Dandelion Girl

by Isa Hansen

  He turned his focus to Celia. “I’m sorry you had to find out about this. It would have been better for you to not know. I should have gone to the house, looked through everything, made sure there was nothing to find.” Erik was frowning to himself. “I would have if there had been more time…”

  Celia pressed her thumbs against her temples. She was struggling to take it in. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to leave Erik’s hauntingly tidy office. Although there was one more thing pressing at the back of her mind, one more thing she had to ask. “Was Liv’s death an accident?”

  “I would assume so. No one ever talked about it being anything other than that.”

  Erik folded his hands over the stack of papers in front of him.

  Celia looked out the window. Erik had a view out to the street from his desk. A young child on a tiny bicycle with an orange flag flapping from the back pedaled down the street, the child’s mother jogging after him. She turned back to Erik. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Had I known this would come up, I would have told you sooner. I just didn’t see how knowing about the affair would be good for you.”

  Celia nodded. She pulled herself out of the chair and picked up the photograph. “I might go out for a bit.”

  “You might also want to take a shower,” Erik said.

  He wasn’t being snarky. Swedes just had this way of coming straight out and saying things.

  “Yeah, that too,” she said. On her way to the door, she paused. “Have you told my parents about the house? Farfar’s house that is?”

  “No. I haven’t spoken to them.”

  “Can we wait? Not tell them about it right now?” Right after she spoke, a strange sensation came over her. She’d never kept anything big from her parents before. It was like she was trying to shield them. Safeguard them. Although from what she didn’t know.

  “OK,” he said vaguely.

  She closed the door behind her. She didn’t think Erik noticed that she left; he was lost in a distant stare, appearing to be somewhere very far away.

  ***

  Celia showered and found some clean clothes—a pair of jeans, her favorites due to their stretchy softness, a fitted tee, and a duster cardigan—and left the house soon after.

  Back in the States she’d go shopping with her friends when she felt down. Not that retail therapy was likely to be what she needed right now, but she didn’t have any better ideas. So she headed out to downtown Björkby, to the H&M on Handelsgatan.

  She was strolling through the aisles rather aimlessly when she saw someone she recognized.

  Dark silky hair over slight shoulders, concentrated face, one arm canvassing a bargain bin that was brimming over with end of summer goods.

  The girl from the bus.

  Celia approached her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  The girl looked up from her rummaging.

  “Hi.” Her tone was surprised but friendly.

  “I’m Celia. What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Zari,” she said, straightening.

  “Thank you, Zari,” Celia said, resting her hands on the metal bin. “Thank you for what you did on the bus. That was so—”

  “Unswedish?” the girl said and smiled.

  She had a sweet smile, Zari—a smile that was radiant and shy all at once.

  Celia laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “I had to. In the school I went to before this, in a town up north—” The smile was gone from Zari’s face. She waved her hand in a gesture that suggested the town wasn’t worth naming. “I was told every day, the same things those girls said. ‘Oh, you’re a terrorist. Look at you. You don’t belong here. You’re a whore.’”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not one person stood up for me.” Zari’s expression hardened. “Not one student. Not one teacher.”

  Celia winced.

  “It was the only right thing to do,” Zari said. “I couldn’t pretend like nothing was happening. Then I would be just like those people.”

  “How long have you been at this school?” Celia asked.

  “I started last week.”

  “I’m new here, too.” Celia leaned her hip against the bin. “So, do you know those girls?”

  “No. I never saw them before.”

  “My friend Ebba knows that girl Nicole. Says she’s a real bully and a troublemaker, not very bright either, apparently.”

  Zari smiled and looked down at her brown loafers that were cute in a non-trendy sort of way.

  “So what are you looking for?” Celia said, changing the subject. “I mean, what are you shopping for?”

  “I don’t know,” Zari said.

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t know either.”

  They both laughed, Celia didn’t know why. Zari’s laugh was light and bubbly and brightened her whole face.

  Zari shifted from one foot to the other. “I should probably go,” she said.

  “It was good to meet you,” Celia said. “Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

  The girl’s eyes lit up, although her demeanor was still shy. “I would like that.”

  Zari nodded goodbye and left Celia to roam among the discounted sunglasses, sandals, and summer hats.

  She ambled around the store for a while. She looked at cute boots and fall skirts but didn’t try anything on. No, shopping wasn’t what she needed. The things she needed retail therapy for back in the States seemed simple and silly compared to what she was dealing with now.

  On her walk home, Celia’s thoughts were split between meeting Zari and her conversation with Erik.

  Zari. What a brave thing she had done: to speak out in her new environment even though she was bullied at her last school. No wonder she was quiet and withdrawn. She didn’t want to bring attention to herself. She was probably worried that she’d have to experience the same thing all over again. Celia felt a pull toward Zari. There was just something about her, a strength that was gentle and sincere. She wanted to get to know the girl, become her friend.

  By the time Celia turned off Björkby’s main street and was headed in the direction of home, she began spinning over what she’d found out about Liv. And her grandfather.

  The things Erik told her, she just didn’t know what to do with it.

  She wanted so badly to cling to the familiar and safe image of her grandfather. She wanted nothing to do with this new portrayal that was tainting him and turning him into someone unrecognizable and estranged.

  Celia remembered him so vividly. When she was still just a little girl, she would pad over to him, velvety teddy rabbit under her arm. He’d stop whatever he was doing and gaze down at her with affection, with this look of love and pride that made her feel warm all over. He never stopped looking at her like that, for as long as he lived. How could that same person have caused so much distress and anguish to other people?

  It was hard to swallow that her beloved farfar had done the things he’d done. Carried on an affair that broke up his family, then left Sweden and didn’t come back even though he promised his young son that he would.

  Now she couldn’t help but wonder: what else?

  Why was Liv’s past drowned in silence and secrets?

  She was left with a nauseating dread, fearing there was more there. Secrets dug down deep. Secrets she wouldn’t actually want to uncover.

  Even so, by the time Celia got home she had made a decision. She needed to know what had happened to Liv. She wasn’t going to find peace until she knew.

  Liv’s friends were mentioned in the diary. If she could just find out who they were and talk to them. Maybe Liv confided in her closest girlfriends. Told them things that no one else knew.

  Back in her room, she settled down on her bed and texted Ebba: Hey Ebbs, you know the yearbook that Hans had? Any chance you’d know how to get a hold of a copy?

  She was waiting for a text back—Ebba was a quick responder—when she noticed a sh
adow across the window. The soft gray curtains had been closed since last night.

  The afternoon light flickered across the curtains in a leafy pattern except for a spot in the middle where the light was blocked out.

  Celia felt her body go tense. The shape was in the form of a head and a torso.

  She sat still, staring at the shape, to see if it would move.

  Then slowly, she got up, stalked up to the window and yanked the curtain aside.

  Nothing.

  Just leafy branches swaying in the sun.

  She let the curtain fall back.

  The same shadow was there again—it was just a tree branch. Celia exhaled, feeling both relieved and silly at the same time.

  She went back to her phone.

  Text from Ebba: Hmm. Maybe. Let me check.

  A tap on the door.

  “Kom in,” Celia responded.

  The door opened and Anette’s head poked in. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat with us?”

  She wasn’t actually hungry, but not eating wasn’t going to help anything, neither was being asocial. So she joined Erik and Anette for an evening meal of sandwiches and hot tea.

  Sitting down at the table, she immediately noticed the shift. Erik didn’t say much, which wasn’t all that unusual, but he was visibly agitated. And Anette—who was more naturally outgoing than Erik—was coming across as strained and less like her normal self.

  Erik must have told Anette about his conversation with Celia, and now Anette was attempting to keep things light and chatty. Her tone was set too high and she kept asking forced questions about how school was going.

  Celia’s responses came out equally forced.

  She wondered if she’d made a mistake by bringing up Liv.

  Trying her best to maneuver between Anette’s staged cheeriness and Erik’s dismal mood, she was relieved when the meal was finally over. She helped clear the dishes, then went back to her phone. Another text from Ebba. I found the school catalogue! Can I come over?

  Celia wrote back right away: Yes! Or I can come to yours?

  Ebba: No, I’ll be there.

  A half hour later Ebba arrived, slightly out of breath, her cheeks rosy red. She held up the yearbook. “Ta-da!”

  “Hey, that’s great!”

  Ebba flung herself on Celia’s bed, making herself comfortable.

  Outside the light had changed, there were no longer bright patterns of leaves against the curtains—the sun had moved and the windows were shifting to dark.

  Celia switched on the light before settling down with Ebba. “How did you get a hold of it so quickly?” she asked.

  “Eh, I hounded my people. Got lucky. My friend Emil’s dad’s a hoarder. He still has all his old things from high school.”

  “You’re amazing, thanks!”

  “I’ll send you an invoice,” Ebba said with a wave of her hand. “So what are you looking for?”

  “There are names in the diary, people Liv mentions. I want to see if I can get full names so that I can look them up.”

  “In that case, you should start here.” Ebba flipped open the yearbook. “Look at this.” She flicked pages until she got to the back of the book. “Here are pics of the school clubs and stuff. Look here. Here’s Liv.”

  Celia scooted up closer to Ebba.

  The photo Ebba pointed to was just underneath a group shot of Björkby’s young photographers club. The students were all smiling, proudly holding up their cameras.

  Below it, in Liv’s photo, there were only five people.

  They sat in a line against an empty wall, staring straight ahead. No smiles.

  Celia instantly recognized Liv and spotted Hans soon after. His features were recognizable even though nearly thirty years had passed since the photo was taken. There was also a sharp-jawed guy, a gorgeous very blond girl, and a small girl with darker blond hair.

  “That girl is so pretty.” Celia pointed to the super blond girl.

  “Meh,” Ebba said, “she looks kind of generic. If I were into girls I’d go for Liv instead.” She winked at Celia.

  “Oh, and look at Hans. He was a hottie.”

  “Not bad,” Ebba laughed. “If you can see past the hockeyfrilla.”

  “What’s a hockeyfrilla?”

  “His hairstyle.”

  “Oh, his mullet,” Celia giggled.

  The photo was captioned: Vi fem.

  “That means us five, right?”

  “Yes, that or the five of us.”

  “Weird name for a club.”

  Celia’s eyes traced down below the photo to the names listed: Hans Nordholm, Petter Blom, Liv Sörensson, Katja Nordell, and Charlotta Svensson.

  “Katja. She’s mentioned in Liv’s diary,” Celia said. Then another thought hit her. “Wait, five people—” She scrambled to pull out the diary and show Ebba the last entry.

  The other four want to keep it between us…

  “Hmm,” Ebba said. “Makes you wonder what ‘us five’ were up to.” She glanced over at Celia’s laptop that was plugged in on the night stand. “You wanted to look up Liv’s friends. Let’s see if they’re around. Can I use your computer?”

  Celia handed over her laptop to Ebba who asked: “Do you recognize any names other than Katja?”

  “There was also a Lottis mentioned several times.”

  “Short for Charlotta.” Ebba pointed to the small girl with dark blond hair. She began clicking the keys and spoke as she typed: “Hitta.se is a good search engine for finding people. Let’s start with Charlotta…” Ebba waited for the results to populate. “There are 498 Charlotta Svenssons in Sweden.” She clicked a few more times. “But no one in the Björkby area; that will take a little more time and research.” She cleared the search and started over with Katja Nordell.

  “There’s only one,” Celia said as the name showed up.

  “And bingo,” Ebba said. “She’s right here in Björkby.”

  “She’s a 44-year-old woman,” Celia read from the screen. “That’s the age Liv would have been as she were born in—” Celia stopped to think. “1968. Yeah, that checks out.”

  “Will you get in touch with her?” Ebba asked.

  “There is a phone number listed.”

  “Or you could just show up at her door.” Ebba nodded to the address given on the site. “Could be interesting to see her react to you.”

  Celia pulled the yearbook onto her lap and stared at Katja’s face. Katja was smirking at the camera with a hardened glare. They all were.

  “Look at their expressions and the way they’re sitting,” Celia remarked. She tapped on the photograph, at the five of them sitting in a row: Hans, Petter, Liv in the middle, then Katja and Charlotta. “It’s like they’re glaring at the camera, or they’re mocking it.”

  They all sat with their legs crossed, their feet tucked under them.

  Except for Liv.

  Liv sat with her knees up, hugging her legs together, close to her chest, as if she were protecting her heart.

  Celia realized that Liv’s face only looked like it was glaring, mocking, because of the expressions of Petter and Katja on either side of her. When Celia blocked out the other two faces, she thought Liv looked scared.

  CHAPTER 11

  Katja Nordell lived in a quietly scenic residential area south of town where several rows of townhomes sat tucked away with rolling hills behind them.

  Celia headed out the next day at around 2 pm after her last class was over. She had no idea if Katja would be home so early in the afternoon, but she was antsy and didn’t want to wait—she’d come back if she had to.

  She hadn’t bothered to find Katja’s number and call in advance. After having given it some thought, she decided she’d take Ebba’s suggestion and just show up on the woman’s doorstep.

  Now she walked down the pathway next to a row of tidy townhouses with small, well-kept front yards. The end house was Katja’s, according to the information from hitta.se.

  Celia pushed thr
ough the low wooden gate and approached the front door which had a cursive 42 next to it. She rang the doorbell.

  The door opened almost instantly, as if her visit was anticipated. A tall blond woman with broad shoulders stood in the doorway. Celia recognized her from the yearbook picture. She no longer had the soft round cheeks of her youth, but she was still quite stunning with high cheekbones, ice blond hair, and wide-spaced light blue eyes.

  Upon seeing Celia, she took a fast step back and drew in a shrill breath of air.

  “Sorry to bother you. My name is Celia and I wanted to ask you a few questions.” Her words came out sounding more awkward than she intended, but just by having heard Celia’s voice, Katja seemed to relax somewhat.

  “You just…” Katja faltered. “You—”

  “I look like Liv,” Celia said.

  “Yes,” Katja said, her eyes still holding disbelief.

  “I’m Liv’s niece.”

  It was the first time Celia said that out loud. She was related to Liv. It gave her a push of confidence. She was related; she had a right to know.

  “I’m trying to find out more about my aunt. I know you were close friends, and I was hoping you could tell me, well, anything about her. She’s such a mystery to me.”

  Katja stepped backwards into the hall. “Come in,” she said.

  Inside, Celia took off her shoes, according to Swedish custom, and followed Katja into the kitchen. A large window gave a view of the walkway and front yard. Katja’s kitchen was bright and clean and smelled like newly brewed coffee. A blue, artsy mug stood on the kitchen table.

  Katja took the cup. “Would you like coffee?”

  “No thanks.”

  She gestured for Celia to sit.

  “What was Liv like?” Celia asked, pulling out a chair for herself. She realized she hadn’t thought through her questions the way she should have.

  “She was kind, a good friend,” Katja answered. “I still miss her.”

  It was a blanket response. Ask generic questions, get generic answers, Celia thought. She wavered but then resolved to just get on with it. She might as well push to the real stuff.