“So, why am I here?”
“Dad has a project. I’ll let him explain it. Just know that I volunteered for it but was toldabsolutely not.”
I cocked my head. “Why give me something?”
“I don’t think he has yet. It’s an offer.”
One I cannot refuse, I suspect.
“Why?”
Cici’s face dropped, “I have suspicions, but I won’t get into it.”
Her cryptic response unsettled me, but I couldn’t unpack it while I attended to her father’s entrance.
“Ah, there you two are!” I turned to the doorway.
My uncle stood with a neutral expression—his equivalent of a big grin. I stood on instinct.
“I was just keeping her company.” Cici stood to pass him.
“You know how your mother is!” He called, then returned to me. “And how are you? I am sorry I didn’t get to say a single word to you at the christening.”
“You did,” I said. “It was ‘hello’.”
He shook his head. “Not like that. Sit, sit.”
I did as directed, neatly crossing my legs at the ankle and sitting with perfect posture. Everything about this place felt different from my every day. I longed for my horses and hay in my hair.
“So, as you know we’re down another with Rose out soon,” Uncle Olav said.
I swallowed hard, putting things together. Rose would be on leave in a few months. Cici’s mood made sense. She and her husband Isak were unable to have children. My brother’s wife, Rose, recently told the immediate family that they were pregnant with a third. Every reminder pained Cici even if she didn’t admit it. She always smiled through the pain.
“I haven’t told Cecilia yet. Your aunt says?—”
“Cici knows deep down,” I interrupted. “Just confirm it.”
He nodded. “I know I should listen to the women, but… well, I tend to dig holes.”
He did. The man was the ultimate buyer of “I fucked up” jewelry for Aunt Kiersten.
“Well, as you know, we’re hosting UniVox in Trondheim in June.”
I nodded. “Yes. I heard something about singers or some such.”
“There is a big documentary coming. This year is juicy. After the scandal?—”
“There was a scandal?” I fought a laugh.
“Do you live under a rock?”
“No, I live in America. We don’t care about obscure European song competitions.”
“A songwriter who is Swedish born wrote a song everyone thought would win the competition for Sweden last year, but somehow it didn’t make the cut. People cried foul over the selection and blamed the committee for Norway’s win. You know how the Swedes are.”
I snickered. “The classic retort.”
“Well, the Swede is a turncoat working for the Brits now and they have a real shot. And the same guy accused of bad behavior in Sweden last year has another act in the mix.”
