“And then he called to say his wife liked Louise better and that he was sorry, but he couldn’t hang out with me anymore.”

“But what did you say to him? Wasn’t he your friend? Weren’t you sad?”

“Not as sad as I thought I’d be. I guess I always expected them to take Louise’s side anyway. But I went and took a leak in his wife’s kitchen garden one night. On her basil.”

Gina burst out laughing.

“Sounds fair,” she said.

Peter nodded. “I thought so. You’re the only one who knows. Not even my therapist got to hear about that, even though it was her idea.”

“Your therapist told you to pee on a garden bed?”

Peter shrugged. “She said I should express my feelings. It was a loose interpretation, I guess.”

Gina put her hand to her mouth and felt the laughter bubble up in her again.

She liked that Peter didn’t say a single derogatory word about his ex-wife, not even when he had the chance. Gina had met Louise many times, and she would have had plenty of sympathy for Peter if he was resentful about the way he had been shut out of their old community. But he never said anything negative about her, and Gina admired him for that.

The laughter ebbed out and left behind a warm glow in her body. She was starting to get addicted to this car and their journeys. She liked that Peter made her laugh. There had been far too many times in her life when there was nothing to laugh about. She glanced at him in profile. Peter looked happier and better rested than he had in a long while. The new clothes he wore fit him much better than the old ones. Still suits and shirts, of course, but the cut was more modern, and he usually took off the tie in the elevator when they left the office. He smelled good, too. She turned toward the window on her side and relaxed into another smile. Outside, the familiar buildings and roadworks went by. Peter swung into the lane for Tensta. It felt as though the journey went more quickly every time they did it.

“Guess what?” she said.

“What?”

“I’ve never been any farther north than this road.”

“But you’ve been to Gyllgarn Castle.”

“I mean farther away. There has to be a world beyond Gyllgarn.”

For half of her life, she had seen the road signs. Oslo. Enköping. Dreamed about what lay at the end of the road.

“Though this road, the E18, the European road number 18, doesn’t really go north,” said Peter. “More west. It would actually go straight through Norway and all the way to Northern Ireland. And then to Saint Petersburg in the other direction.” He grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a know-it-all. I’ve just always liked geography.”

“You never sound like that. And besides, I like it when you teach me things.”

She fell silent, embarrassed.

He looked straight ahead, and the silence stretched out. Then he smiled.

“Want to go a little farther?”

“Now?”

“It was just a thought. I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t mean …”

But she nodded eagerly. “I do. I really do. I was just a little taken aback.”

He changed gear, and they sailed past the high-rises of Tensta on the left and a nature park on the right. Her father was out with a friend, Amir would be at the youth club for a few hours—there was a disco. For once, Gina had a couple of precious hours all to herself. The car sped on, along the highway. Suburbs rose up and then disappeared, gas stations and exits, and the sparkling feeling in her chest stayed put.

“Why did you have therapy?” she asked.

“It was after the divorce. I had some things to straighten out.”

“Have you done that now, then?”

“Don’t know. It depends on who you ask. There are some things I definitely haven’t finished working on.”

She waited, but when he didn’t continue she simply said, “I met with psychologists in the refugee house. I didn’t like them.” She still had trouble with that profession, to be honest. She wasn’t looking forward to the psychiatric part of her course.

“I only went once, but she was okay. Not judgmental.”

“That’s good.” If she ever met a nonjudgmental psychologist, maybe she would change her mind.

They passed a sign for Sigtuna, a small town with its roots in medieval times. And suddenly Gina knew exactly where she wanted to go. She had wanted to see it for the longest time. So when the brown road sign appeared, she pointed to it. “Can we go there?”

“Wadenstierna? Sure.”

“I love Swedish castles.”

“You know, a distant relative of mine used to own it, hundreds of years ago.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to brag. Sorry if that came out wrong.”

He did that. Often. Thought about how the things he said to her might sound wrong. He’d never cared in the past.

“I suppose it’s not entirely your own fault that you’re a white man with upper-class privilege,” she said lightly, wondering if she’d ever said anything so flip before.

“But the castle is owned by the state now. Do you want to go in, or just look from the outside?”

“The outside.”

“Then I know the perfect spot.”

They drove through small communities, past fields full of sheep and horses, and increasingly smaller houses, country estates, and summer houses.

Gina studied the unfamiliar landscape. No one knew where she was. It was a strange feeling. But she wasn’t afraid; she felt safe. What a difference it made when you felt comfortable with someone, not afraid of what he might say or do. She was so often prepared for shouts and violence. Ordinary people could shout that they didn’t want the likes of her here, in Sweden, she should go back home. But Peter was so careful with her, cautious and respectful.

He turned off and they ended up on a bumpy forest road. The car bounced around, and every now and then something thudded against the chassis.

“Didn’t it say this was a private road?” she asked.

“Yeah, strictly speaking it’s not exactly legal to drive here. But just wait, you’ll see. Look.”

The forest had opened up, and they drove out onto a little hill. She looked out. On the other side of the water, the white castle came into view.

“Wow,” she breathed. She had seen pictures of the fairy-tale-beautiful Wadenstierna Castle before, but not from this angle. It was majestic, enthroned on its promontory. Flags fluttered from its turrets. “It’s so beautiful,” she almost whispered. Of all the Swedish castles, this was her favorite. “Have you been inside?”

“I went to a wedding there once. They’ve got a nice collection of portraits. What is it you like about Swedish castles?” he asked curiously.

“The feeling. The history. The pictures of everyone who lived there.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know much about Somalian history.”

She laughed. “Me neither. Dad is always moaning about that, but I’m just not interested.”

“Maybe you will be when you’re older. I do know what you mean, though. My mother has Russian heritage.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“If I have to. It’s really rusty, though. Are there any famous Somalians? Anyone I should know about?”

“I think the most famous is a woman. Waris Dirie. She’s a model. And an author. She wrote a book about her childhood in Somalia. Have you heard of it?”

“Don’t think so. What’s it about?”

“Her childhood. And genital mutilation. It’s pretty widespread in Somalia. Nearly all women are mutilated.”

Peter flashed her a quick look, and Gina fell silent. This wasn’t a subject she was comfortable with. She had come to it by mistake, and it was much harder than she had expected. It awoke too many painful memories.

“Gina, I …”

“No, please. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Sorry.”

She smoothed her skirt over her knees and tried to find her way back to how she had felt earlier. This had been one of the best evenings of her life. She wanted to keep that mood, not talk about terrible things she couldn’t change. Things a person couldn’t possibly understand unless they had gone through it themselves.

But the silence spread irreparably between them as they headed back to the car.

Peter’s brow was furrowed, and he looked as though he was deeply focused on driving. His hands gripped the wheel. Gina sat still.

They were silent for the rest of the journey.

As though each of them had lots to work through, and needed to do it alone.