“Well, I usually do the cooking when it’s just me and my uncle, but when the girls are here I have to put them to work, even when the dinner is cooked under the influence.”
She laughs. “They are pretty tipsy.”
“And you?”
She gives me a lazy grin. “I’m feeling pretty good. Though, man, can Astrid talk your ear off.”
I chuckle just as the kettle starts whistling. “That she does. I had to walk around with earplugs in when I was younger.”
