this was Scandinavia.
She wrapped her towel around herself again. It made her feel less vulnerable. Had it been her imagination? She tried the door once again. This time, she was able to see into the crack between the door and the frame.
See into it and realize it was locked.
Locked? Locked!
She sat down on the bench, feeling slightly stunned. She could be in here for a very long time. It was almost 10:30 when she’d gone to her room, taken her watch off, leaving it there with her earrings and a gold chain she’d been wearing. By now, it was certainly well past 11:30. It had taken time to find the sauna; then she’d luxuriated in a long shower. It had had those jets that squirted you from all sides. Then there was her nonadventure with the gentleman from Tokyo. What with the merriment in the lounge and other nocturnal activities offered officially and unofficially on the hotel premises, unless someone had an impulse for late-night sweating, she was stuck until morning. If her mother did knock at Pix’s door, she’d assume her daughter was taking a walk or kicking up her heels with the French ladies and she would go to bed. It would be breakfast time before Ursula and Marit missed her.
The feeling of panic set in again—and increased. What would sitting in so much heat do to her? Could she dehydrate? Pass out? There was only a small amount of water in the bucket. She’d planned to refill it when she went to take a shower. Should she drink it?
She went over to the bucket and stuck her finger in the water. It was hot and somehow the prospect of swallowing it made her feel queasy. The smell of the wood, so fragrant before, was also beginning to turn her stomach as she finally faced the question smack in front of her.
Who locked the door?
Was it routine? She hadn’t seen any signs stating hours of operation, and like the midnight sun, she imagined the sauna never set, either. In any case, hotel workers would surely have been instructed to see whether the sauna was occupied before locking up. She had been sitting in the middle of the bench, clearly visible to anyone opening the door, as the Japanese gentleman had discovered.
The Japanese man. He was the last person in the sauna with her, but why on earth would he lock her in and where would he have found a key? He had been upset, all that “ticky-tocky” business, but he hadn’t seemed to bear her any ill will.
Ill will. Given that the key was in some obvious position outside the door—say hanging from a nail—who might have wanted to keep her on ice, or rather, the reverse, for a while? With all the questions she’d been asking over the last two days, had she made someone nervous? So nervous that he or she wanted to give her a warning, or keep her from seeing something that was going on now?
Her head was beginning to ache from the heat and the stress. Her thoughts were not companionable ones. What did people in solitary confinement think about? Her brain was beginning to turn to mush, or
She stood up and paced back and forth. Her heart was pounding. Ticky-tocky, ticky-tocky was right. She tried to address herself sternly and calmly. Now Pix, she told her weaker sister, nothing is going to happen. You’re not in any real danger. At her last physical, the doctor had told her she was disgustingly healthy. Somehow her heart was still racing, though. She didn’t have a heart condition—at least that she knew of. Disgustingly healthy. At the time, Pix had felt somewhat embarrassed—it was such an odd phrase. Would she be less disgusting if the doctor had turned up a hemorrhoid or suspicious mole? More likely more.
No, she’d make it through the night. There was just going to be a lot of time to kill. She wished she hadn’t thought of the phrase. She sat down again.
Captain Hagen had been in the sauna. So he knew she was here. She spread her fingers out to count the people who knew where she was. The desk clerk, who had carefully counted out two towels for her, no more, no less; the distressed man from Tokyo; silent Captain Hagen; and Mother. That took care of pointer, tall man, ring man, and pinkie. Had she mentioned it at dinner? She was sure she hadn’t. But she had told Jennifer at coffee, hadn’t she? Yes. Thumbkin went down and she made a fist. She looked at her right hand with its fingers still stretched out and tried to recall if anyone had been near enough to overhear her talking to Jennifer. The Dahl sisters were leaving—but she’d mentioned it to them later—and the Felds were not too far away. Then again, the lobby had not been empty when she got the towels, and why else would she be requesting them? Their rooms were amply supplied. So any number of people knew she’d be here, the whole blasted tour. And the guides, plus the stewards. Scandie Sights—such a stupid name. Mermaids and trolls. She could use a bit less enchantment. She wiggled her fingers. Her grandmother’s diamond solitaire, her engagement ring left to Pix, sparkled. It felt tight. Her fingers looked like the little sausages that had been under the dome in a large silver chafing dish at breakfast this morning. This morning—at the Stalheim Hotel. Stalheim, the swastika. She realized her left hand was still clenched in a fist. She shook her fingers free. Her plain gold wedding band—the flowers that had decorated it originally had long worn smooth—reminded her of her husband. Husbands and wives. Newlyweds. Girlfriends and boyfriends. Sonja and Anders knew she was coming here. Sonja, her dislike of Kari so intense. As intense as her liking for Erik. The jealousy dance, one face forward, one face backward.
Agitated, she stood up suddenly and felt dizzy. The heat was like armor and she must have lost several pounds of sweat. She walked slowly and deliberately from one end
of the room to the other, counting her steps. It was something to do. She decided to set up a routine. She was beginning to get tired and she had to keep awake—walk, rest, walk, rest. What
Dehydration. That’s what was going to happen to her. She wouldn’t melt. Not her bones, big bones. The Rowes were all big-boned women, although not heavy. Desiccation. She’d be like one of those dried fruits she bought at the health-food store for her children’s snacks, only she ended up eating them and they held out for Ritz Bits and Doritos.
Her children. Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly tried to squelch them. She needed all the internal fluids she had. But her children. Motherless. Poor Sam. How would he cope? Remarry. She sat down on the bench and thought of possible candidates, convincing herself that she was thinking rationally. She wished she had something to write with. It was such an ignominious way to go—to dry up.
Her family. Guilt washed over her so palpably, it almost felt refreshing. She hadn’t thought about them much since she’d arrived in Norway. She chastised herself. What kind of mother was she anyway? It had been wonderful to be unencumbered by her daily routines. Sailing down the fjord today, she’d been very happy, forgetting everything for a time—what she’d left behind and what had brought her here.
The inside of her mouth seemed to be made of felt. Her throat was parched.
She forced herself to drink the water in the pail, taking little sips. It wasn’t so bad. Damp felt now inside her mouth. She dozed off. Sleep—the sweet escape.
A hand was on her shoulder. Someone screamed. She recognized the voice. It was hers.
“Sorry we startled you, but I told you not to go to sleep in these things. Good thing we came along. The door was locked.” It was Lynette. Lynette and Roy junior, both nude and carrying their towels. Thank God for honeymooners. Pix mumbled her thanks and sat up. How long had she been in here?
“What time is it?” She spoke very deliberately, like a drunk who doesn’t want to slur but who doesn’t fool anyone.
“Almost one o’clock,” Lynette answered. Pix tried to think if she’d ever heard Roy junior’s voice. As soon as he’d seen her, he’d wrapped his towel around his waist, blushing furiously. His face was pretty red, too. Lynette didn’t bother to cover up.
Pix rose slowly and realized she could walk. Suddenly, she felt very, very middle-aged—no, she would not say
