“Jerker Lindeberg’s having a party,” Amina said, swiping her thumb across her phone screen.
“Lindeberg. Doesn’t he live in Bjärred?”
“Barsebäck.”
Even worse. That was like fifteen kilometers away.
“I guess we could borrow Dad’s car,” I said. “They rode with some friends.”
Amina’s nose wrinkled.
“Just for a little while. If it’s lame we’ll leave right away.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d “borrowed” Dad’s car. It’s one of those big cars, unnecessarily big if you ask me; it feels like driving a delivery truck. I really prefer to practice for my road test in the driving school’s little Fiat.
I drove us through town, past Nova Mall, and toward the coast. Amina plugged her phone into the stereo and turned the volume to max. We were ironically digging some sax-heavy dance-band song about high mountains and low valleys when out of nowhere a tiny but flashy Audi TT pulled out in front of us.
I rammed the passenger side of the little German car, sending it flying off the road into a strawberry field. The driver was a wrinkled man in a toupée who rolled up his pant legs to keep from getting strawberry stains on them before chewing me out and informing me that he’d always said women were horrible drivers and, why, here was proof.
Dad and Mom had to drop everything to leave the party at the castle. They met us at the police station. Dad’s expression was dark and I sobbed inconsolably.
Luckily enough, it never went to court. I signed an order of summary punishment and had to pay a fine, and went home to curse at my own fucking stupidity.
The incident with the car, Dad called it.
The police called it driving without a license and reckless driving. Increased insurance premiums and income-based fines. Thirty thousand kronor right down the drain.
I was so furious at myself that I locked myself in my room and cried. Thirty thousand. That was half of my savings. There was no longer any chance I’d get away in the winter.
I was back to being stuck.
I lay in bed with music on my headphones, reading about psychopaths and sex. I knew I had read more or less the same stuff before, but I had to refresh my memory.
For a psychopath, sex is all about power.
In the beginning, the psychopath often places all the focus on their partner during the act of sex. But psychopaths are drawn to excitement and variation. Soon he will want to spice up their sex life, often with activities that seem uncomfortable to the partner. The psychopath slowly pushes the partner’s limits and in this way gains power over her. If the partner refuses to give in to his suggestions, he responds by making her feel guilty or threatening to find someone new.
Suddenly there was a bad taste in my mouth.
I thought about our walk along the beach, how Chris smelled when I rested against his chest, how he fed me strawberries in the sunset, how his hand squeezed my knee firmly on the roller coaster.
It couldn’t be.
When Chris called, I froze and stared at my phone as if it was a red-hot coal.
“What happened?” he asked.
I held the phone away from my cheek as I told him about the accident.
“I got fines,” I said. “And the insurance premium is going up.”
“It’ll be okay, Stella. It’s just money. The important thing is that you and Amina are okay.”
“But you don’t get it. For years I’ve been dreaming of this trip to Asia. It’s been my main goal. I’ve been saving and saving.”
The line crackled. Chris fell silent.
“And now I can’t afford it,” I sobbed.
“It’s going to be okay, Stella. Of course you’ll make it to Asia.”
67
“It feels like I don’t have anything to look forward to anymore.”
Amina thought I was exaggerating, of course. She scrunched up her nose at me from across the table.
“Stop being such a drama queen.”
She had just finished practice and we were in the café at the arena, surrounded by sweat and the smell of coffee.
“Easy for you to say. You’ve, like, always known what you’re going to do. Medical school, marriage, two kids, a house in Stångby, a summer home in Bosnia.”
“That sounds so freaking boring.”
We both laughed, and Amina sucked up her protein shake.
“I’ve been looking forward to getting away for so long.”
“I know,” said Amina. “But you can still go. Worst-case scenario, you have to postpone it a few months.”
I gave a heavy sigh. A few months? She made it sound like life lasts a whole damn eternity.
“I’m so tired of how nothing ever happens! Is this just how it’s going to be now? Fifty years of gloom, and then you die?”
“Fifty?” Amina shook her head. “You should probably count on another sixty or seventy.”
“Sigh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Although my parents seem to have a better time the older they get. It’s like a totally different vibe at home.”
“I’ve always liked your parents.”
I suppose she thought she knew everything. Didn’t Amina realize she’d never been let into the inner core of our family?
“Next week Mom and Dad are going on a couple’s getaway,” I said. “They rented a cabin on Orust.”
“Ooh, so romantic.”
“You have to come keep me company.”
“What about Chris?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “I really just want to get out of here, go on my trip.”
“You will,” Amina said, smiling. “Sooner or later.”
She absently said hello to a passing teammate. Then she stood up and aimed her empty bottle at the closest trash can.
“It seems so easy to be you,” I said.
She looked at me like she wanted to kick me in the crotch.
* * *
For once Dad didn’t make Italian food for dinner. Mom was shooting these little loving glances across the table, and Dad kept smiling. Once we were done eating he wanted to show me something on the computer.
“Your birthday’s coming up.”
He had found a pink Vespa. Pretty fucking cool, but it cost a shit-ton of money.
“So you won’t have to borrow the car,” he said.
“But Dad, thirty thousand! That’s so much money. I told you, all I want is cash for my trip.”
He stared at the screen.
“We’ll see. I like this one.”
“But you’re not the one having a birthday,” I said.
I spent the rest of the evening between Mom and Dad on the sofa. There was a harmonious energy between them. An unusual calm. We didn’t talk much, but we didn’t need to. I felt secure.
I sank into the sofa and rested my eyes. When I woke up, it was past midnight. Dad was snoring with his mouth open and his cheek resting on a book. Mom was in the other corner, her knees drawn up, tears on her face.
“What happened?” I asked drowsily.
“The dog…,” she said, pointing at the TV. “The dog died.”
I patted her shoulder.
“Mom, Hollywood always kills the dog. Haven’t you learned?”
I dug out my phone from under the pillows.
Four missed calls from Chris. One new text.
I opened the message and found it had been sent from a number that wasn’t stored in my contacts.
I’m sure he’s being wonderful to you right now. He was to me too, at first. It took two years for me to figure out who he really was. I don’t want you to make the same mistake as me. Be careful.
For God’s sake. Was Linda so disturbed that she still hadn’t gotten over Chris? Was she trying to control who he spent time with? To destroy everything that might make him happy?
I read the text one more time, then deleted it and blocked Linda Lokind’s number.
On my way up the stairs, I called Chri
s.
“Finally,” he said. “I was actually starting to worry.”
There was buzzing in the background. Cars, a horn.
“Sorry, I fell asleep on the couch.”
“You have to come out,” he said. “I’m in the car. I booked the suite at the Grand Hotel.”
68
Elsa unlocks the door for Shirine, who lingers just inside of it.
“Are you better?” she asks cautiously.
“Yes?”
I may be lying on the bed, but I’m fully dressed.
“You missed your appointment yesterday. They said you were sick.”
“Oh.” I’d almost forgotten about that. “I’m a bit better now.”
Shirine picks up Crime and Punishment from the table.
“So what did you think of this?”
I wrack my brains for a moment.
“It was long.”
Just think, I voluntarily plowed my way through a never-ending, nineteenth-century Russian novel. Without even hating it.
Raskolnikov is just over twenty years old and thinks he’s smarter and better than everyone else. He needs money, so he decides to rob and kill an old pawnbroker, who he describes as a horrible, evil person who doesn’t deserve to live.
“What do you think?” Shirine asks. “Are all murders equally heinous, or can there sometimes be extenuating circumstances?”
I gaze at her thoughtfully.
“Of course there can be extenuating circumstances,” I say.
“Is it that straightforward?”
“There might not be any in these books, but of course. Hypothetically speaking.”
“Hypothetically,” Shirine repeats warily, as if she’s never heard the word before. “Such as? What could possibly justify taking another person’s life?”
“Not justify. That’s a different story. We’re talking about extenuating circumstances.”
“Give me an example,” Shirine says, gesturing with one hand.
“Self-defense.”
“But that’s different. In that case it’s not murder. Everyone has the right to defend themselves. Give me another example.”
I scratch my cheek.
“Some people don’t deserve to live.”
Shirine’s eyes narrow.
“I don’t mean that anyone can just go around killing people,” I say. “But some people have exhausted their right to life. One solution to the problem, obviously, would be a functional justice system. If killers and rapists were properly punished…”
“Are you saying you’re pro–death penalty?”
“I think most people are. It’s awfully easy to be against the death penalty as long as you aren’t personally affected. Ask anyone who has lost a family member to murder and I bet the answer is pretty obvious.”
“But don’t you think people deserve a second chance?” she says.
“After raping and killing?”
I don’t know if she’s purposely trying to wind me up, but if she is, it’s working.
“The man who raped me,” I say. “Are you saying he deserves a second chance?”
“I … well…”
“I was fifteen. Fifteen! He trapped me and held me down so hard I couldn’t breathe. I fought for my life while he shoved his disgusting cock inside me.”
Shirine’s face is stuck in a grotesque grimace.
“There are extenuating circumstances,” I declare. “I would have been happy to watch that pig die.”
Shirine is smart enough not to argue. She blinks a few times and looks down at her hands.
“I could have killed him myself,” I say.
69
I woke up in the suite at the Grand Hotel. Chris had sunk into the easy chair across from me, a cup of coffee in his hands and his ankles crossed on the ottoman.
“Good morning, hot stuff.”
I smiled and padded past him to the bathroom, where I washed my face in the sink and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, which we’d soaked in a long time the night before. A thick clump of regret was bubbling in my stomach.
“What time do you have to work?” Chris called from his chair.
“Quarter to ten.”
I was already cutting it close.
I dressed and made an effort to look happy and grateful as I hugged Chris.
“Don’t forget this,” he said, handing me the map.
It was a present. He’d given it to me while we were drinking bubbly in the bed, right after we got the room keys. It was an A3-sized piece of paper, rolled up like parchment and secured with a lovely velvet ribbon. I had unrolled it and felt my heart leap. It was a map of Asia, and Chris had marked special spots with gold stars. Places he wanted us to experience together. I didn’t mention that I already had a map, much bigger and full of pushpins.
I should have been happy as I took the elevator down and turned onto Lilla Fiskaregatan. The problem was, all these feelings. I didn’t want to have them. There was no way I could go to Asia on the trip of my life in the company of a thirty-two-year-old man. It was unthinkable. And yet it was like something in my chest was aglow, telling me to stop analyzing everything so much and just let stuff happen.
As I crossed the town square with two minutes max until the start of my shift, the heavens opened and rain poured down. It was the first time in weeks.
* * *
It was still raining when I left the store that evening. My plan was to slip around the corner and get the bus at Botulfsplatsen. I had timed it so I wouldn’t end up soaking wet.
But I only made it a few meters.
At the edge of my field of vision, which was limited thanks to my hood, I caught sight of two people under a big umbrella.
“Stella!”
Amina took my arm.
“Come here, you have to hear this.”
Her hair was wet and her eyes were wild.
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s get out of the rain,” she said, tugging at me.
Beside her was Linda Lokind, holding the umbrella in one hand and trying to keep the neckline of her shirt closed with the other.
“What the hell, Amina?”
My fury was all systems go. Had she and Linda Lokind been waiting to ambush me? Were they ganging up on me? I pulled away and stared at her.
“Please, you have to listen to what Linda has to say.”
The rain was streaming down her face. There was something desperate about the whole situation.
“Okay,” I said, looking at Linda. “Make it quick.”
We huddled under the bus stop shelter and Amina swept wet tendrils of hair from her cheeks and urged Linda to tell me what she’d apparently told Amina.
“I was with Chris for three years,” said Linda Lokind. “I thought I had the perfect life. I didn’t even notice that things had started to change.”
She looked at me, her eyes shifty.
“Keep going,” said Amina.
“It happened gradually. A few tiny things at a time. I told myself it wouldn’t keep happening, wouldn’t get worse. I wanted so badly for everything to be okay.”
The rain pattered against the roof of the shelter. A few boys ran to catch a bus, hanging on the door until the driver let them in.
“The first thing I noticed was his jealousy,” said Linda. “At first I thought it was sort of cute, like it proved he really loved me. But it just got stronger and stronger. Once he was about to punch a guy in the face because he thought I’d been flirting with him.”
I looked her straight in the eye. Most people suck at lying, but there was no sign that Linda wasn’t telling the truth.
“I was a student when we met, but he convinced me to drop out. He said it would be better for me to work at his company. I didn’t need an education. That’s about when my parents started to worry, and he got me to break off contact with them. After a while we stopped spending time with my friends too. There was always some excuse. Like if I said someone had invited us over, Chris had just
been planning to surprise me with a weekend in Prague. And it kept on like that. In the end I hardly had anyone left. Just Chris.”
I thought of the picture on his Facebook. They’d looked happy. Was this all just rationalization? A grim way to plot her revenge?
“I shrank my whole life until it was all about Chris,” said Linda. “Exactly as he wanted me to. He was slowly breaking me down.”
A bus turned onto the street, water splashing high around its tires. I turned to Amina. I knew she was doing this out of concern, but it was still difficult to accept. What was she thinking? Just showing up out of nowhere, with Linda Lokind in tow. Did Amina trust this woman?
“He’s going to do the same thing to you too,” Linda said, shaking off her umbrella. “He was pathologically suspicious. I didn’t understand at first, but after a few months he showed his jealousy. He wanted to know every detail about what I did, and where, and who with. And in the end, he was still the one who cheated.”
I thought of what Chris had said. I cheated emotionally, but nothing happened.
“I found a text on his phone. From a girl both of us know. Someone I thought was my friend. It was super obvious what was going on between them, but when I confronted Chris, he shoved me up against a wall.”
She closed her umbrella and gazed out at the street.
“He ruptured my spleen. At the hospital we made up a story about how I fell off my bike.”
That couldn’t be true. Chris wasn’t violent.
“When was this?” I asked.
“Last winter. Right before Christmas.”
According to Chris, he hadn’t met someone new and ended things until last spring.
“Why didn’t you leave him?” I asked.
“It’s not that simple. I can’t explain it, but it was like he owned me. I was constantly afraid. After he hit me the first time, it just snowballed. Each time I swore to myself that I would never let it happen again. But he … I’ll never forgive myself for staying.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Were those raindrops or tears on her face? Amina touched my arm gently like an apology of some sort.
Did I have any choice? Whether this was true or not, I couldn’t keep seeing Chris. In fact, it was disturbing that I’d let it go this far. Sure, he was thrilling and sexy and loaded, but enough was enough. I couldn’t take any more drama.
A Nearly Normal Family Page 23