Chapter 16
The lodge bar had emptied, the crowd pulling on coats and moving outside to continue the party lakeside.
“You coming?” Liz asked Maggie.
“My bed is calling, and I must go,” she said, swaying lightly on her feet, hands in the pockets of her yellow dress.
Liz smiled. “Okay, g’night. Love you.” She planted a kiss on Maggie’s warm cheek, the earlier irritation between them already forgotten.
Liz followed a group of women speaking in quick-fire German as they exited the lodge. The night was cool, sharp mountain air pinching her face. She paused, stepping out of the throng of people and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
A crescent moon hung above the lake. A fire was roaring in a large oil drum, a crowd of people huddling close, music playing. A string of fairy lights hung between the trees. Some people danced, while others lounged back on wooden benches. Laughter and voices drifted across the water.
She searched for Joni, guessing she’d been swept up by a group of fans.
It’d been incredible to see her perform tonight.
The last time she’d seen her play had been four months earlier at a venue in Dublin.
Joni had phoned to say, “Can you get over here? I’ve put you on the guest list.” Patrick booked the flights.
The kids had an impromptu sleepover with Liz’s brother and sister-in-law.
Liz packed a small bag, and they left. It had felt impossibly exciting—like bunking off from life.
Joni had arrived onstage wearing a mermaid-esque sequin cape, dark hair flowing, silver gems in the corners of her eyes. She looked like some beautiful, glittering ocean creature. When her face was illuminated on the big screen, the crowd screamed and writhed.
“She is the most beautiful woman in the world,” Liz had marveled, her head resting on Patrick’s shoulder.
“But she looks sad,” Patrick responded.
Liz had stared at her best friend, her face pixelated onto a fifty-foot screen, and thought: He’s right. She does.
After the gig, Liz had wanted to spend proper time with Joni, but a migraine had swooped in and cut the night short. She didn’t hear from Joni again for weeks, because when things were hard, that’s what Joni did: shut down, closed herself off.
But now she was in Norway! They’d have the next four days to walk and talk.
She spotted Joni—not with a crowd, but sitting alone. She was perched on the backrest of a bench facing the lake, boots on the seat, phone pressed to her ear. Her leather jacket was hunched around her ears, long bare legs tucked beneath her. She was listening closely, nodding, eyes lowered.
As Liz walked through the dew-studded grass, she caught Joni’s voice. It was low, worried. “I don’t know what to say . . .” She wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, a chunky silver ring catching in the moonlight, black nail varnish glossy.
There was something about Joni’s posture and the tone of her voice that caused Liz to hesitate.
Joni continued to talk, lips close to the phone, voice thick with emotion. “Course not!”
Liz waited in the dark, arms hugged to her middle.
Joni shifted. Then, as if suddenly becoming aware of Liz, she swung around, eyes widening, face washed pale in the moonlight. Into the phone, she said, “I need to go.”
She ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of her leather jacket.
Liz climbed onto the bench beside her. “Who was that?”
“Kai.”
“Being a dick?”
She nodded.
Liz bumped her arm against Joni’s. “You okay?”
There was a beat of silence. The lake was still; not a breath of wind stirred. Behind them, the bass of music pumped. “I’m in Norway. With you. Course I’m okay!”
Liz smiled. There was so much she wanted to ask Joni—about why she’d left the tour, whether it was over with Kai, what came next—but it could wait. They had four days of walking for that.
Joni plucked the cigarette from behind Liz’s ear, slipped it into Liz’s lips, and took a lighter from her pocket.
The flame illuminated Joni’s dark irises, and Liz saw her own image reflected in them. She took a shallow drag of the cigarette, hot smoke pushing into her lungs. She didn’t want the cigarette. She removed it from her lips and handed it to Joni.
Joni took a deep draw, then pushed to her feet.
“Come on, let’s go to the fire! I want to dance!
” She grabbed Liz’s hand and led her toward the crowd.
A man threw on another log, sparks dancing high into the night.
Music blared from a speaker propped on a hay bale.
A group of men called something to Joni as they passed; she threw them a smile but didn’t stop.
Joni staggered closer to the fire pit. A girl in a dark hoodie scooped two beers from a cooler and handed them to Joni and Liz.
Liz thanked her but held the chilled can in her grip without opening it. Wood smoke stung her eyes. “We should probably get some sleep. We’ve got an early start.”
Joni laughed and squeezed Liz’s arm as if she’d said something amusing. She snapped the ring pull back and took a thirsty drink, then danced toward the fire, her body mirroring the mesmeric pattern of the smoke, fluid and curving.
Across the other side of the flames, she noticed Erik, Leif’s brother, standing alone in the shadows.
He was holding a bottle of something at his side, orange wool hat pulled low to the base of his head, a spill of dark hair curling toward his jaw.
He moved distractedly from foot to foot, his gaze on the glow of the fire, shadows carved into his face.
Nearby, Leif was standing at the center of a group of men who were talking and laughing. Although Leif’s posture was relaxed and easy, his eyes kept sliding toward his brother.
Liz returned her unopened beer to the cooler and wiped her wet hands on her thighs. Ahead, Joni staggered slightly, reaching out toward the flaming oil drum. “Steady,” Liz said, stepping forward and catching her free hand, moments before Joni placed it on the scalding metal.
Joni wrapped an arm around Liz’s waist, smiling distantly.
The music suddenly cut, a string of lights going out. A cheer went up as they were plunged into music-less dark. A guy wearing a backward trucker cap lurched toward a generator and held up a cable, laughing. His friends jostled him as he tried to plug it back in.
A sharp voice cut through the night. “Du!”
Liz turned. Bj?rn and Brit—the older couple from the lodge—were passing the party. The husband lifted his hand, pointing straight at Erik’s face.
Erik stared back. He took a slug of beer, eyes not leaving Bj?rn’s.
Bj?rn unhooked his arm from his wife’s and stepped forward, chin lifted. “Du er modig som viser deg her!” he spat.
Erik stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged.
Bj?rn’s features tightened. He took another step forward until he was positioned only inches from Erik. A ball of tension worked at the side of his mouth, fury causing the muscles in his arms to twitch, fingers clenching at his sides. “Jaevel!” he yelled.
“What’s he saying?” Liz whispered to the girl in the hoodie beside her.
Before she could answer, Bj?rn turned to the onlooking crowd, shouting, “Han drepte Karin!” He banged his fist to his chest. “Det vet jeg!”
The girl in the hoodie rubbed her collarbone uneasily. “He’s saying . . . he’s saying that Erik killed his daughter.”
Liz and Joni glanced at one another. What had they walked into?
Erik was still glaring at Bj?rn, chin jutting, shoulders back, bottle hanging from his fingertips. Tension spilled from him. He looked ready to launch.
Then Bj?rn’s wife hurried forward, grabbing Bj?rn by the arm. He tried to brush her off, but she linked her arm firmly through his, speaking in a quiet, quick voice close to his ear.
Bj?rn spat on the earth at Erik’s feet. Then he turned and allowed himself to be drawn away. Liz watched Bj?rn lean into his wife, the two of them creating a terrible picture of defeat as they dragged themselves toward the car park.
Around the fire, the crowd’s collective gaze moved to Erik.
He stood before them, face blanched, glowering. “Hva?”
The crowd was silent.
With a wild growl, Erik launched his foot, kicking over the fire drum.
Liz and Joni jumped back as burning wood and embers spilled across the ground. Sparks filled the night sky.
“Hei!” a guy with short dreadlocks yelled, stepping forward as if to confront him, but Leif was suddenly there, holding up his palms, pacifying. He said something in a low voice, then put an arm around Erik’s shoulder, attempting to steer him away.
Erik shrugged him off, his expression ravaged. He lurched toward the lake, stopping only at the edge to kick off his boots. Then he waded right in, fully clothed, the water rippling around him as he struck out.
Liz and Joni watched as he swam on and on, following the silver channel of the moon, Leif’s protests echoing through the night.