Mother Dear

by Nova Lee Maier

  Helen had also learned that Sara was regularly getting drunk at parties, though at home she would tell them only about the odd glass of wine. She was going out with boys who were much older than she was and who had no prospects. On top of that, she would lie about where she spent the night—and above all, with whom.

  Her kind, clever, promising daughter appeared to have a disturbing dark side.

  Together with Werner, she had confronted Sara over her actions and her behavior. That had led to a heated fight, in which Sara had turned the tables and accused her mother of underhanded behavior. She had stormed out of the house that evening, furious and distressed, and only returned two days later. There then followed a dreadful phase during which Helen had barely slept a wink, terrified that she would lose her baby. At times, she’d thought Sara had already slipped beyond reach. Only after many weeks and some long, intense conversations did Helen regain a little hope that things would work out for the best. Sara had apologized and promised to turn her life around.

  That was five months ago. Helen had stopped monitoring Sara’s movements. The wounds were beginning to heal.

  And yet it still gnawed away at her, deep inside.

  Helen had missed her own mother terribly during that time, had been so desperate to ask her how she would have reacted, what she would have done. She had mentioned to one or two of her friends that things with Sara were “difficult,” but aside from Werner, there was only one other person who knew about all the ins and outs of the situation. Lex had been a rock back then. Much more so than Werner.

  Thursday

  1

  Werner was right. This was no manageable, unremarkable package. The object inside the gray garbage bag was the size and shape of a rugby ball. It sat imposingly on top of the rest of the packages in the freezer.

  “That one’s coming with me right now,” said Helen.

  Werner stood next to her in silence.

  A shiver passed through her body. “It has to happen at some point. Then it’ll be out of the way.”

  He nodded at the shopping bag. “In there?”

  “It won’t fit inside my bag from Rome.”

  “Won’t it be too noticeable?”

  “Maybe. But if I only carry a few packages each time, it’ll take an eternity. I can’t stand this for much longer, Werner. I want to get it over with.”

  “You and me both.” He bent forward and took the package out of the freezer. Placed it in the bag.

  Helen lifted it. “Put some more in.”

  Werner stared at her like he was worried she’d lost her mind. He didn’t move.

  “I’ll be running around with a bright-yellow shopping bag anyway.” She thrust her hands into the freezer, hauled out three more packages, and placed them on either side of the head. Then weighed the shopping bag again. It was heavy—very heavy. You could see its weight from the tautness of the handles and the laminated canvas. When she looked away, she could with considerable effort imagine it was filled with bottles of Coke. “It’s more stable like that.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Werner.

  “It’s doable as long as I don’t think about it.”

  “What will you say if somebody asks you what’s in the bag?”

  She was silent for a few seconds before answering. “I hope nobody asks.”

  2

  Ralf opened his eyes and instantly wanted to close them again. His mother was sitting on the edge of his bed in a T-shirt with the slogan “Sometimes Dreams Come True.” Her eyes were free of makeup, and her short bleached-blonde hair was slightly unkempt. She regarded him in silence.

  He rolled over, pulling the blanket with him.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked softly.

  Everything, he thought, but said nothing. He couldn’t help recalling the self-satisfied smirk of his old principal as he informed Ralf that he was being expelled—immediately followed by his mother’s expression as she sat next to him in that musty office, her disappointment, her anger. She hadn’t believed him, even when he shouted it: he hadn’t taken anything from those two lockers. She had only grown angrier with him; she had told him that he needed to stop lying, and that the principal wouldn’t make an accusation like that for nothing. That was where she had gone wrong, on that October day three years ago. And on ten—twenty—countless other occasions since then too.

  Was there anything about him that was good enough? Was there anything that he had done well in her eyes? His music was worthless (“ghetto music”); his clothes were unacceptable (“Take that cap off, Ralf; I’m ashamed of you!”); his grades were never good enough. Oh yeah, and his friends were losers. All of them.

  That was how it started, Mom, he wanted to say, because you didn’t trust me. Because you didn’t believe me. Because you rejected everything I thought was important.

  “Ralf? You didn’t fill in those forms. I had to order new ones; they were covered in grease.”

  He threw the covers back and got up to get dressed. It was only seven o’clock, ridiculously early. The light outside was still gloomy.

  “Why did you do that?” she continued. “You knew those forms were important.”

  He briskly pulled on his sneakers. They were a little scuffed on the side, but a new pair was out of the question as long as he wasn’t working or going to school. His father had already made that all too clear. Don’t expect anything from us until you finally put your back into something. You can go barefoot for all I care.

  He headed into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and styled his hair.

  His mother stood in the doorway. She talked and talked, but he had stopped listening. He applied his gel carefully; his hair was getting a little long at the sides, but a haircut from a decent barber fell under the same category as a new pair of sneakers as far as his parents were concerned.

  A hand clutched his shoulder. Instinctively, he pulled away. “Leave me alone!”

  He wriggled past his mother back into his bedroom; grabbed his coat, phone, and charger; and hurried downstairs.

  “That’s right, run away again,” he heard her call from the top of the staircase. “Run away from your responsibilities. You’ll never amount to anything, you hear that? Nothing at all!”

  He slammed the front door behind him, looked around, and then remembered that his car was still at Kevin’s place. Angrily, he started walking in that direction. His vision grew cloudy; the houses and trees blurred into vague gray and green smudges. He sniffed and wiped the moisture from his eyes. The tears kept coming.

  Why didn’t she understand anything?

  Why couldn’t she just act normal for one day?

  He couldn’t go on like this; he had to get out of there. But where could he go? And how? He had no money and no job; his best friend had probably been shot dead; and if he didn’t find three grand by Sunday, then Mikey would come not just for him, but for Naomi too. That was only three days from now.

  3

  It was doable as long as she didn’t think about the contents of the heavy shopping bag—but at every bump and turn in the road, she felt it shifting around in the small trunk of her car. She drove more and more carefully. Other drivers began to overtake her.

  The traffic light turned red at the final intersection. She pulled into the right-hand lane and braked. A white car stopped alongside her, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed the colorful stripes, the lights on its roof. She lifted her chin slightly and looked straight ahead, her clammy hands clamped onto the steering wheel.

  When the light turned green, her foot flew off the clutch, and she accelerated a little too hard. From the back of the car came a quiet thud. She smiled nervously at the police officers, corrected herself, and quickly turned onto the hospital premises. To her immense relief, the police car continued straight past.

  Her whole body trembled as she drove onto the parking lot and searched for a space as close as possible to the entrance. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself by panting as she lugged
her bag.

  She had spent the entire journey to the hospital desperately trying to think of something to say if anybody asked her what she was carrying, but she still hadn’t come up with anything. She parked the Fiat and reviewed her appearance in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. She tidied her hair a little; it was damp around her neck. “It’ll be OK,” she whispered to her reflection. “You can do this.”

  She got out, hung her handbag over her shoulder, and lifted the shopping bag out of the trunk, placing a blanket over the contents. Then she locked the car and walked toward the entrance. After just a few steps, she swapped hands. The bag was far too heavy; she should have listened to Werner. She did her utmost not to let it show and walked on, greeting acquaintances who also had to start at seven o’clock this morning. Suddenly, a figure appeared beside her, extending his hand toward the bag.

  “Let me carry it—I can’t bear to watch you.”

  She looked up in shock. The man taking the bag from her hands was Lex.

  4

  Ralf pulled over in the McDonald’s parking lot and walked inside. In the restroom, he splashed water on his face and blew his nose before studying himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around his nose, eyelids, and lips was red and slightly swollen. He could only hope that he looked like he had a cold—and not as if he had spent the last half hour sobbing like a baby.

  After ordering some breakfast from the counter, he found a quiet corner to sit in and looked around the restaurant. He had never been here so early in the morning before. The atmosphere was different. Men in suits were sitting on the benches, staring at their laptops, and a few retired folks were drinking coffee at round tables by the window. Almost nobody spoke. He hardly recognized his usual haunt.

  Ralf poured three packets of sugar into his coffee, stirred it, and took a bite of his muffin. Then he grabbed his cell phone. Twenty messages from six different people. He scooted to the edge of his seat when he saw that eight of them were from Naomi. The first had been sent just after five in the morning.

  5:02

  There’s a car in front of the house. Is that you?

  5:09

  It looks like a BMW. Dark-red or brown.

  Ralf gnawed the inside of his cheek anxiously. Mikey?

  She had sent the third message soon after that:

  5:11

  There’s somebody inside it smoking. I don’t dare wake my parents up. What if it’s Brian?

  5:30

  I don’t think it’s Brian, he’s still in the car. It’s like he’s waiting for someone. Brian would have gotten out by now.

  5:34

  Wouldn’t he?

  5:49

  Shit, this is weird. I don’t know anyone with a BMW.

  Ralf’s heart had started beating faster. Brian must have told Mikey where Naomi lived.

  Pure intimidation.

  And it was working. Ralf pressed his fist against his mouth and read on.

  There were two more messages:

  7:34

  I fell asleep The car is gone. Like I dreamed it or something.

  8:29

  Now the car is at school! Creepy!! It’s purple with black rims. I can’t tell who’s inside.

  The last message had been sent four minutes ago.

  School should have started by now. She’d be safe in there. Ralf gripped his disposable coffee cup so hard, the base came off. The hot liquid poured over the counter and the remnants of his breakfast. He stood up, leaving everything on the table, and hurried outside.

  5

  “I can carry it myself,” she protested.

  Lex smiled. “I don’t doubt it, but I’d be happy to do it for you.” He gave her a friendly nudge.

  Helen tried to smile but managed nothing more than a strained grin. Bile rose up in her belly. She was just a few moments away from starting to hyperventilate. Pressing her handbag to her side, she continued walking alongside him.

  “What do you have in there, anyway?” Without breaking his stride, Lex peered curiously through the handles. “It weighs a ton.”

  She felt her heartbeat reverberate through her body like a kettledrum. It felt as if the floor were made of rubber and undulating up and down, like on a cakewalk ride at a fair.

  “It’s, er . . . stuff from the freez—”

  “Lex?”

  Lex spun round to face a slim-figured man who had appeared alongside them. He was balding and wore a small pair of rimless glasses. Helen recognized him as one of the cardiologists.

  “Hey, Louis. I thought you were sailing on the IJsselmeer today?”

  “That’s next week. I’m glad I ran into you. Have you heard anything about that patient of Eekman’s?”

  The men fell into conversation, and all three of them continued at the same pace toward the main entrance. Normally, Helen found it irritating when the specialists talked over her head, but on this occasion, she could have kissed the man on his shiny scalp. The three of them walked through the sliding doors into the hospital.

  “Sorry, gentlemen, but I need to give this to Nicole,” she murmured as if everybody knew perfectly well who that was.

  She took the bag back from Lex. For a moment, she was afraid he might offer to come with her, but he was absorbed in his conversation with Louis.

  6

  The school was one of the biggest in the region, with five yellow-brick buildings, its own playing fields, and two gyms.

  Ralf drove slowly past, keeping an eye out for Mikey’s BMW. He had no idea which entrance Naomi used. After circling the complex three times, he pulled over. Not a BMW to be seen.

  Ralf ran his finger over the inside of his steering wheel. Thought carefully.

  What was it that creep had said about Naomi?

  I wouldn’t get too attached to that bitch of his either. She’s first on my list.

  Ralf was afraid that it was more than just bluster. Brian had told him enough stories about Mikey. That guy was genuinely dangerous. A total lunatic.

  He grabbed his phone and sent a message to Naomi:

  What time do you get out? I’ll pick you up. Wait inside until I get there.

  7

  There was already a sealed container on one of the trolleys. Helen lifted it. The contents were solid and liquid at the same time. They sloshed around a little. It was heavy too—about the same as her packages from the day before.

  She quickly placed an empty container next to it and took the blanket out of her shopping bag. Peered inside. She could clearly see the outline of the biggest package. Too clearly. As long as she kept telling herself that it was just a frozen package, she could cope with this. She had to switch off her emotions, that was all. And yet her hands hovered motionless over the bag. Her breath caught.

  What if the staff at the waste-processing company gave the containers a shake, just like she had done, and tried to guess what was inside based on the feel, the sound, and the weight? And what if this container stood out from the rest because its contents not only slid from side to side but rolled a little too? Just enough to raise a few questions?

  She took a deep breath and sprang into action, wrapping the blanket around the package before placing it in the container. It would move around less that way. She pushed the lid down until she heard a loud click and then grabbed a new container. The remaining packages disappeared inside it. Helen folded up her shopping bag, stuck it under her arm, and walked out of the waste room without looking back.

  There was nobody in the hall.

  8

  Naomi’s classmates waved to her as they trundled off on their bikes and scooters. She waved back but then scanned her surroundings anxiously. Ralf opened the trunk and took her bike from her.

  “He isn’t here,” he said.

  The bike had an inconveniently large handlebar that scraped against the interior of his car. Ralf could almost feel it, as though somebody were scratching a nail over his skin. The trunk wouldn’t close properly once the bike was i
nside, so he tied it down with a length of rope.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. Said nothing.

  “Someone you know?”

  Only then did he notice the tremor in her voice. He glanced across at her. Her dark eyes were flitting back and forth.

  “He’s gone,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  She sat down next to him and locked the door. Clasped her hands together on her lap. Picked at her nails. She was doing her best to act calm, Ralf noticed, but the shock was profound.

  “So, it’s someone you know?” she asked.

  “Not very well.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Why is he following me?”

  “Because he’s angry with Brian.”

  She reflected silently for a moment. “It’s not a coincidence, is it? Brian’s disappearance, that car . . .”

  “This is something different,” he said quickly.

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  He stared ahead blindly. He would never be able to tell her the whole story, but he had to reveal a small part of it now. “When we went to Brian’s place on Monday, that purple BMW was parked next to the entrance. Didn’t you notice it?”

  She shook her head.

  “It belongs to Brian’s dealer, Mikey. He lives there too, in the same building.”

  Naomi’s eyes opened wide. “Dealer?”

  He nodded. “It seems Brian owes him money. He doesn’t believe Brian is missing, and now he wants me to pay him back.”

  “Why?”

  Ralf shrugged. “Because that’s how it works with guys like that.”

  “Do you owe him money too?”

  “No.” He looked away as he added, “He says he’ll do something to you if I don’t bring him the cash. It’s three grand. I don’t have that kind of money.”