East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  Because there was no other way to put it. Knut was asking her to commit murder. Pure and simple. Oh, sure. There were fancy names for it. Euthanasia. Ending the suffering. Putting out of misery. But it still boiled down to killing, didn't it, even if it had the word mercy tacked in front? Yet, Leigh knew she had to do it.

  She thought back to the short, idyllic year they'd had together. That was something she'd been doing a lot lately. Scenes of their life together kept passing in front of her eyes. Knut had been the balm that had soothed the pain of her breakup with Erik. He'd been there for her during the troubled times with Mark, through Melissa's rape. And he'd been there to protect her from Bob's hostility and futile attempts to win her back. He'd been a strong and stable presence in her chaotic life. A lifeline. Now, finally, it was her turn to be his lifeline, even if that line led only to death. But she couldn't do it alone. She would need Sigurd's help.

  Just as she poured the steaming tea into dainty china cups, Sigurd walked into the room, moving silently on her soft-soled nurse's shoes. She slumped into a chair at the pine table and stared down at the burnished wood, her forehead resting against the heel of her hand. Without speaking, Leigh brought the cups of tea to the table and sat down opposite the Norwegian woman. Sigurd reached out for the sugar bowl and wearily pulled it toward her. After dropping two teaspoons of sugar into the tea, she stirred it slowly and then looked up at Leigh. Dark shadows rimmed her beautiful aquamarine eyes. Leigh realized she looked ten years older than she had on the day they'd arrived. How much had she herself aged since that day? She knew she felt ancient.

  Sigurd took a sip of her tea and a hint of a smile touched her lips. “Takk,” she said. “Det god."

  She was exhausted, Leigh knew. It was only when she was really tired that she lapsed into Norwegian. Maybe it wouldn't be a good time to bring this up. But then she thought of the agony on Knut's poor shrunken face, and knew it could wait no longer. Sigurd would understand, and she'd know what to do. After all, hadn't she mentioned it once before? She tried to recall the gist of the conversation, but all she could remember was the horror of the idea, and how she simply didn't want anything to do with it. That seemed like a million years ago when it had seemed so wrong to help a man die. Now ... dear God ... it seemed like the only right thing to do.

  Leigh couldn't sit still. She jumped up and went to the refrigerator on the pretense of looking for something to eat. But it didn't fool Sigurd; neither of them had had an appetite for days. Leigh slammed the refrigerator door and whirled around.

  "We have to help Knut die."

  Sigurd looked up from her tea. She didn't speak.

  Leigh moved back to the table. “Sigurd, please try and understand. He wants this. He begged me today. To help him.” Desperately she clutched the other woman's arm. “We both know what he means. I can't bear to see him go on like this."

  For a long moment, Sigurd didn't speak. Leigh held her breath, prepared for anything. Accusations, shocked reprimands, horror at her unspeakably monstrous suggestion. Sigurd moved suddenly, covering Leigh's grasping hand with her own. Her eyes were huge and somber. “It won't be much longer, Leigh. I promise you that."

  Leigh's heart sank. What was she saying? No? Was she refusing to help her ex-husband? But how could she? She still loved him; Leigh knew that. It was obvious she and Knut had never lost the love they'd felt for one another. How could she sit there and refuse to help him die?

  "You don't understand, Sigurd,” Leigh said. “I promised him we would help him. Tomorrow. As soon as you can ... surely you know how we can do it. Drugs. The right combination that will just let him drift into sleep. Sigurd, please ... dear God, he needs us! This is the last thing he wanted. To lie in there like a helpless animal. But at least an animal would be put out of his misery!"

  "Leigh...” Her voice was very soft. Her eyes drilled into Leigh's. “You have to trust me to do what is right. Okay?"

  Leigh stared at her. Moments ticked by. Finally, her eyes dropped. “Okay. I'll trust you because I know you love him as much as I do."

  Sigurd blinked quickly and looked down into her tea. But she couldn't hide the tears shimmering in her pale eyelashes. “Ja, I do love him. He was my first love. I met him at a ski-jumping meet outside of Tromso. When I saw him sail into the air, I felt like my heart was sailing right along with him. We were married three months later.” She stood up and took her tea cup to the sink. When she turned around, the tears were gone and her face wore a curious anger. “I made the biggest mistake of my life when I returned to Norway and left Knut in America. I was a fool, and I knew it almost immediately. But I was too stubborn to admit my mistake. Anyway, I'm glad he found you. At least, I know he was happy in the last two years of his life."

  Leigh's eyes blurred. She stood up and crossed the small room to Sigurd. At first, the Norwegian woman's body was rigid, but as Leigh wrapped her arms around her, the tension eased away. They held each other tightly, allowing their love for the same man to flow over in the sweet agony of tears.

  * * * *

  Leigh dreamed she was at the bottom of the ocean. She wore no tank suit, no life support system, yet, she breathed easily. A playful dolphin swam around her, knifing through the clear turquoise water, occasionally bumping against her as if to challenge her to a game of Tag. Sunlight speared into the shallow depths, illuminating the hundreds of species of brightly-colored fish that cavorted in and out of the coral reef. She followed the dolphin, somehow knowing it would lead her to something she wanted desperately. The silhouette of a man loomed in front of her, and as she grew closer, she saw it was Knut. A perfect, whole Knut, ruddy with health. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His hand reached toward her, beckoning. When she finally drew close to him, she felt his fingers brush her cheek. He smiled and nodded. Then he pointed back behind her in the direction she'd come. A soft gentle push and she was floating away from him. “No!” she tried to scream, but no sound came out. She wanted to stay with him. But he shook his head, his eyes warm, but determined. And again, he pointed. She turned away to look behind her, but saw nothing except sunlit blue-green water. When she turned back, Knut was gone. Once again, she moved along the ocean floor. And now, ahead of her, another figure waited. Beckoning her.

  It was Erik.

  She sat up in bed, heart pounding. For a moment, she looked around the shadowy bedroom, sure Erik was there. It had been so real, so clear. A soft tap came at the door. Leigh clutched at the cotton of her nightgown as terror washed over her.

  "It's me. Sigurd. May I come in?"

  "Of course.” Her heart bumped unsteadily as she looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Four-eighteen a.m. Why...? The door opened and Sigurd walked in, her shoes whispering across the hardwood floor. Leigh ran her hands anxiously through her disheveled hair. “What is it?"

  Sigurd sat down on the edge of the bed. Her strong work-worn hands reached out to clasp Leigh's. “It's time,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Do you want to be with him?"

  Leigh's heart pounded and a dull ache spread through her stomach. She nodded and threw back the covers. With trembling hands, she drew on her robe.

  Sigurd was already back at Knut's bedside when Leigh stepped into the room. With a growing dread, she moved closer, her eyes sweeping the monitor measuring his vital signs. It was erratic, bouncing all over the place like an old Atari game gone amok. Even as she moved to the bed, his blood pressure was falling at a terrifying rate.

  "Knut?” She took his dry, waxy hand and leaned over him.

  His eyes were half-open, but the glaze they wore told her he wasn't seeing anything in this world any longer She blinked back tears and swept a lock of his thin, brown hair away from his ghost-white forehead.

  "Oh, Knut ... I love you."

  Across the bed, she felt Sigurd's eyes upon her, lovely aquamarine eyes shimmering with tears as she held his other hand. How very odd this all was. His ex-wife and his lover in the room together
, sharing the intimate moment of his death. But it felt so right. As incongruous as it seemed, it was beautiful.

  "Ja,” Sigurd murmured, lapsing into Norwegian as she stroked his skeletal jaw.

  Leigh had no idea what she was saying to her ex-husband, but one thing was clear. Her voice was full of love.

  Knut's vacant expression didn't change, but Leigh hoped and prayed he could hear them and know he wasn't alone. Sigurd had told her days before that hearing was the last of the five senses to go, and that a dying person should always leave this world with the voices of their loved ones ushering them on.

  Poor Kristin. She should've been here with her father in his last moments. But there apparently hadn't been time to call her. It wouldn't be until later that she'd realize the true reason Sigurd hadn't telephoned their daughter.

  A harsh rattle came from Knut's throat. He shuddered. Leigh's eyes flew to Sigurd's. She was gazing at the monitor, her plain face blank, eyes haunted. Leigh followed her gaze and saw the flat line next to the respiration indicator. Yet, his heart beat on. The monitor beeped once, twice, three times, then it, too, became a flat line.

  Slowly, Sigurd turned the switch off and the monotone hum stopped. She brushed her hand over Knut's eyes, closing them. Her eyes met Leigh's. “It was an easy death,” she whispered. “The last thing he heard were words of love. We should all be so lucky."

  Leigh looked down at Knut, hoping to see an expression of peace in his ravaged face, but he didn't really look much different than he had in the last few weeks. Lucky? No. Sigurd was wrong there. No one who'd gone through the last four months of hell that Knut had could be called lucky.

  "Would you mind if I have a moment alone with him?” Sigurd asked, her voice tentative.

  Leigh shook her head. “Of course not.” One last time, she brushed his hair back from his forehead, then turned to go.

  A few minutes later, Sigurd joined her in the living room. “I've called the medical examiner.” She sat down on the sofa opposite Leigh.

  "I can't believe it's over,” Leigh whispered. An expression of wonder crossed her face. “And I didn't have to do anything, did I? Isn't it weird? Just when I faced the fact I had to ... help him...” Her voice trailed away.

  There was something in Sigurd's eyes. It flickered for only a second and then disappeared. Leigh stared at her. Sigurd looked away, toward the window where the first misty light of dawn had appeared.

  And Leigh knew the truth. That was why Sigurd hadn't called Kristin. If there was an investigation, she didn't want her daughter involved. At the moment their eyes had met, an unspoken understanding had passed between them. Sigurd stood.

  "The medical examiner should be here soon. I'll put on a pot of coffee."

  "Sigurd?"

  "Yes?"

  "There won't be a problem, will there? I mean ... with the authorities? You'll be okay?"

  She looked back, her eyes soft with gratitude. “I'll be fine. All of us will be fine."

  Leigh's eyes followed her as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Sigurd was a brave woman. It was no wonder Knut had loved her so deeply.

  Knut. After Sigurd left the room, her tears began again, washing down her face in a slow, but cleansing river. Different tears than all the others she'd cried in the last months. Because with the sorrow she felt for Knut's death, she felt another emotion, one she'd never expected to feel. It was relief.

  He was finally at peace.

  * * * *

  As Erik inserted the key into the flat's lock, he heard the phone ringing. Good. Margit had kept her word and was staying away while he packed his belongings. He strode over to the wall phone in the kitchen.

  "Haukeland's residence. Erik speaking.” Not for much longer, he thought wryly. In less than an hour, there would no longer be an Erik Haukeland at this address.

  "Hello?” Erik said again. But whoever it was had hung up. He put the phone back into its cradle, a grim smile on his lips. It was probably Bjorn, calling for Margit. Was he wondering if Erik was back to stay?

  "You can have her, Bjorn,” Erik muttered as he made his way to the bedroom. “You two were made for each other."

  In the bedroom, he drew out the large Samsonite suitcase from the closet. All he wanted were his clothes and his books. Margit could have everything else. A few days ago, he'd moved in with an old college friend. The arrangement was strictly temporary. Because within a few days, he planned to leave for America. Not forever. Just for long enough to find out whether he had a future with Kayleigh. He placed the last of his books in a box and closed the lid of the suitcase. There was one last thing he had to do.

  The call to Directory Assistance in the USA went through immediately. His voice trembled slightly as he read Leigh's address to the operator in Washington DC. A moment later, he had her phone number. A strange voice answered on the third ring.

  "She's out of the country,” the voice said. “I'm supposed to refer any calls to Deanna Harper in New York. You want the number?"

  Erik scribbled down Deanna's number and hung up the phone, his mind whirling. Maybe he wouldn't be going to America after all. Where had Kayleigh gone? There was only one way to find out. Quickly, he dialed Deanna Harper's number.

  The phone picked up, and Erik heard Deanna's nasal Brooklyn accent as if she were next door. He spoke quickly, hoping she wouldn't hang up. “This is Erik Haukeland, calling from Norway. You have to help me get in touch with Kayleigh. It's imperative that I talk to her."

  There was a short, stunned silence. Then, “Well, god damn! Erik Haukeland. Listen, sweetie, you're calling the wrong part of the world. She ... shit. She'll probably kick my ass if I tell you, but what the hell! I like you, Erik, in spite of the way you fucked her over. And she sure as hell loves you. Look, I'll tell you where she is, but before you go flying off the handle, you have to listen to the circumstances."

  Erik's hand tightened upon the receiver as she talked. He grabbed the note pad and scribbled on it. When Deanna finished, he cleared his suddenly husky voice. “Ja, I understand. Thank you, Deanna. I'll never forget this. Ja, I'll tell her. Goodbye."

  For a moment, he stood stiffly, his hand clutching the phone. Still in a state of shock, he tore the page from the notebook and stared down at the name and address Deanna had given him. Kayleigh was here. In Oslo. Just across the city. And had been here for almost three months. How was it he hadn't known? Hadn't sensed it? Suddenly, he remembered the day at Frogner Park. The blond woman hurrying down the steps from the fountain. Dear God, could it have been...

  Somewhere in the back of his brain, he heard the front door open. The musky scent of Margit's perfume preceded her into the room. He folded the slip of paper and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. He turned to her, his body rigid.

  "You told me you wouldn't be here,” he said.

  The paleness of her face made her freckles stand out like lighted beacons. She bit her lip nervously. “I know. But I had to come. I have to talk to you."

  "The only thing we have to talk about is Gunny,” Erik said shortly. “You're not going to stand in the way of my visitations, are you?"

  "Of course not, Erik. He loves you. He believes you're his father."

  "Fine.” Erik brushed past her to get his things from the bedroom.

  She followed and stood in the doorway. “I don't expect you to forgive me. I know the things I did were wrong. But Erik, you must believe I really didn't think you loved her. I thought your infatuation would pass, that we could make our marriage work."

  "Yeah? And did you also think fucking Bjorn was going to help our marriage? Oh hell, Margit!” Weary, Erik turned away and grabbed his suitcase. “This was exactly why I didn't want you here. Don't you understand? There's nothing left for us to say to each other."

  "But there is!” Margit protested. “Erik, remember when Gunny was in hospital for taking those pills? I broke it off with Bjorn then. And I began to fall in love with you. Don't you remember? We were happy then
."

  "We were?” Erik said, his lips twisted in a sneer. “And that's why you crawled back into his bed when we were in France?"

  Margit flushed angrily. “I crawled back into Bjorn's bed because your mind was on that American slut of yours!"

  Erik stared at her and then spoke very softly, “Get out of my way."

  She did. But as he reached the front door of the flat, she spoke again. “Like I said before, I don't expect you to forgive me. But Bjorn is another matter. He's your brother, Erik. And he's miserable. Please go talk to him."

  Erik paused at the door, the vein in his temple jumping. “I can't do it, Margit,” he said. “Not now. God help me, I don't know if I can ever forgive him.” For the last time, he went through the door of Margit's flat, closing it firmly behind him.

  Chapter 42

  Leigh gently hung up the phone and turned to look into Sigurd's questioning eyes. “He's there."

  "So. You're going?"

  Leigh nodded and turned to the knapsack on the bed. She rolled up a heavy cardigan and stuffed it in with her change of clothing. The August nights were getting cool. “I can't really explain this, Sigurd,” she said. “It's like something is calling me back there. It was just a traumatic period of my life and..."

  "I understand,” Sigurd said. “You feel a need to confront the past."

  Leigh zipped up the knapsack and sat on the edge of the bed. She shook her head. “I don't know. I just have to go back."

  Sigurd was silent for a moment. Then, “If you really want to confront the past, shouldn't you meet with Erik?"

  Leigh's heart jumped. “No.” Her fingers twisted in the cord of the knapsack. “I don't ever want to see him again. That's why I had to make sure he was in Oslo."

  A cool breeze drifted in through the opened window of the bedroom. Sigurd stood and wandered over to stare out into the afternoon sunshine. “I feel very honored you felt close enough to share your story about Erik. Now, I hope you won't be offended if I give you some advice. I think you should see him. It's obvious you still love him. No, don't interrupt me, I know you loved Knut. But even so, you've never stopped loving Erik."