by Kim Golden
"Clear your mind, Laney..." Heaven, our instructor, reminded me. She drifted towards me, placed her hands on my sides and adjusted my position. "Breathe slowly now...remember to center yourself, think of your safe place, exhale...."
Her voice calmed me, smoothing away the rough edges and cocooning me. I could hear my blood rushing through my veins, my breath easing in and out of my lungs. Below me, Freya pushed herself up on her hands, her chubby rump in the air as she tried to balance. She sang "Mama" as she planted her fat little feet on the yoga mat. I followed suit, stretching my body and following all the motions, letting my energy flow. I watched my daughter twist and turn, listened to the unbridled joy in her laughter. She tumbled onto the mat and rolled over on her back. As I held a downward dog, Freya cooed at me and clapped her hands. A laugh bubbled from within me.
My body felt pliant and warm and soothed.
As the class came to an end, I lay on my mat, with Freya cuddling into me. My eyes closed, I continued to let my mind drift as I savored this quiet moment with little girl. I was into my second week of coming to this class and the more I came, the closer I felt to my daughter. After months of sometimes wondering what had happened to my maternal instincts, I finally felt like we'd bonded. I could say I loved her and I felt that love so strongly. I could look at my daughter and feel the love I knew Mads always had for her. Love that I sometimes was afraid I'd faked. But now...with every day I was with her, without worrying as I compared myself to the super-mothers who lived in our apartment building, or fretting that my marriage was crumbling before my eyes and trying to balance the attention and affection I gave to both my daughters, I knew without a doubt that I adored Freya.
Heaven led us through the last part of our meditation. The lights were dimmed. I opened my eyes. Sunlight splashed into the room, warming the beech floors and the masonry wall. "Let your mind return to your now...slowly, let all the questions in your heart find their answers...remind yourself of all the love within you."
I breathed out slowly and flexed my fingers and toes. My thoughts filled with an image of Mads, walking ahead of me on the beach, Liv in his arms, the two of them laughing as he splashed in the surf. He stopped and waited for Freya and me to join them. He stretched out his hand and I grabbed it, lacing my fingers with his and letting him pull me to him. I missed the ebb and flow of what was our life.
I missed him.
"I think Mads is coming," I said very carefully as my aunt and I walked home from the yoga studio. "Unless I misunderstood him."
"Is that what you want?" Cecily slid down her sunglasses. I was pretty convinced that my aunt was probably the most glamorous retiree in Juno Beach. In her colorful linen tunic and silk shorts, she looked more like she should be lounging on a terrace with a Bellini rather than pushing her grand-niece's stroller. "Stop picking at your cuticles, my darling."
"I do...want him to come, I mean." I swept my bangs back. The air was sticky and wet. Would it rain again?
"Then you should tell him."
"I have..." I recounted our conversation for her and then added, "He said he still felt a connection between us, that he knew it was still there. We just need to hold on to it."
"He's right," my aunt said. "Some couples, they lose it, let it fritter away. Or they never had it. Your parents, they never had it. I think your mother tried so hard to get your father to feel it..."
We walked for a while without speaking. I hadn't thought about my parents for a long time. Well, I'd thought about my mother. She was often in my thoughts, her voice sometimes guiding me when I felt confused or alone.
"Cecily, did my father ever really love my mother?"
"Darling, I think he tried. But your father..." She shook her head and sighed. We were nearing her neighborhood now, leaving the wide main streets for the narrower tree-lined lanes.
"Where is he now?"
I hadn't seen my father since that awful Thanksgiving in New York. He'd ruined my first Thanksgiving with Liv. He'd tried to force his way into my life again—as though he had a right to do so. His presumption still bothered me. How could he take for granted that he still held a place in my life when he'd abandoned me? How could he even think he had a right to be a part of my children's life? Even Mads's father didn't think it was a given that he would have access to our girls. It had taken months for him to even call and ask if he could meet Liv. It had taken years for Mads and him to finally resume something of a father-son relationship—and there was still tension between them because of how Benjamin had abandoned Mads and his mother.
"Do you really want to know?"
I nodded. "I'm wondering if I should let him into my daughters' lives."
We turned the corner to Dogwood Lane. I could see Peyton and Liv in the front yard with the bubble blower, sending enormous soap bubbles in the air.
"If you're serious about this, I think you should meet him on your own first," Cecily advised.
"Is he still in North Carolina?"
"No...he actually lives here in Florida. He's south of here, in Fort Lauderdale."
"So I could actually drive there..."
"You could. I don't do it often and he's my brother."
"I thought you'd worked through your differences."
"With Lionel, there are always problems. My brother doesn't know how to be happy or appreciate what he has in his life."
Once we were in the yard, Liv dropped her bubble blower and ran over to me. She wrapped her arms around my legs, welcoming me home with a declaration of "Mommy, I love you!"
"I love you too, sweetie."
My aunt smiled at us. "Just think about this—what you have with your girls. Do you want Lionel to affect this? Just think carefully before you let him in again."
From the backseat, Liv was chattering in a combination of Danish and English, still excited from her chat with her father. "Gramma, papa kommer! He is taking min Bobbi Fox on a flyvemaskine!"
"English, Liv. Gramma doesn't speak Danish," I reminded her.
"What is she saying?"
"She said her father is coming, and he's bringing her stuffed fox on an airplane."
"Smart boy." My aunt nodded as she drove. "I knew he'd come to his senses."
"So you think he's coming?"
"Of course he is, honey. He misses you. He misses his daughters. He wants his family back."
CHAPTER TWELVE: Mads
Welcome to America
Once I'd checked in and gone through security, I avoided the duty free shop and found a quiet spot where I could try to collect my thoughts. I hated flying. Short flights were okay; by the time restlessness set off too many triggers in me, it was time to land. But long flights were a chore. It was one of the reasons I never flew alone. The last long-haul flight I took was when Laney and I flew to Mallorca—and even that wasn't very long of a flight. But four hours on a plane and too much anxiety and turbulence had worn me out. I'd contrived too many worst-case scenarios in my head. I fidgeted and shifted in my seat until Laney clasped my hand and massaged my knuckles with her thumb. She was pregnant with Freya then...already in her fifth month and we knew this was probably our last vacation until she was born. And Laney distracted me with idle talk about baby names.
"Should we name her Monika?" she'd wondered when even her touch did little to calm me down. "Or Josefina."
"What?" I cast a nervous glance at the window. Laney reached across me and drew down the sun shade.
"What should we name our daughter?" Gently, she pulled my hand over to her baby bump, barely noticeable under the tunic she wore, but as soon as she covered my hand and held it there, the white noise of my nerves ebbed. "I know we don't know if it's a boy or a girl...but it feels like it's a girl again."
She knew me so well. She knew when I needed to be soothed; she sensed when my desire for her was driving me crazy, even before I reached for her. Sometimes I was certain she could read my mind. During that flight, Laney distracted me, never letting me give in to my fear of flying, he
r voice a drug for me as she rambled off different names, asked me which sounded nicer as she said them. I barely noticed when the plane touched down in Palma. I was so happy we'd decided on a name for the little girl who was waiting patiently to be born.
I'd have to distract myself this time. At least I'd remembered to pack my iPad and the John le Carré novel Laney had given me at the beginning of the summer. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time. I still had around two hours until my flight would board. A few meters away from me a trio of teenage boys tried to order beers from the sports bar. The female bartender shook her head no and offered them sodas instead. They took it in stride, struggling and laughing as they accepted the three bottles of Coke she set before them. Henrik and I had tried the same thing the first time we went away on our own. We were going to island-hop in Greece and we thought no one would notice how wet behind the ears we were. We failed at getting beers too and had to settle for orange Fanta. I wondered if it would be the same for Freya and Liv when they were old enough to travel on their own.
Thinking of my two girls reminded me of my traveling companion, Bobbi Fox. Laney had made the fox while she was pregnant with Liv. She'd found some patterns online and, with Ingrid's help, sewed a menagerie of stuffed woodland animals for the nursery. From the moment we brought Liv home, though, the only one she had eyes for was the scarlet fox with its blue and white gingham bandana. Bobbi Fox kept nightmares at bay, distracted Liv when a temper tantrum threatened to flare, elicited excited laughter when Liv was bored. I could only wonder how Laney had got Liv through these weeks without Bobbi Fox.
In roughly ten hours, I would be on American soil, I'd be with my family again. I thought back to that day in Humlebæk, when I'd bumped into my father. He'd tried to warn me and I'd missed all the signs. He'd looked out for my wife and children when I let my work get in the way. But now, I was going to make things right.
Ten hours. I could handle it. As long as at the end of it, I would see my wife again, hold my children again. I could do this.
When they announced my flight, I sent a text message to Cecily: "I'm on my way."
Her reply came just as I was boarding: "It's about time."
Somehow I managed to fall asleep during takeoff. I dreamt of my mother, as she was before the accident. In the dream we were walking along the beach in winter. Snow dusted the sand and a milky mist hung over the water. My mother held a sleeping Freya as she imparted words of wisdom to me. But the me in the dream was a younger, angrier version of me. And when she tried to give Freya to me, I wouldn't take her. My mother forced me to take her. "This is your daughter," she reminded me. "You helped create her, so you need to help love her as well." When I finally reached for her, Freya disintegrated into dust. I cried out and demanded to know what my mother had done to her.
"I haven't done anything, Mads. This is what happens when love is gone."
I jerked awake to the plane bumping through the clouds.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelt. We're experiencing a bit of turbulence."
The woman sitting beside me glanced my way but I wouldn't make eye contact with her. She'd been eying me since we boarded the flight. I checked my seatbelt was fastened and pulled out my iPad. I'd recorded some of the FaceTime chats I'd had with the girls. Their laughter and smiling faces would keep me from thinking about how the plane was being knocked around by turbulence.
Laney's face filled the screen. She was focused on keyboard. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. This was the last FaceTime chat we'd had. The only one without the kids. She'd called me in the middle of the night. I'd heard my iPad ping and when I'd fumbled for it, she was there, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, her lips parted as though she were about to speak.
"Did I wake you...?" she'd asked though she knew what time it was in Copenhagen. She was wearing a tank top and one strap was sliding off her shoulder. "I know it's late there."
My own reply was muffled. It didn't matter what I'd said. I forgot everything as I fumbled for my headphones, tuned out everyone around me and immersed myself in my wife's voice. She licked her lips, lowered her eyes so her lashes fanned her cheeks. She was so lovely...how stupid I was, letting her slip away from me. We talked as we hadn't for so long. About how we felt, about where we were going...I asked her if she was leaving me for good. She hesitated, then said no. "I needed a break...I think you needed one from me too."
I replayed one part of the chat...when Laney swept her ponytail over her right shoulder and turned her head to speak to Liv. The elegant line of her neck mesmerized me. I'd kissed her there so many times, nuzzled into her and breathed in the scent of her skin. When she'd turned back to the screen, she seemed surprised I'd waited. Then she touched her fingers to the screen and said, "I wish I could touch you again. I miss you, Mads."
"I'll come," I'd told her. "If you want me there, I'll come."
"Then come."
The woman beside me cleared her throat several times. I kept my eyes trained on my iPad screen. Why couldn't she leave me alone? The last thing I wanted to do was make idle small talk with her. I'd switched now from the recorded FaceTime chats to my photo albums. Thumbnails of images from our wedding lined the screen. Whenever I looked at these photographs, it took me back four years ago to that July day in an instant. All of the craziness that preceded it—the mix-up with venues, the dress Laney ordered from the US that never arrived...Henrik nearly losing our wedding rings. None of it mattered. We walked down the aisle together since neither of us wanted to be given away. "I'm not property," Laney had said from the very beginning. "I am giving myself to you and you're giving yourself to me."
Marius, Laney's colleague, took most of the photos. He spent most of our wedding ceremony and reception on his feet, wandering around the church and then the park where we'd had our reception dinner, capturing candid moments and spontaneous shots. Nearly every picture was perfect. One in particular was my favorite: Marius had managed to catch us as we danced and Laney was laughing at something I'd said. Her head was tipped back, and the white flowers in her hair looked as though they'd bloomed just for her. My hands rested on the curve of her hips and it was obvious there was nowhere else I wanted to be, no one else I wanted to have. Henrik used to tease me and say I was too intense with Laney, that it was a wonder I didn't scare her off with the intensity of my love for her. In that picture, I looked as though I would devour her with my desire for her. I was gazing at her and only her. I think in that moment I was wondering how much longer we had to stay...when could we escape to the hotel room we'd booked as our honeymoon suite, so that I could undo each of the tiny buttons on her dress and watch it fall away from her body. I was addicted to the gentle hum of her body, of the song it sang just for me.
"Those are gorgeous pictures." The woman in the aisle seat gripped my arm. She'd angled her body toward me. "Did you take them?"
I shook her hand off my arm. "They're from my wedding."
"Well, it looks as though you had a lovely ceremony."
She was smiling a little too brightly. I recognized that look from my sperm donor days, the look of someone who wanted more than you could ever give them. I didn't want her to think any conversation was encouragement or mutual interest. I didn't return her smile. I nodded absently and turned my face toward the window. The sky was still blue, sunset still a long way off. On the in-flight entertainment screen, the map showed that we were somewhere over Greenland. Soon we'd enter North American airspace.
The hours were ticking down. I wondered how Laney would react to my arrival. I want her to be happy to see me; I wanted her to forgive me for being such a fucking stupid idiot. I squeezed my thumb in my fist and let the words repeat in my head: "I will do anything for you, I don't ever want to be without you again, take me back...please...take me back."
By the time we landed, my seatmate had finally given up trying to ensnare me in conversation and turned her attentions to the man in the other ai
sle seat. I collected my belongings, tried to still my nerves and remind myself that she wanted me to come. I just had to hope we both wanted the same thing. And if she'd decided she wanted to take another route...maybe I could persuade her to change her mind.
Getting through passport control took a hell of a lot longer than I remembered. After what felt like an eternity, it was my turn to approach one of the windows. The woman who interviewed me was so stern and emotionless at first. She tapped on her computer, then looked up. "Are you travelling alone?"
I nodded, scratched my chin and said, "My wife is already here. She came a few weeks ago with our daughters."
"And your wife is American?"
"Yeah, she is. Well, she has dual citizenship. American and Danish."
"And where are you staying while you're here?"
"With her aunt, in Juno Beach." I rested both of my hands on the counter. My nerves were flaring up again. My hands shook a little. She glanced at them, then started typing again. That's when I blurted out, "She left me... I took her for granted, I was stupid and she left me. So I've come to work things out."
"So you're here for pleasure, then?" She tried to keep a straight face in spite of my perhaps ill-timed confession. Then she flashed a smile at me and added, "I hope it works out. I always root for love." Then she stamped my passport. "Welcome to America, Mr. Rasmussen. And good luck."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Laney
And I Love Him
"Today is almost the best day ever," Liv announced in Danish. Her head rested on my shoulder as I carried her. We'd gone to the beach together with Rebecca and Lorelei to collect shells. Now we had a sack full of mother-of-pearl shells and pebbles. My aunt had taken Freya on an outing of her own. She thought Freya might enjoy a trip to the Fort Lauderdale Zoological Gardens instead.