If I pushed him, would that kill him or merely injure him?
Inside the bedroom, I’m furious but hide it as best I can.
“She wasn’t married yet.” His voice is low. “It was the day before.”
“The day before the wedding?” It’s so absurd that I burst out laughing.
I am going insane from this.
He nods.
You couldn’t even keep your hands off your brother’s fiancée?
The next morning, new voices sound from upstairs when Henrik wakes me with a fresh mug of coffee. “I think you need this to ease you in.”
“Ease me into what?” I sit up.
While dressing, he whispers. “My father’s here.”
He walks out, leaving me alone to hear the immediate silence that strikes when he enters the living room upstairs. I can’t make out what they’re saying.
To avoid more lying, I decide the best strategy is to take a shower and hide in the bathroom, hoping his father will be gone when I’m done. Then I’ll be ready to get off this bloody island.
After finishing my coffee on the edge of the bathtub, showering, dressing, and killing time studying patterns in the eighty’s turquoise tiles on the bathroom floor, my phone rings.
Victoria Teigen.
I’m not ready for this conversation.
I exhale. Meet Henrik’s father, or talk to her?
I stare at the phone, hoping it’ll stop ringing. When it doesn’t, I pick up. “Hi, Victoria.”
“Daniella?” Her cheery voice is filled with concern and surprise. “Um…Happy New Year.”
I’ve missed your voice.
“Happy New Year.” I choke up.
“I’m…I’m sorry to hear about Isac. I’ve tried calling you…”
I cut her off. “You never approved of him, so…is that why you called? To say I’m better off now that he’s dead?”
“Of course not.” It takes her a few seconds to continue. “I shouldn’t have tried to convince you to leave him. You know me, I get a bad vibe and act on it. I shouldn’t have expected you to. I miss you. Let me make this right.” Victoria was never afraid to speak her mind in high school, when I moved in with Isac, or now. “I’ll keep calling until you give me a chance to apologize in person.”
I don’t know what to say. As best friends, we used to talk about everything. Now we’re like strangers.
Laughter sounds from upstairs. “I should go.” I struggle to end the call.
She hurries before I hang up. “I live in Oslo now. Can I buy you coffee someday?”
“Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean we can go back to being best friends and pretend our fights didn’t take place.” Meeting would be too difficult for me. I miss our friendship and conversations, but I can’t let her into my life now. “I’ll text you.” I never will.
“I’m sorry.” She pauses as if also sure I won’t. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Stay safe,” I say, like we always used to end our conversations.
“Stay safer.”
I hang up and close my eyes. I’m numb from memories of my happy past, trips we shared, and how she supported my decision to drop out of college since I’d surpassed their level of computer coding. She understood me like no one else. Until I met Isac.
My fists are clenched.
Enough trips down memory lane.
The staircase creaks as I make my way up, and a male voice mutters, “You weren’t kidding.”
When I round the corner, a man who is the spitting image of Henrik, only twenty years older with a gray beard and hair tucked in under a knitted hat, rises from the couch. “I see.” He looks at Beate. “She does resemble Judit.” His expression changes from one of surprise to investigation as he surveys my face before he saunters over to me, stops, and sighs.
His eyes are the same blue as Henrik’s, his lips are the same, and the way he carries himself is like an older clone.
“You’re Henrik’s father.” I hold out my arms to hug him, but he steps back, just like I did when his son tried to kiss me.
“Torkild,” he mutters.
Henrik pats the couch next to him for me to join him, but turns his attention to his father. “Have you tended to the grave?”
Whose grave?
Torkild raises his voice. “Have you?”
“I don’t live here,” Henrik says through gritted teeth. “We arrived last night.”
“If you were home more, you could tend to it more often.” Torkild walks out of the room and down the stairs. The front door slams shut after him.
I seem to be the only person surprised by his behavior.
Henrik slides his arms around my waist. “Do you mind if we visit my mother’s grave before heading back?”
There’s a grave for her? But she’s alive.
“Of course,” I say.
Maybe I’m wrong. Did I misread the information? It would be absurd if his entire family visits the grave of a living woman.
Vidar whispers to me. “You’re the first woman he’s brought home in four years.”
Simen was right. I am the exception.
“Will you stay one more night to celebrate Grete’s birthday tomorrow?” Beate looks at Henrik.
He shakes his head. “No, we’ll take the ferry back today.”
Yes, we will.
Thrilled at his answer, I blurt out, “How old is she?” She looks like she’s ten.
Beate gleams. “She’ll be six tomorrow.”
Beside me, Henrik stiffens, and no matter how hard I try, my brows lower as I stare at him, thinking back to the similarities between Henrik and Grete.
Once his brother’s house is out of sight, I clear my throat.
“Is Grete yours?”
His hands rise as if blocking a ball coming at his head. “No. I did a paternity test a year after she was born. She’s Vidar’s.”
“That would be crazy.” But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone knocks on his door one day saying he’s their father.
What if Vidar finds out?
“I didn’t enjoy Beate’s phone call telling me to get tested. That was an unnerving week.”
Salt lingers in the air from waves crashing onto the shore behind the tiny graveyard. I pull up the collar of my jacket to protect my neck from the cold wind.
I don’t belong here. If I’m wrong about your mother, how can I visit her grave knowing that I’m deceiving her son? This takes it too far, even for me.
“Maybe I should wait in the car.” I turn to go back.
Henrik grabs my hand. “Please come. I’d like her to meet you.”
Shit.
We pass granite tombstones with names engraved in white. Some are made of natural stone like the one I’ve asked for in my will. The reminder makes me walk closer to Henrik. He squeezes my hand, which relaxes me a little, but not for long as we stop in front of a small gravestone of polished beige with a white dove on top. The once golden letters now faded spell her name, Judit Moen. The flowers in front are dead, and weeds grow in their place.
Is this what my gravesite will look like? Mom and Dad won’t be in Norway to pick weeds, and my brothers won’t prioritize it. Cremation seems to be the way to go when I think about it. That way, I can be with Mom and Dad in Portugal. I’ll update my will when I get home.
Henrik bends down, plucks the dead flowers, and clears the tombstone of weeds. “My father lives five minutes away. How hard is it to keep her grave tidy, huh?” The frustration in his voice matches the ferocity with which he pulls out the weeds.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him upset. Nothing cracks his stone facade, except Judit.
If your father wants the family to believe Judit’s dead, why isn’t he keeping the flowers fresh? Because it’s too difficult to lie?
I bend down to help, gathering weeds in my hands.
“I’m sorry.” I’m speaking to his mother as if she’s here, but Henrik smiles at me with gratitude.
“Me too. I don’t
remember her, but I wish she could have met you. There’s so much I’d like to show her.”
We both step back, my hands filled with dried leaves and dead flowers.
He’s told me before that he was five years old when she died. I need to hear if his story changes. Maybe he does know she’s alive, and this is a symbolic ritual to commemorate that her spirit and personality died with the drugs?
“How old were you again when she passed?”
“Five.” Henrik tucks his free hand in his pocket, closing his eyes. I swallow and close mine with him.
If you’re here Judit…of course you’re not. You’re in Siebe, but just in case. If you’re here, he’s got this coming. I’m sorry to do this to your child, but he killed my husband, and he’s been an asshole to women for years.
The wind calms, surrounding us with a stillness I only experience at our family cabin where I haven’t been since Isac died. A seagull soars overhead, screaming at another on a lamppost. Then another wave crashes on the sandy shore behind the graveyard, and Henrik pulls his hand out of his pocket. A crack sounds from the ground by our feet. We both jump back and look down at his phone on the gravel. He lifts it up.
“Typical.” He shows me the cracked corner of the display. “I’ll get a new one when we get back.”
A new phone?
Mentally I’m preparing the clone. “Can’t you still use it?”
He unlocks it, and the display seems to work as usual. Then a message from Katelyn pops up. Henrik shuts the screen off, but we both hear the metallic sound in place of what his usual signal for a new message should be. “Guess the speaker didn’t survive the fall.” He takes the weeds from my hands, runs over to a trash can, then takes my hand when he returns. “Let’s get out of here.”
Driving back with Henrik, his face is motionless while stopping in a pocket by the narrow road to allow another car to pass. My reflection shows me smiling at the other driver, and my face moves with my thoughts, while Henrik’s is as still as the ground we’re driving on.
Not knowing his every move makes me fidget. I braid my fingers together to stay in control and not show my nervousness. By now, it’s as close to addiction as I can get. My first thought every morning, day, and night is to inspect him. Maybe I’m relying more on the adrenaline rush it gives me than the information. My pulse beats faster, envisioning logging on when I get home to see what he’s been up to while I’m here. He’s said he loves me, and I’ve met his family. Everything is going as planned. Yet that’s what every other girlfriend he’s had has been sure of.
I can’t shake the thought there’s a reason he hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend again. I can’t let my guard down until I know for sure he’s chosen me. Not being able to check is making my leg twitch.
24
On January third, I get the first available flight home. Relief hits me when I exit the plane at six o’clock in the evening, knowing I’ll soon see what Henrik has been up to behind my back while we were away together. There’s no doubt he’s a sneaky man the way he’s been getting away with his cheating for so long. I know he’s texted Katelyn, I saw the love songs she sent, and I can’t wait to find out what his responses were.
The cold leather seat creaks beneath my butt when I get into my car. I turn on the seat-heater and drive out of the airport parking lot. Henrik is returning later tonight, which gives me more than enough time to get updated on his online activity while we were together.
As I’m closing in on my apartment, Cecilia’s standing outside my building, looking up at my window.
How did she know I would arrive home now?
I open the passenger window and call out to her, “Happy New Year.”
She jumps but waves when she sees it’s me. “I was in the neighborhood and had to see if you were home. Henrik has deleted his Tinder account, did you see?”
“I’ve been driving.”
And I don’t text and drive.
Isac’s dead hand resting on the passenger seat flashes before me, and I shudder at the thought.
Cecilia walks over to the car and peeks her head in. “Don’t look so blue. You did it.”
The sense of accomplishment puts a massive grin on my face.
“That’s more like it.” She takes a step back. “Park the car. I’ll wait here.”
The garage is the only dry spot, and my feet sink in wet snow walking back to the entrance.
The door buzzes and out walk Mr. and Mrs. Nerli. She’s dressed in the fox fur she inherited from her grandmother. He’s in a wool coat and knitted hat sitting too high on his head to cover his ears but with too much fabric crunched on top. A brown pipe hangs from his mouth, and he supports his wife’s elbow to help her step down onto the sidewalk.
“How are you?” I try to make eye contact with Mrs. Nerli, but she’s focusing on the slippery step.
Once she’s descended safely, Mr. Nerli holds the door for us, and Cecilia enters first, sniffing the air for the stench of tobacco.
There’s none. He doesn’t smoke anymore. Now, he only brings the pipe out if he needs comfort, and my heart breaks for them. The last time Mr. Nerli had his pipe out was a couple of years ago when his brother died.
“Happy New Year.” Cecilia nods her thanks to him for holding the door.
He lets go. “Unfortunately not.” His voice is hoarse. He saunters off hand in hand with his wife.
I deserve this. They should hate me for what I did.
I shake it off and catch up with Cecilia outside my apartment. “Your timing is perfect. I’m dying to read up on Henrik’s activities online.” I kick off my shoes and throw my jacket over the coat hanger.
Cecilia takes off her coat. “Did I just see a couple in their eighties wearing dead foxes and pretending to smoke a pipe?”
I nod. “It’s heart-wrenching. Mr. Nerli only has that pipe in his mouth when he’s in mourning, and this time it’s all my fault.”
“It was an accident.” She shakes her head as if forcing disturbing images out of her mind. “Weren’t you just with Henrik? Why do you need to check his activity now?”
“I didn’t dare bring the cloned phone in case he found it.” I turn on the computer and connect the phone to the computer screen. “You’ll never guess who showed up in Bodø.”
“Katelyn?” Cecilia shrugs as if excusing herself for guessing right. “She’s the one with the most to lose,” she explains.
“True. Neither Henrik or I got to speak with her. She ran away.”
I pull out my phone, delete my Tinder app, then point to the screen and my text from December thirtieth. “These messages are from the morning I left Oslo to meet him in Bodø.”
“And this woman, who’s she?” Cecilia points to an exchange occurring as I drove up to meet him on December thirty-first.
A woman named Lisbeth writes Henrik.
Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
There’s a long pause before Henrik responds.
I wanted to talk to you about that. I have to cancel. I’ve met someone.
Lisbeth’s response is immediate.
Hasn’t stopped you before.
Cecilia snorts. “I don’t like her.”
I shrug. “I’m in no position to judge.” But we both smile reading what Henrik writes her.
It will now. I want to treat her right.
“You’ve done it. He’s canceled a sex date. He’s in love with you,” Cecilia says.
“Let’s hope.” I scroll further up the texts to find Katelyn’s. I’ve been curious about their exchange ever since I had to leave, and I’m glad I didn’t stay home waiting for Henrik’s reply to Katelyn because it came two hours later and would have caused me to miss my flight.
We can’t continue. I’m sorry, but the distance won’t work.
Katelyn isn’t having it.
I don’t understand. I told you I can move. What changed? Did I do something wrong?
Henrik replies immediately.
You can’t leave
your kids, and I won’t ask you to. And I don’t want to leave Oslo.
I can only imagine Katelyn’s frustration when she sends him the following text.
I’m at the airport, you can’t cancel on me now. Let’s talk about this face to face.
When Henrik finally replies, my flight has landed. He’s in the hotel room, setting up candles and preparing for my arrival.
Stay with your family. We can talk later, but not tonight.
Like an auto-reply, it only takes a second for Katelyn’s response to tick in.
Have you met someone else? Please be honest with me.
During Henrik’s next reply, I was in the lobby asking the receptionists for champagne.
I have plans for tonight, and I don’t want us to spend our New Year’s Eve fighting.
There’s a pause for about an hour and a half as Katelyn flies from Bergen to Bodø. When the plane lands, Katelyn responds.
I understand. Happy New Year <3
Henrik never wrote her back after that, and no wonder. I was in the hotel room with him by then.
After this exchange, Katelyn tried to call him, and I recognize Katelyn’s stream of love songs sent to Henrik’s phone before we left for the New Year’s Eve party, and the pieces come together.
While I was flying up to meet Henrik, he was ending their relationship. She wasn’t romantically texting him. She was heartbroken and, instead of staying in Bergen, got on that flight to find answers.
“That’s it?” Cecilia takes over and scrolls down. “They never spoke again after that?”
He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge Page 18