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It’s still my house.

Her no is still hers.

Tonight I leave both alone.

Chapter eighteen

Astrid

The last practice on my list calls after I have taken Tova to school.

I am putting her breakfast plate into the dishwasher when the phone goes, and I know the number before I look at it.

“Hello, this is Astrid Nilsson.”

The woman from human resources tells me they liked meeting me. She tells me my references are excellent and that Guerra spoke to them yesterday. She has a warm telephone voice and she has been trained to put the good sentence first, so I know what is coming while she is still being kind to me.

They are not prepared to take on the sponsorship.

“Can the position be changed to one that qualifies?”

“We looked at that.”

“And?”

“Not quickly enough.”

“How long?”

“I can’t give you a firm date.”

“Three months?”

“Possibly.”

“Six?”

There is a pause, and then the same word with nothing at all different in it.

“Possibly.”

“I do not have six months.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you for letting me know.”

The call ends while my hand is still on the edge of the plate. There is a smear of egg under my thumb, yellow against the white.

I put it in the sink.

It breaks. Not dropped. Set down, with my hand still on it, hard enough that the base comes away in three pieces and a fourth I will find later with my foot.

I stand with my palm flat on the rim of the sink and my ears full of nothing.

That was an accident.

I take the pieces out one at a time and wrap them in newspaper so that nobody putting a hand into the bin cuts themselves on them. Then I wash my hands, close the dishwasher, and forward the email they sent during the call to my lawyer.