Dandelion Girl

by Isa Hansen

  The lines around his eyes showed signs of his age, although he was in such trim shape and so well-dressed that he gave off the image of someone younger. He said, “You are the American exchange student, yes?”

  “That’s me…” Celia said, her words curving into a question mark.

  “I’m one of the social science program teachers. I don’t believe I have you in any of my classes, but I thought I’d say hi.”

  “Oh. Hi?”

  “I just wanted to extend an invitation. If you need anything, anything at all, look me up. My office is on the second floor, room 217, at the end of the building.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you,” she hesitated, “Mr.?”

  “Hans,” the teacher replied and held out his hand. He shook hands with Celia, a little too aggressively. “Just Hans.”

  He eyed her for another moment. “Remember, anything at all,” he said, nodding his departure.

  Celia watched him meander away and disappear around the bend. She gave her head a quick shake. That teacher was officially weird.

  ***

  Over the past days, Celia hadn’t been able to let go of the mystery surrounding the summer house and the photograph. She thought maybe her grandmother would be able to shed some light on things. She wanted to see her sooner than later anyway, so after school one day she made a visit to the Willow Warbler.

  The inside of the home had a sleepy and sterile feel. A clock ticked loudly in the absence of other noise. From down the hall a thin, ashen man in a wheelchair observed Celia. She looked for a front desk area, but there was none.

  A murmur of voices came from an open sitting room ahead. It was some sort of recreation room. Celia headed in the direction of the activity.

  A man in a light colored doctor’s coat exited the room just as Celia was about to enter. He stopped when he saw Celia—who was probably looking fairly lost. He wore thick glasses that sat just above a knot on his nose. He smiled warmly and greeted her in Swedish. He introduced himself as Dr. Kassis and spoke with an accent that hinted he was originally from somewhere else.

  Being around other people who spoke Swedish with an accent was comforting to Celia. She introduced herself in Swedish but switched to English to explain her purpose for being there.

  “I’m just here on a house visit,” the doctor said, “but I’ll find someone for you.”

  He left briefly and returned with a nurse—her name tag read Hanna—who looked to be in her early twenties. She was dressed in a light blue uniform and wore her blond hair up in a ponytail.

  Dr. Kassis continued on his rounds, and Celia gave the nurse her name and asked to see her grandmother.

  “Maj-Britt is taking a nap,” Hanna replied. “She’ll probably be up soon. Do you mind waiting?”

  “That’s fine, I’ll just hang out,” Celia said.

  Looking around for a place to sit, she entered the recreation room. Several cotton-haired residents were gathered around a table. A lady clad in a soft pink sweater waved for Celia to join them.

  They appeared to be at the tail end of an evening meal from the look of their empty plates and coffee cups.

  “Hej hej,” Celia said, following the Swedish tradition of saying hello twice.

  The woman with the pink sweater addressed her with a toothy grin. Celia replied that she didn’t speak much Swedish.

  Another lady pointed to an old Östlind & Almquist standing against the wall. “Spelar du piano?”

  “Lite,” Celia said.

  The two women nodded eagerly toward her.

  “You want me to play?” She gestured with her fingers.

  More bobbing nods.

  “All right…” Celia took a seat by the piano and began plunking away at an upbeat tune her grandfather had taught her. She was totally rusty, but when she sneaked a peak at her audience they were listening with astute attention.

  When she finished, they clapped and nodded and grinned. One of the elderly men pulled out a silver flask and took a sip. He took a quick look around and gave Celia a good-humored wink.

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, winking back at him. Even though she responded in English, he seemed to understand perfectly.

  Just then the young nurse appeared from the hall. She waved, “Celia, your grandmother is awake now.”

  Celia scooted off the piano bench. The man with the flask tugged at her arm when she passed him. He peered at her with warm appreciation in his pale blue eyes.

  “That’s Herbert,” Hanna said, approaching the group. “He’s the sweetest.”

  “Hello Herbert,” Celia said to him. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  A sudden commotion from down the hall with a gruff voice shouting obscenities caused the nurse to inhale: “And that’s a much less sweet gentleman.” She composed herself and spoke normally again. “Maj-Britt’s down the hall, third door to the right.”

  Celia thanked her. A bit down the corridor she stopped, just outside the room where the ruckus was coming from. She leaned forward, peeking into the room. Two nurses were trying to accommodate a skeletal old man who was yelling and beating his fists in the air.

  Those poor nurses. She was just imagining the nightmare of having to deal with a relative like that when a hard jab between her shoulder blades caused her to jump.

  She whirled around to a woman who was speaking to her. Not so much speaking, but scolding. Her words came out so fast and ferocious that Celia had no idea what she was saying.

  The woman had thick dark hair and a steel-like face and was a full head taller than Celia. She finally caught a few of the words. “What’s your name?” the woman had just demanded in Swedish.

  Celia stared at her for a second before tentatively giving her name.

  The woman rattled off something in clipped, angry words.

  “I’m not from here; I don’t understand you,” Celia interrupted.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked, switching over to English.

  “Celia Lindberg. I just told you that.”

  “Where are you from?”

  What the…? Celia scowled at her.

  The woman scowled back. “I have a right to know about the people who take care of my husband.” She thrust her finger toward the room where the man was still fighting, as if his life depended on it. “And now he’s been given the wrong medication again. You can see for yourself what that does to him.”

  “I don’t work here,” Celia said, glancing down at her outfit. It looked nothing like the scrubs or uniforms that the nurses and employees were wearing. “Excuse me.” She pushed past the woman.

  Geesh, cranky Swedish people.

  They were the worst.

  Sometimes Swedes, especially the middle-aged plus ones, could be horribly curt and condescending. Like this woman. Celia had done nothing wrong and yet there she was with her scrutiny and frowns.

  She hurried to the next room where she immediately recognized the petite woman who sat propped up in bed.

  Celia remained in the doorway. She took a breath to calm herself from her encounter with the abrasive woman out in the hall.

  Maj-Britt watched her newly arrived visitor with curiosity.

  The blinds against the window were slanted downward—bathing the woman and her bedside in stripes of golden evening rays. She appeared to have aged considerably in the past seven years, but her eyes were the same. Green-blue eyes that were intelligent and kind. At first there was confusion in her eyes, but they soon became animated with recognition.

  “Farmor, it’s me—Celia,” she said, moving toward the bed.

  Her grandmother’s room was homey and inviting with paintings and personal items on bookshelves. Several of the pieces that adorned the room were familiar to Celia. They must have come along with her grandmother when she moved into the home.

  “You remember me,” Celia said in response to the spark in her grandmother’s eyes.

  Maj-Britt had been a language teacher at the local colle
ge, so she spoke fluent English unlike most people from her generation.

  “Liv,” she said, stretching out her hand.

  Celia took her hand, it was warm and soft.

  “Liv, kära barn.”

  “Do you remember me?” Celia said, suddenly not at all certain that her grandmother did in fact recognize her.

  Maj-Britt continued speaking in Swedish, all the while she kept her hand with a surprisingly tight grip on Celia’s, her gaze intense and somber.

  Movement in the doorway. Celia jerked her head up. She relaxed when she saw it was just Hanna, the young nurse.

  “What is she saying?” Celia asked.

  “She says she’s sorry for letting you down.”

  That’s what Celia had gathered, but it made no sense.

  “You haven’t let me down,” she said, trying to soothe her grandmother. There was something in the old woman’s eyes that startled her—deep-seated emotions; regret, pain.

  Maj-Britt spoke again and Celia turned once more to Hanna.

  “She seems to have you confused with someone else; she thinks your name is Liv.”

  “Oh.” Celia glanced back at her grandmother who gave her a sorrowful smile.

  They were interrupted by a jubilant little tune from the old cuckoo clock. A ring of tiny folk dancers popped out to celebrate the new hour. Celia remembered that clock from visiting her grandmother’s house as a young child. Sometimes she’d sit and wait for the clock to strike, just so she could watch the little figures do their dance.

  Hanna’s voice rose above the jingling folk tune. “It’s quite common for residents to forget people or to get them mixed up. But don’t worry,” she said with a professional chipper tone. “She may very well know you the next time you visit.” She then addressed Celia’s grandmother with that same affable slightly high-pitched tone: “Now then, Maj-Britt. Are you ready for your evening pills?”

  ***

  Celia’s mind was stuck on the name Liv when she left the Willow Warbler some time later. She was walking back to town when her pocket buzzed. She scanned her phone: a message from Alex. I’m out cruising. Where are you? Want to get ice cream?

  She texted back. Yeah! Where? I’ll be downtown in ten minutes.

  She had wanted to keep pondering her grandmother’s perplexing behavior, but she also wouldn’t mind the company.

  Ebba wasted no time scoffing at her acquaintance with Alex, but Celia thought Ebba was being a little hard on the guy. She wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. He was fun to be around. The fact that he came from a super wealthy family also made her curious about him.

  They agreed to meet at a small downtown tobacco shop that sold hard serve ice cream.

  The walk from the Warbler into town was a pleasant one—downhill through tree-lined streets with large houses and fragrant gardens, the neighborhood on the more affluent side.

  Getting closer to the center, she came upon Old Town and the shops, restaurants, and pubs that stood alongside cobblestone streets.

  Just down the road from her, Alex was parallel parking a silver BMW in front of the tobacco shop.

  “Hej!” Celia called out to him.

  Alex flashed one of his multi-watt smiles. “Hey you.” He beeped his car and came over, greeting her with a one-armed squeeze around her shoulder.

  He flicked a glance back at the BMW as they set out toward the shop. “So, what have you been up to this afternoon?”

  “I was just visiting my grandmother at her nursing home.”

  “Your grandmother?” Alex sounded surprised. “I didn’t realize you had Swedish family.” He pulled open the door to the shop and gestured for Celia to go first. A few people stood in line by the cash register. Some kids were goofing around in the candy aisle. The door swung shut behind them.

  “Yeah, my dad’s originally from Björkby. That’s why—”

  Celia skidded, nearly tripping over her feet.

  Her stomach dropped at the sight of the person in line by the counter.

  She saw him in profile, which differed from the part of him that she was more familiar with—the back of his head—but there was no doubt that it was him.

  CHAPTER 7

  She dodged into the nearest aisle, her pulse pounding.

  Alex followed, looking baffled. “What are you doing?”

  Celia made a shhh face at him and leaned over to get a better glimpse of the man. The driver. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt that revealed defined arm muscles. She tried to think. Should she confront him? Ask him why he met her at the airport—try to find out who sent him. Or should she shadow him?

  It was now the man’s turn to pay, and Celia made a quick decision: shadow him. She needed to find out who he was. She wasn’t likely to get anything from him by demanding answers.

  She kept her voice low. “See the man by the cash register?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re following him.”

  Alex cocked his head. “What now?”

  Celia made a gesture for him to keep it down.

  There must have been something in her face that made Alex react with caution. He took a step back, positioning himself by Celia’s shoulder.

  The man pulled out a few 20kr bills and paid for his items: cigarettes, a bag of salty licorice, and a lottery ticket. Celia stepped farther into the aisle when he turned to leave and waited until he walked out the door.

  She and Alex stayed back until there was a safe amount of space between them. The driver walked in the direction of the parking lot behind the main row of downtown shops.

  They followed at a distance. He was heading toward a car. Not a black van like the last one; it was a white Saab, old but clean and well-maintained.

  “We need to get to your car,” Celia said, frenzied. “Fast! Or we’ll lose him.”

  “Fine.” Alex put his hands up in compliance. “But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I will, but hurry,” Celia urged, already sprinting in the direction of Alex’s car.

  Not surprisingly, the BMW was a smooth ride with comfortable seats and that luxurious new car feel. Although Celia was far too distracted to enjoy it. She was dead set on not losing sight of the man.

  The white Saab was leaving the parking lot just as they were driving up to the street parallel to the lot.

  A few cars drove between them and the Saab.

  Jug ears wasn’t going too fast and neither was the rest of the traffic, so they followed at a casual speed. Celia wished they could speed up. The slowness was grating against her pounding heart and jacked nerves—she kept wringing her hands and squirming in her seat.

  Alex shot her a cold stare. “You need to chill. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry.” She made an effort to sit still.

  They followed the man’s car through downtown to the edge of town.

  Behind them were the tall grand buildings of Old Town, the road now hosting newer and more modern houses. The houses and buildings were becoming fewer and farther between.

  “He’s not in a hurry whoever he is,” Alex commented.

  The Saab turned off the main road as did Alex’s car.

  They were now driving away from town.

  The man turned his car again—this time swerving off onto a smaller, more desolate road. Alex did the same, his BMW making the corner with just a slight purr of the engine. By now there were no cars between them. Just the two cars alone on the road. Celia strained her eyes, trying to read the license plate number, but they weren’t close enough for her to catch it.

  After they followed at a safe distance for another minute, the Saab sped up, did an abrupt U-turn and drove back in the direction of Alex’s car.

  Celia held her breath and ducked down, her head by her feet. “Is he looking our way?”

  “Uh huh,” Alex said. “Passed us now.”

  Celia sat back up, her head tingling with dizziness. She looked over her shoulder at the car that was now spee
ding away in the opposite direction. “Let’s turn, keep following.”

  “Not a chance,” Alex snorted. “I’m not an idiot. He got a good look at me, and I have no idea who he is.” He fixed his eyes on Celia. “Spit it out now. What’s going on?”

  “All right, OK…” Celia exhaled, letting her shoulders drop, disheartened that she let such a perfect opportunity slip away.

  On the way back to town she told Alex all about the strange driver and her even stranger first day in Sweden.

  ***

  That night Celia lay in bed wrapped in her fluffy duvet like a cocoon, pondering everything that had happened: she and Alex chasing Jug ears, and before that, her visit to the Willow Warbler and her grandmother calling her Liv.

  Struck by a thought, she untangled herself from her duvet and dug her arm below the mattress: she needed to check something in the diary.

  She switched on the lamp on her nightstand. In the dim glow she began scouring the pages.

  She was searching for the name Liv.

  The nurse attributed Maj-Britt’s reaction to Celia as dementia, and while that was undoubtedly the case, she felt there was more to it. She sensed a red thread through all the strange things that were occurring. Of course her grandmother could simply be confused and it meant nothing at all, but she wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

  So far nothing in the pages to hook on to. Although the names Katja and Lottis came up repeatedly, enough to draw Celia’s attention. She used her translation program to help fill in the blanks.

  Katja and Lottis were friends of the diary’s writer. Most of the entries didn’t reveal much. From what Celia could tell they spoke mostly of things like going to the movies, dancing, cute boys: Lottis thinks he likes me, but Katja says he flirts with everyone…

  Celia made a mental note. The girl in the photo would have been a teenager in 1983-84, and this person was doing teenager type stuff, writing the way a girl in her mid-teens would.