3. Sven #2
We came in sunburnt and stupid with it, and we didn't go home.
We went to her place, a rental cottage four blocks from the water, and we sat on the couch and talked until we weren't talking anymore, and then we were in her bed.
The window was open because she couldn't sleep without the sound of the water. I didn't sleep either.
We watched the sun come up through that open window, facing the sea. The sky went pink and gold and the gulls started screaming, and the light came in sideways across her face, and I looked at her and thought, This is it.
I'd been right.
Eight years later and I still couldn't sleep without a window open to the water. I'd gotten that from her.
I sat at my desk and the memory was so sharp it hurt, and I didn't know what to do with it. I loved her the way I'd loved her that first morning, and I didn't understand why that wasn't enough.
My phone buzzed. A message from Etta, six words dropped into a thread of technical noise from Deshawn and two of my captains.
Going to bed early tonight.
I read it twice. It was the first thing she'd said to me all day, and I didn't know what it meant. Was she tired? Still upset? I wanted to call her, but I didn't know what I'd say.
I typed, OK. Sleep well. Then I deleted it.
I'll be home by nine. I deleted that too. It sounded like a promise I might not keep.
Deshawn knocked and opened the door without waiting.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing's wrong. The aggregator's terms came through," he said. "Rate's better than Simone said. Three percent over fleet, not four."
"That's good."
"It is. They want a signature by tomorrow, and a deposit. Twenty percent up front."
"Leave it with me."
"You sure?" he asked. "Once we sign, we're committed."
"It won't come to that," I said. "We both know it."
He looked at me a long moment, then nodded and left.
I put the phone in my pocket, Etta's message still unanswered.
I got home just after nine. The house was dark except for the porch light. It smelled like lemon and salt, the way it did when Etta had been cooking, but there were no dishes in the sink.
I went upstairs. A line of light showed under the guest room door, the room she'd locked herself into last night.
I tried the handle. Locked.
I stood there with my hand on it, thinking about knocking, about saying her name.
My phone went off in my pocket. Simone, needing confirmation on the Delaware window before she could finalize it tonight.
I typed back that I'd deal with it in the morning. The phone went off again immediately: it had to be tonight, their contact closed at noon his time.
I pulled my keys out, found the key to that door, and unlocked it. I pushed it open a crack.
Etta was asleep, curled on her side facing the window. The window was open, and I could hear the sound coming in with the salt air. She'd pulled the quilt up even though it was warm, and her hair was loose on the pillow.
She looked small.
My phone went off again in my hand, and I pulled the door shut, locked it, and walked back to my office.
I called the Delaware contact, a man named Porter, who answered on the third ring.
"Magnussen. I was wondering when you'd call."
"You needed confirmation tonight."
"That's right. Another buyer wants the same window. You in or out?"
"I'm in. What's the rate?"
"Three percent over your fleet rate. Simone sent me the baseline, and I sharpened my pencil. I want the business."
"And you can guarantee the volume?"
"I can guarantee it. Three independents, plus my own beds if anything falls through."
"And the quality?"
"Same as you'd get from your own fleet."
"All right," I said. "What do you need from me?"
"Deposit by morning. Twenty percent up front."
"You'll have it."
"Good. I'll send the contract over in an hour." A pause. "And Magnussen? Your wife's beds are four hundred yards from you, aren't they?"
I went still. "What?"
"Boone & Daughter. That's your wife's operation. I looked you up."
"It's a different scale."
"Sure," he said. "Anyway, I'll get you that contract."
He hung up, and I sat there for a minute, staring at the phone. It was past ten by then, and my eyes were burning.
I'd been thinking about it since the launch party, since I'd seen her standing in the ballroom looking left out of something. I'd wanted to fix it and hadn't known how.
Now I knew how.
I dialed Deshawn. He picked up on the second ring, the way he always did, whatever hour it was.
"I need you to book something for Etta," I said. "A cruise. Twelve days, Scandinavia. Whatever the good line is. Balcony cabin, the best one they have."
A pause on the line.
"For when?"
"End of summer. Whatever's open."
"How many?"
"One."
Another pause. Longer than the first.
"One," he said.
"I can't take twelve days. Not with Helsinki where it is." I pushed my chair back from the desk. "Add whatever they upsell. Private tours instead of the group ones. There's usually a spa package. Add that."
"You want to look at the itinerary first?"
"No. She'll like wherever it goes. That's the point of it going somewhere."
"All right."
"Send me the confirmation, not her. I'll tell her myself."
"Sven," he said, and then didn't say anything else.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'll take care of it."
He hung up.
The number came through by text twenty minutes later. Fifteen thousand nine hundred dollars. I thought about what my accountant would say and I didn't care.
I sat back in my chair and felt the tightness in my chest ease for the first time all day.
I'd done something for her. Something good. Something that would make her happy.
The guilt was still there, small and persistent, the same guilt that had kept me up since four that morning. I looked at it for a minute, the way you'd look at a stain you didn't have time to deal with, and then I went to bed.