“I feel so much loss, Ove. Loss, as if my heart was beating outside my body.”
They stood in silence for a long time, with their arms around each other.
And at long last she lifted her face towards his, and looked into his eyes with great seriousness.
“You have to love me twice as much now,” she said. And then Ove lied to her for the second—and last—time: he said that he would.
Even though he knew it wasn’t possible for him to love her any more than he already did.
They buried Ernest beside the lake where he used to go fishing with Sonja’s father. The pastor was there to read the blessing.
After that, Ove loaded up the Saab and they drove back on the small roads, with Sonja’s head leaning against his shoulder.
On the way he stopped in the first little town they passed through. Sonja had arranged to meet someone there. Ove did not know who.
It was one of the traits she appreciated most about him, she often said long after the event.
She knew no one else who could sit in a car for an hour, waiting, without demanding to know what he was waiting for or how long it would take.
Which was not to say that Ove did not moan, because moaning was one thing he excelled at.
Especially if he had to pay for the parking. But he never asked what she was doing. And he always waited for her.
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