Finally, I heard sounds from the kitchen and, more importantly, smells: coffee and sausage. My stomach barked at me from neglect. I wasn’t quite sure, given the time difference, but my rudimentary calculation tallied more than twenty-four hours since my last meal. I picked a brush through my matted-to-face hair and contemplated putting on a new shirt, but the promise of food was just too tempting. I walked quickly down the hallway, only slowing my pace at the kitchen archway. I didn’t want to appear ravenous, though I was.

Vigdis, spatula in hand, was at the stove. She turned, her appearance taking me by surprise.

“Vigdis?”

“Ah. Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Funny she should mention a fairy tale when she looked like she’d just stepped out of one. She wore a white lace-trimmed cotton blouse with puffed sleeves and a gathered neckline, over which was an elaborately embroidered lace-up vest. Her black full-length skirt was topped with a white lace apron; and she wore a funny black wool cap with a huge silver tassel that hung above her left ear.

“Good morning,” I said. “I like your outfit.” Something had to be said about it, and I did like it. It was unique, anyway. I always gave props for originality.

As if on cue, Vigdis said, “For the festival today. Is custom to wear traditional Icelandic upphlutur costume.” She held the spatula away from her body and stepped to the side, making her long skirt sway. “I’m glad you like,” she said, pointing with her spatula to a garment bag hanging from the knob of a breakfront cabinet. “Yours is all ready to try on. I hope is good size.”

I stepped toward the zip-front plastic bag. I had always been a sucker for dress-up. Halloween, for me, had never been about ghouls or candy. And as a child, no treasure box full of cash and coins could have tempted me over an old trunk of scratchy gowns, boas, and cheap costume jewelry. “For me?” I opened the bag and fingered a red woolen lace-up vest adorned with embroidery.

“Yes. If you like?”

“I like,” I said, lifting the hangers off the hook and holding the garment bag against my front.

“Breakfast first,” Vigdis said, taking the bag from me and draping it over a chair.

I took a big-bad-wolf style inhale, taking in all the savory smells. “Thank you. I’m starving.” No sooner did a fried egg hit my plate than it disappeared. I ate three, maybe four. Vigdis was wickedly quick with that spatula of hers. Sausage links, too, were eaten too quickly to count or even ask just what was stuffed in the casings. I didn’t suspect fish, anyway, which reminded me of my wee-hours stroll. What to even think about that?

I dropped my napkin over my plate and carried it to the sink. Now that my stomach had stopped whining, my heart got a word in edgewise. Jack. Thoughts of him haunted me, and I wondered, for the millionth time, if I was on his mind, too.

“Did anybody call for me yesterday, while I was sleeping?” I asked.

“Your mother,” Vigdis said. “She wants you to call her back. Don’t worry about the time. She said she can’t sleep anyway.”

“But it would be the middle of the night there.”

Vigdis waved the spatula back and forth. “If it were me, I’d do as she says. Her orders were very clear.”

I had to smile at the thought of command central stretching clear across an ocean.

Despite my mom’s orders, it was still Jack I wanted to contact. “Do you have Internet here at the house?”

“Sorry. We’re too old for all that new stuff.”

“In town?”

“Sure. At the library. At the café. I see everyone on their computers.”

I had an e-mail address to Klarksberg Research Station that would go into their office. So even if I could get a message to him, it wouldn’t be very private. I also had a phone number, but I couldn’t exactly reverse charges to Greenland from Iceland. For now, I’d just have to hope my mom had news of Stanley and Jack.

“I guess I will call her. And then take a shower.”

“Of course,” Vigdis said, dunking my practically-licked-clean plate into a sink full of suds. “Come. Use the phone in Baldur’s office.”

Vigdis led me to a small room that had a view out to the shoreline. Had I really stumbled around out there in the middle of the night?

“Vigdis,” I asked, “how far away is your closest neighbor?”

“A couple kilometers, at least.”

Which ruled out an insomniac neighbor with the late-night giggles and a boom box.

I don’t know why I was reluctant to admit I’d ventured out last night. I’d even gone so far as to carefully replace the flashlight exactly where I’d found it.

Vigdis pulled the office door behind her, giving me privacy for my phone call.

The international operator connected me to our home phone, and I heard my mother’s voice accept the reversed charges.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, Kat. I’m so glad to hear from you.”

“Is everything OK? Did I wake you?” She sounded so small and far away.

“No, no. I can’t sleep, but nothing to worry about. How was the journey?”

“Long. Exhausting.”

“How’s Afi?”

“Still sleeping, I guess. It’s early here. Though I’m not the one to talk; I pulled a Rip Van Winkle and pretty much slept through yesterday.”

“The time difference can be disorienting,” my mom said.

“Have you heard from Stanley?”

“Yesterday. Just briefly.”

“What did he say? Did Jack pass along any sort of message?”

“They sounded busy. Also tired from the long travel days. And apparently the dogsled trip was grueling.”

“So no message?”

“No.”

“He said he’d find a way to get hold of me,” I said, hearing the pout in my voice. He had, but in the weeks leading up to our trips, not at that botched good-bye.

“Stanley said —”

“What?”

“Jack’s been very quiet. A little . . . he didn’t quite know how to describe it, but said he was a little withdrawn. He even wondered if the cold was getting to him. It’s not an easy adjustment, so Stanley says.”

The cold? Anybody else, Stanley or my mom, might believe in such a theory. I knew better. Our fight could have him sulking; a breakup — if that’s what it was — could do the trick, too. Neither of those scenarios did much to lift my spirits. I racked my brain for other causes. “Maybe he’s coming down with something? Is there a doctor where they are?”

“Stanley didn’t think it was physical. Anyway, he said Brigid has been spending a lot of time with Jack. Doing what she can to help him adjust.”

Adjust? To what? Her? Away from what? Me? I did not like the idea of Brigid playing nurse to Jack. Not one bit. I seriously needed to hear from him.

“Do they have Internet access where they are now?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you e-mail Stanley? Have him tell Jack to send me a message. I’m going to find the café with Internet access in town today. Please?”

“Of course,” my mom said through an odd groan, long and loud.

“Are you OK?”

“I think so. This baby, though, is jumping like a fish.”

“Are you sure you’re OK? What does the doctor say?”

“I have an appointment today.”

“Is Ofelia handling everything?”I asked.

“She’s a godsend.”

As much as there was still something weird between me and Ofelia, I was glad someone was there for my mom. Her groan had sounded primordial.

The hot shower felt great, but I couldn’t help stressing out about my mom’s condition and what Stanley had said about Jack. Quiet and withdrawn? The guy had viewed the trip as the opportunity of a lifetime. He wasn’t the type to let anything get in the way of his personal goals. I hated not knowing what was going on, hated being out of touch, hated not being able to look into those deep blue eyes and fall into them. Because I did, head-over-heels, every dang time. I missed him so much. I wanted to know that he missed me, too. I wanted to say sorry and hear him say it back. And I wanted to be the one cheering him up — not Brigid. Despite cranking the hot water in the shower to full blast, I felt a chill run down my spine like an arctic front coming in fast and hard.