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The words fall around us like snowflakes. Anders has tensed up. Because that’s what’s happening now, isn’t it? I know it’s not the same, or particularly fair, to compare my parents’ marriage to what Anders and I had and what we kind of have again, but I do understand it. My mother chased my father because something in her soul felt pulled to his, no matter what he did to her. Didn’t make it right, didn’t mean it was smart, but it was something she was powerless against.
And now, after all that Anders did to me, I’m sleeping with him again. I’m with him in ways I never imagined I would be. Does this make me like my mother?
I clear my throat, hoping to clear away that loaded feeling. “Anyway, I’m babbling. I’m just trying to say, I get it. I get you. Even though things couldn’t be more different. Even though you have a clear-cut path and I have just a trail of overgrown weeds. I never had my father or mother take much interest in me, in what I do, so I’ve just been trying to find myself and it’s like every time I look around a corner, hoping to see me, find me, end the journey, there’s just another corner. It’s like…I’m constantly out of reach, like the longer I go for, the harder I look, the more elusive I become.”
“Maybe you’re looking too hard,” Anders says. “Maybe what you’re looking for is right in front of you. Maybe you’re not so much seeking out something as you are running away from something.”
Damn. That was a truth bomb and a half. It seems to denote in the car.
“And what am I running away from?” I ask softly.
He gives me a kind smile. “What we’re all running away from. Ourselves.”
We both ponder that as he takes the Datsun off the highway and we start down a narrow road, the scenery catching my attention. Here, there aren’t many trees, just a lot of rock and tundra-like plants and shrubs, but they provide a stunning contrast against the rows of small red, white, and gold houses lined up at the water’s edge.
“Where are we?” I ask, taking out my iPhone and snapping photos through the open window.
“I don’t know the name of this settlement,” he says. “But the guesthouse is called Svegvikka.”
We continue along the narrow road, dipping past the houses, skirting along the Atlantic, until we come to a large white building that looks built right into the sea.
“This used to be a cod factory,” he says to me as he parks the car. “A warehouse for klipfisk. It had good ratings online, so hopefully it’s to your liking.”
I laugh. “To my liking? Anders, I’ve been living out of a backpack forever at this point. I’m used to sharing dorm rooms with smelly foreign boys who snore. Now I’m with you. I couldn’t care less where we stay or go.” I glance at the quaint building. “This looks perfect.”
And it is perfect. The staff is young and friendly and give us a key with what feels like a small anchor hanging off of it. They tell us we can eat in the communal dining room in a couple of hours and that they have a set menu (I’m gonna guess dried salted cod is on the menu), then let us know that if we want to take part in tomorrow morning’s dive, we’re more than welcome to.
“Dive?” I ask Anders as we head up to our room. “People go diving? Here?” I shiver at the thought, the water looks so dark, deep and cold.
“You’d be surprised how much a dry suit can do,” he says to me as we stop outside the door and he inserts the large key. “And the waters here are surprisingly clear. It’s beautiful. I’ve never done it, of course, but I’d like to get my certificate one day.”
I want to ask him about what other dreams and goals he has for himself, the things he wants to do one day, even if he believes that day will never come. But the moment he opens the door, I forget about that.
The room is large and plain, all white from the wood-planked walls to the floor and the bed. But it’s the view that steals my breath away. I drop my bag on the bed and go straight to the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the water. It drops straight down. You could literally go fishing right out the window.
“Wow,” I say. “What a view.”
“I agree,” Anders says, and his voice takes out this rough, husky quality that instantly makes me shiver.
I turn around to see him staring at me with a heated look that borders on desperation.
My body immediately kicks into high gear.
We attack each other, kissing each other hard, hands grabbing each other in desperation, my fists in his jacket trying to pull it off, his at my pants, trying to unzip my jeans. We can’t seem to work fast enough and we’re nearly falling over, trying to get at each other, trying to consume.
