Dandelion Girl

by Isa Hansen

  “Please,” Zari said, her eyes somber. “If you’re wrong, you’re not the one who has to pay the price.”

  “All right, I won’t,” Celia said. “But promise you’ll tell me if it gets worse?”

  Zari made an inconspicuous movement with her head.

  Celia didn’t push her. She considered what Zari had said about feeling like an outsider. She realized that for her, being in Sweden was a completely different experience than for Zari.

  She said, “That thing with Nicole provoking me on the bus, that’s the only negative experience I’ve had. At least in terms of being a foreigner. Everyone else has been so welcoming of me. I hate that it’s not the same for you.”

  Zari stirred the last of her soup. “Your culture is closer to theirs, so they find it easier to accept you.” She kept stirring. “But there’s another reason, too. You’re here because you want to. I’m here because I need to. There’s a big difference.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it in that way,” Celia said.

  “They look at you and they see someone curious and adventurous, someone who wants to learn and embrace their language and culture. They look at me and they see—” Zari’s face crumpled. She swallowed and said with a thin voice: “They see someone who they think is getting free handouts. They see someone who owes them.”

  ***

  Celia sat quiet for a moment. “Please tell me if there’s anything I can do. About Nicole or anything.”

  Zari shrugged and deviated, “You’re going home now?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting up with Oskar. We’re going over to Björkby’s swim club.” Celia pushed her empty sushi plates to the side of the table. “The club’s been around forever. I want to see if I can find out who Liv’s swimming teacher was.” She paused while a server dropped off their check.

  Zari said she wouldn’t mind joining them so after paying for their meal they headed off together. When they arrived Oskar was already there waiting with a stout green umbrella in hand.

  The pool building was drab gray concrete with a sign in misty blue letters: Björkby simhall. The dreary façade matched the day’s gloomy weather. All day the clouds had hung low and dense.

  Heading in, they pushed their way through heavy doors. The smell of chlorine prickled in Celia’s nose as they entered the reception area.

  A young man stood behind the front desk. His washed out blue eyes were set far apart with wisps of white hair that fell over his brows.

  Oskar stepped aside to scan the community bulletin board while Celia and Zari approached the front desk attendant.

  Celia addressed him in English. Her brain was tired at the end of the school day, and it was easier to revert to her native tongue. “This is sort of a strange question. I’m looking for information on my aunt. She was a swimmer, and I was wondering if you’d have any records from the 80s. I’d like to find out who her swimming coach was.”

  “We don’t keep records that far back.” The attendant’s tone was short and cold.

  “OK,” Celia said, not wanting to give up quite so easily. “Is there anyone older here who used to be involved in the swimming community? Who might remember her?”

  Celia zoned into the office behind the front desk where a tracksuit-clad man hunched over a computer. He looked to be in his 60s. She gestured toward him. Would he know something?

  The man looked up, noticed their attention was on him, and straightened. He came out of the office. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, actually…” Celia pulled up her book bag and dug out a picture of Liv, one that she’d copied from the 1984 yearbook.

  “How long have you worked here?” she asked the man.

  “Too long,” he grumbled. “Why?”

  Celia slid the picture over to him. “This girl was a swimmer. Probably part of the swimming club back in the mid 80s. Do you recognize her?”

  The man viewed the photo. “No. Is there anything else I can help you with?” He wasn’t as unresponsive as his younger colleague, though his manner was far from helpful.

  Celia blew out some air. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  When they were back out on the street Zari turned to Celia. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Nothing, I guess. It was a long shot anyway.”

  “Oh, my umbrella’s in there,” Oskar said, “I forgot it.” He promptly swung around and bounded back to the entry of the pool.

  Zari watched him jog back in. “He’s beautiful,” she mused.

  “Mm.” Celia couldn’t deny that he was.

  “So?” Zari said expectantly.

  “So?” Celia repeated.

  “Is there something between you two?”

  She gave her head a quick shake. “I like Oskar a lot, but not in that way.”

  “OK,” Zari said with a teasing glint in her eye.

  Celia fidgeted with the strap of her bag, rearranging it over her shoulder. So maybe there was something tiny there. She’d caught herself on an occasion or two, thinking about him in a dreamy, curiosity-sparked sort of way.

  But she’d felt that way about people before and knew her feelings never advanced beyond that level. There was no need to get all riled up over something that wasn’t bound to develop.

  When Oskar returned he was frowning. He walked briskly, waving for them to come over. His voice dampened: “When I went back in, the front desk person—the younger one—he was in the office, on the phone. I think he was talking about you, Celia.”

  “Huh?” Celia glanced over her shoulder toward the pool building. “What did he say?”

  “That you’d been there asking questions, and that he didn’t tell you anything.”

  “Didn’t tell me anything about what?”

  “I didn’t catch that.” Oskar was quiet for a beat. “But I think the person he was talking to was Alex.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Before their first class the next day, Celia caught up with Alex in the hall. He was standing with William and Elise—a girl with the stunning combination of dark hair and violet eyes. Alex tended to hang out with the econ kids more than the people in his own program. They’d all been friends in junior high and were still tight.

  William twitched his head and said läget to Celia—läget being a Swedish equivalent of s’up. Celia still had the hardest time picturing Ebba together with the guy. The two of them were polar opposites.

  She said hej to them and nodded toward Alex, “Hey, you have a sec?”

  Alex raised his arm in a goodbye to his friends.

  They started toward the classroom where their classmates were already filing in and grabbing seats.

  Alex pulled out a chair for himself and Celia slung her bag over the chair next to it.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “So, this is a weird question, but do you know any of the guys who work down at Björkby simhall?”

  Maybe it was nothing, but she had to ask. Oskar seemed positive that the front desk guy was addressing Alex. Of course it didn’t have to be Celia’s Alex, and Oskar could easily have misheard all together.

  She might not even have bothered to ask, except, it was strange how Alex’s mood had changed after the man in the café mentioned Liv having a swimming coach. Not that mood swings were all that uncommon for Alex.

  “Björkby simhall? No, I don’t think so,” Alex said. He held his eyes on Celia, candid and unwavering. “How so?”

  “Uh—” she craned over her bag, rifling out her books and laptop computer. “Never mind…” She took her seat. Oskar must have misheard. That was all there was to it.

  Everyone was waiting for the teacher Malin, who was now several minutes late. But Malin didn’t show up.

  Hans did.

  He strolled in with the confidence of someone being in the right place at the right time. Celia sat up, alert. From her peripheral vision she saw Alex giving her a look. She gave him a barely noticeable shrug in return.

  Hans was at the front desk, setting down hi
s bag. “Malin is going to be out for a few months,” he announced. “I’ll be taking over her Monday, Wednesday, and Friday classes.” He looked around the classroom. “I know some of you already. Good to see you again.”

  His eyes rested briefly on Celia.

  She had seen Hans around campus, though they hadn’t had any interaction since she met him at the pub a few months ago. Although sometimes she’d sense someone staring across the halls or school grounds, and it would be him. Whenever that happened she’d hurry to get out of his eyesight.

  “Right,” Hans said. “Let’s jump into it then. Let’s look at the case study on page 112.” He flipped open the civic studies book.

  Celia opened up her textbook and sank down into it.

  She was far more comfortable with Hans just being some random member of staff she’d see around school. She didn’t like it one bit that he now was her teacher.

  ***

  “The boat is sinking! Everyone needs to get off the boat!” Sigrid swayed back and forth in her chair in the dining room of the Warbler. Two employees on either side of her tried to calm her down without much success. “Mother, where are you?” Sigrid called out, her watery eyes darting across the room. Her swaying quickened.

  The craziness of Thursday’s evening shift was apparent from the moment Celia stepped inside the door.

  One of the nursing assistants had called in sick, so to begin with the place was short-staffed. There also seemed to be a general sense of disgruntlement. The dinner plates were coming out late and cold, and Sigrid stirring up anxiety wasn’t helping the overall mood.

  Sigrid—who at times thought she lived on a boat—was experiencing what seemed to be a terrible storm. Lidia, the quiet and soft-spoken woman seated next to Sigrid, looked down at her plate with worry apparent behind her large, round glasses. The residents across from Sigrid shifted restlessly.

  Normally Celia would hang out in the recreation room with the elders and play games with them after dinner, but today she helped out where she could with some of the things that the nursing home staff otherwise would do.

  Once the Sigrid situation had been dismantled with Sigrid safely tucked into her bed—the storm having subsided—two of the NAs came to Celia who was collecting dishes from the dining room tables.

  Lena was a square-faced woman, her short blond hair gelled up into tiny little spikes on her head. Kajsa, tall and gangly with a crop of brown hair, stood behind her.

  “Would you come and help us with Sten?” Lena asked.

  “Maybe come and talk to him while we clean him up?” Kajsa filled in. “Distract him so to speak?”

  Celia grimaced inwardly.

  Sten was known for putting up a fight at every turn, requiring several staff members to be present when trying to do anything with him. It had happened before that a young female employee was brought in as an object of distraction.

  She didn’t want to go, but she followed the two women into Sten’s room.

  Most of the residents had at least a few personal items displayed on tables and bed stands to make their rooms look inviting and cozy. Pictures of spouses or grandchildren on the walls, or potted plants brought in by visitors to spread cheer in their relatives’ rooms. By contrast, Sten’s room was completely bare and empty—taking on the appearance of a room in an institution.

  Sten watched Celia with interest as she stepped closer.

  He’d been a good-looking man once, she could tell by the structure of his face. He actually reminded Celia of one of Sweden’s famous actors, known for the dangerous intensity in his gaze. But with Sten being old and angry there wasn’t much left to admire.

  While the nurses began cleaning him up and dressing him for bed, Celia moved to his bedside to offer some conciliatory words.

  “Hej Sten,” she said. “Hur mår du idag?” How are you doing today?

  Instead of answering, he clamped on to Celia’s wrist. His grip was bony and hard; there was a surprising amount of strength in that frail, skeletal body.

  She forced a smile at him, hoping that would encourage him to release his grip, but it only prompted him to stroke her arm.

  His cold, contemptuous eyes sat in a face that was so gaunt it reminded Celia of a skull. A vein moved in his temple. He wetted his lips and rubbed her arm increasingly farther up.

  Celia stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

  “This is going well,” Kajsa chirped.

  Lena concurred by drawing in air, making a whistling “hyoop” sound.

  But Celia felt her stomach quiver and had to swallow hard. She looked away, hoping Sten wouldn’t grab her boob; he was awfully close.

  Kajsa and Lena were done with him after what felt like ten minutes but probably wasn’t more than two or three. They wrapped up their things, throwing sheets and towels into their carry tubs.

  Sten still had his hand on Celia.

  The NAs hustled out of the room with their tubs and gloves, moving quickly to so they could get on with the next resident.

  Celia yanked her arm away from Sten’s grip.

  She stalked out of the room without looking back.

  For the duration of her shift she stayed clear of Sten’s room. She couldn’t dispel the awful feeling that lingered with her. She kept feeling his touch—his bony hand on her skin—and kept seeing that horrid face with the sunken, intense eyes.

  Celia moved in to sit with the residents in the main room. She half-heartedly played a board game with some of the more mentally active residents and then talked to Herbert for a while. But even Herbert with his warm presence and mischievous smile didn’t offer her much comfort.

  Nine o’clock seemed to never come around.

  When it finally did she hastily grabbed her things from the employee room.

  Outside she was hit by a cold wind, although the chill of the breeze felt welcoming to Celia after being stuck in the nursing home where the air was stuffy and thick.

  She trudged across the street to the bus stop, noticing a car in the distance.

  When she huddled in the glass hut that shielded her from the wind, her eyes drew back to the car.

  It was parked on the road that curved up the hill past the Warbler. From its location, the car had a view of the bus stop and the nursing home. A dark shadow suggested a driver was present.

  Celia fixated on the vehicle’s silhouette. The car seemed familiar.

  The sight of it played at her senses. Was it the same one she’d seen at Ming House before meeting with Hans? The car was dark, looked like it might be gray or blue. Nondescript—not anything she’d pay attention to—which was maybe why she was just now beginning to register that she’d seen it too often for comfort.

  Her mind went to Jug ears.

  The mystery of the airport driver, while more faint in her mind as of recent, still haunted her. Someone, whoever had sent the driver, had been anticipating her arrival in Sweden. Was that person watching her?

  She tried to wave off the unease. It was probably just someone waiting to pick up a friend or whatever.

  All the same, she kept a watchful eye on the car, deciding she’d head back into the Warbler if it were to move in her direction.

  Finally the bus showed up; its headlights like two ghostly auras traveling in the night. Celia slipped out of the shelter and waved her travel pass. The bus rumbled to a halt.

  Instead of going to the back that she normally gravitated toward, she stayed up front, close to the only other passengers aboard. The bus grumbled and groaned as it plunged forward.

  Celia turned and crouched over the back of her seat, observing the road behind her.

  The car’s headlights turned on. It rolled forward. The car was following in the tracks of the bus. Celia clung to the headrest, her breathing quick and shallow.

  The car trailed the bus in toward downtown Björkby. Its stark headlights and darkened windows made it impossible for Celia to suss out any details.

  Once the bus reached her neighborhood, the car
picked up speed and pulled off onto a side road, disappearing out of sight.

  By the time Celia stepped off the bus, she was cold all over. She walked with rushed steps in the direction of Erik and Anette’s house.

  She drew a breath of relief when she saw the contours of their house but didn’t let her shoulders drop until she was safely inside with the door securely locked behind her.

  CHAPTER 18

  Skullface. That was Celia’s new name for Sten. It seemed fitting considering his skullish, near-dead appearance with those hateful eyes set deep in their sockets.

  Celia told Ebba about her disturbing encounter with him during their lunch break. The cafeteria was closing in ten minutes. Only a few students were left: the lofty room hummed of quiet murmurs and the muted clinking of silverware.

  “I can’t believe you let that dirty old man touch you like that,” Ebba said.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Celia pushed her plate away. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “You should have done whatever necessary to break free from him. Then you should have yelled at the nurses who took advantage of you.”

  “I would have lost my job.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a job worth having.”

  “If it happens again I’ll say something.”

  Ebba’s face fell into a frown. “No one is allowed to touch our bodies against our will. How do we still not collectively know that?”

  Celia pushed her chair back; the legs made a scraping sound of protest. Uncomfortable with the conversation, she said, “Anyway, that wasn’t the only thing about last night.” She was about to tell Ebba about the stalker car but stopped at the sound of footsteps behind her. She swung around. Oskar was headed toward them.

  “You have to hurry if you want something to eat.” Ebba bobbed her head toward the lunch ladies who were closing up the salad bar.

  “I ate already,” Oskar replied.

  From the table, Ebba’s phone jangled and lit up. She checked it, her face going into concentration mode.