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you.”
    Mads nodded. Maybe Ida was right, but he tried to imagine–years from now–telling Lida how he’d helped her come into existence, and the disgusted look on her face shamed him. He picked up the pen and started continued signing the rest of the forms.
    There was more to life than this.

9
PICTURES OF YOU
    There were things they never did.
    They never became friends on Facebook, Instagram or any other social media, though there were so many times when Mads wished he could see what her life in Stockholm–her life without him–was like.
    “We can’t,” Laney reminded him whenever he brought it up. “His kids are on Facebook, and–even if Niklas says he hates Facebook, he’s got an account there too. He’ll notice.”
    They texted and made furtive phone calls whenever they could. And the days would pass and then she was back in Copenhagen again.
    When they were finally together again, she admitted she wished she had pictures of him. “Sometimes the ones in my head aren’t enough.”
    They were lying in his bed, the sheets twisted around them as darkness settled in the room.
    “I’ll be glad when we don’t have to pretend like this anymore.”
    “Me too.” Mads aimed the lens of Laney’s phone at them. She was nestled into his chest, her hair a dark cloud of curls on the pillowcase. He took a shot before she realized what he’d done, but she didn’t protest.
    “Now you have a picture of us together…”
    “I’ll have to hide my phone now.”
    “Are you ever going to leave him?”
    She nodded and pressed her lips to his collarbone, branding him. “It’s just hard to do it the right way.”
    He dropped her phone on the mattress and took her face in his hands. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. The tiny pink tip of her tongue slid across her lower lip.
    “I need to know this won’t be forever…I don’t want to hide in the dark like this.”
    “It’ll be different soon,” she promised in a breathy voice. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”
    “Okay…I just need to know…”
    “Soon, Mads…I promise.”
----
    Later, when Laney took the evening flight and returned to her life in Stockholm, Mads took the train to Humlebek and then walked in the pouring rain to his grandmother’s house. The last time he’d visited, his grandmother had been in a strange, distant mood that had only lifted when his cousin Henrik arrived bearing presents and news of his latest trip to Singapore. But today, he found her at her kitchen table, bent over a crossword puzzle and humming along to a Frank Sinatra song on the radio.
    “
Farmor
, you can’t sit here in the dark,” he said and switched on the pendulum lamp that hung over the table.
    “I like when the dusk comes,” she retorted and turned her face up for a kiss on the cheek. “Now, pour us both a glass of white wine and tell me the latest.”
    “We should eat too.” Mads checked the refrigerator. Sometimes his grandmother forgot about lunch or dinner, even when her home help assistant saw to it that there was a warm meal ready. Today though the house didn’t smell of the nursery-style food the assistant usually made–fish pies, mashed potatoes, boiled meat. Henrik must have come by–there were packs of hot-smoked salmon and fresh vegetables, pots of single cream and a new carton of milk.
    “Perhaps you’re right.” Alma set down her pen and removed her reading glasses. “I don’t remember if I ate lunch.”
    While Mads cooked, his grandmother went through the house, turning on the window lamps to chase away the autumn darkness. When she returned, she set the table for three.
    “It’s just us,
farmor
. I don’t think Henrik is coming by, is he?”
    “Henrik? Oh, no…no. Not today. I was thinking about your grandfather, my darling boy. For a moment, it felt like he was here with us.”
    Another Frank Sinatra tune filled the silence. His grandfather had always liked Old Blue Eyes. Mads could imagine him now, sitting beside his