A Nearly Normal Family

by M. T. Edvardsson

  As I hung up, I collapsed on the kitchen table. A dam was crumbling down. My tears were a cleansing bath as the drawn-out tension was finally released. I never noticed Stella walking in. Suddenly I just felt her hand on my shoulder.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “God, you scared me! How long have you been standing there?”

  Stella stared at me.

  I knew she had heard everything.

  “It’s not what you think. It was work. That was Michael, my boss.”

  I reached for her, but she turned on her heel and walked back through the hall and out the door. I ran after her, my heart in my throat, and just as she took her first step down the stairs I threw my arms around her from behind and pulled her close.

  “I love you, Stella.”

  We held each other for a long time, and as sad as it sounds, I hadn’t felt so close to my daughter for years. I was bubbling with grand words and promises, but I couldn’t manage to produce a sound. And in that moment, all we needed was to be close.

  A few months later, I left Michael Blomberg’s firm for a different job closer to home. Things slowly improved between Adam and me, and Stella seemed more well-adjusted. She and Amina soon found their way back to one another, and I started to think of what had happened as a phase, a rough patch—sure, it may have come close to breaking us, but we had made it through and in the long run, with any luck, it would make our family stronger.

  Little did I know that the real catastrophe was waiting around the corner.

  101

  Prosecutor Jansdotter twirls her pen as she waits for Amina to blow her nose yet again.

  “So you went down to the beach with Chris Olsen and you kissed again?”

  “Although I was starting to have doubts,” Amina says. “I felt horrible about what I was doing.”

  “And this was the same night Chris Olsen died? What time could it have been?”

  Amina shrugs.

  “Stella means the world to me,” she says, as if she didn’t hear the prosecutor’s question. “I’d never let a guy come between us.”

  “But you kissed him?” Jansdotter says. “What time was this?”

  “I regretted it right away. It was like I was watching it all from outside myself, almost like it was a movie. I realized what I was doing and told Chris to stop.”

  Jansdotter interrupts her.

  “You have been questioned by the police twice, Amina. Why didn’t you mention any of this? During the interrogations you consistently stated that you never saw Christopher Olsen at all after Stella’s birthday.”

  “I couldn’t bear to explain. I thought Stella would be released anyway.”

  I scrutinize the lay judges. The Sweden Democrat has leaned back slightly and pushed out his belly as if he’s just eaten a large dinner. My immediate sense is that he’s already made up his mind. Next to him, the women are hunched toward each other, whispering.

  Jenny Jansdotter sounds honestly curious as she asks the next question.

  “Why would we believe you now, Amina? You’ve had many opportunities to tell the police what happened.”

  I slip my hand into Adam’s, but I don’t have the courage to look at him.

  “He didn’t stop,” Amina says. “I kept telling him to stop.”

  Jansdotter drops her pen, but her fingers keep twirling as if she hasn’t noticed.

  “He just kept going,” Amina says.

  The prosecutor is gaping. Now it’s dawning on her. She opens her mouth several times, trying to say something, but she seems to keep drawing a blank and starting over.

  “I told him I didn’t want to,” Amina says. “I screamed at him.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this during the police interrogation?” the prosecutor asks.

  The words come in starts.

  “I—was—a virgin.”

  Jansdotter falls silent.

  “I tried to shove him away, but I couldn’t. He pushed my arms to the ground. I couldn’t … I struggled and clawed and screamed, but I couldn’t get away.”

  I release Adam’s hand, then turn around and look at Alexandra again. It’s enough to drive away any lingering doubt. I am now sure that this is the right thing to do. We couldn’t have done it any other way. There is no justice anyway.

  Amina has to fight for her voice to hold out. She takes a sip of water and clears her throat.

  Then she looks straight at the presiding judge.

  “Christopher Olsen raped me.”

  102

  In reality, it was an idiotic idea from the start. Stella’s attitude toward the church was overtly hostile. What business would she have at a confirmation camp?

  “I think it would be good for her,” said Adam. “She might feel left out if she doesn’t go.”

  “Amina’s not going either,” I pointed out.

  “But she’s Muslim.”

  “Her dad is Muslim. And Stella’s an atheist.”

  I wish I had stood my ground. This terrible regret I have had to live with. Why did I let her go?

  Adam had finally started loosening the reins and becoming gradually more permissive and sensible in his relationship with Stella, and I wasn’t eager to cause a setback. So despite my misgivings, I gave in and, when I saw the joy on Stella’s face, I thought I had made the right decision.

  Later, when Adam called from camp and tried to explain what had happened, what that pig had done to our little girl … At first I couldn’t put it all together. I had just arrived on the evening flight from Stockholm.

  “You’re at the confirmation camp? What are you doing there?”

  Adam rambled something about responsibility and how the reason didn’t matter right now.

  “Do you realize what has happened?” he shouted through the phone. “Stella was raped.”

  My head was spinning. The phone trembled against my ear.

  “You have to call the police. Take her to the hospital, Adam.”

  His response was evasive.

  “Adam! It’s crucial that she be examined by a doctor.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. We’re on our way home now.”

  I was sitting at the kitchen table when the car sped into the driveway. I ran out; my head was about to burst.

  Stella landed in my embrace and I carried her into the house as if she were five years old again. She sat in the kitchen, paralyzed, her face devoid of emotion.

  I cried and hammered my fists against Adam’s chest.

  “How could this happen?”

  “Calm down,” Adam said, holding my arms tight.

  “Why didn’t you call the police? Why did you come home?”

  He didn’t want to look at me.

  “What were you doing there? Were you spying on Stella?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Your job?” He hadn’t said a word about visiting the camp. “I’m calling the police.”

  I pulled my phone from its case, but Adam grabbed it from me.

  “Hold on! It’s not as simple as you think.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not simple?”

  He glanced at Stella and gestured at me to follow him into the hall. He lowered his voice.

  “Stella went with Robin to the counselors’ cabin. It even seems like she initiated it.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “She initiated it?”

  “Some of the other confirmands said that she was planning to seduce him.”

  “Seduce? Can you hear yourself? She’s fifteen.”

  “Of course. I’m not defending Robin.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  He took my shoulders and gazed at me with sorrow in his eyes.

  “I guarantee that he will never, ever get another job with the Church of Sweden.”

  “But?”

  “But moving forward with this … it will only hurt us. Hurt Stella.”

  A void opened up inside me.

  “We have to, Adam. We have
to!”

  He shook his head.

  “Everyone will find out. People will judge her. She’ll have to live with this forever.”

  My head was spinning. I gave a harsh cough, scared I might throw up. To some extent, I understood Adam’s point. I myself had defended men accused of rape. I myself had posed all those unpleasant questions to the victim, about clothing, alcohol, previous experience, and sexual preferences. In some cases, I really had doubted the victim’s account. In others, I had only been doing my job.

  “She’s a victim,” I said, sobbing over the sink. “None of the guilt here belongs to her.”

  “I know, honey. Of course she’s not guilty of anything. But the rape happened, and we can’t change that. All we can do now is protect her so this doesn’t get any worse.”

  He put his arms around me and I burrowed into his chest. Our hearts were racing, completely out of sync.

  So this is how our lives turned out, I thought at the time.

  Now I think there’s still a chance to change it. There’s still a chance to save our family, to be the mother I always wanted to be, a mother who would do anything to protect her child.

  103

  On Sunday the second of September, the same day that the police technicians searched our home, Adam was brought in for initial questioning. I had begged him to remain strong, to weigh each word carefully. Meanwhile I was contemplating how much to reveal to him. There could be no doubt Adam was prepared to walk through the fires of hell for Stella, but in this case I suspected that his unshakeable morals would weigh him down like a burdensome cross on his back.

  That night the prosecutor had decided to remand Stella and the only bright spot I could see was that Michael Blomberg had been assigned as her public defender.

  I asked a contact with the police to call as soon as they were finished searching our house. Then I walked through our rooms on shaky legs, trying to ferret out what the technicians had found. It couldn’t be much.

  Before Adam and I took the taxi to the police station on Saturday night, I had staggered in among the bins at the neighborhood recycling station around the corner. I pretended to vomit noisily as I stomped Stella’s phone to pieces and tossed them in the metal-recycling container. The SIM card was already safely tucked in my purse. I still didn’t know what had happened, but I knew that Stella’s texts might contain compromising information. Anguish chafed in my chest, but it was easier than I’d expected. You may think there are things you’re incapable of doing, but they suddenly seem natural when it comes to protecting your child.

  Later that night, I rooted through every corner of the house and discovered the bloody blouse, which was hidden rather sloppily under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. It was still damp. Had Stella hidden it there? Or had Adam emptied the washing machine? I was of two minds about what to do for a bit, but when Michael called to say that the police were on their way I threw the blouse into the woodstove to be on the safe side. I watched sparks fly around the crackling fabric.

  I was full of conflicting emotions. As a lawyer, I was guilty of the most horrific violation of the law one could imagine. As a mother, my choice was the only correct one. I still had no idea what had happened on Friday night, but I knew with certainty that it was my duty to protect my daughter.

  * * *

  On Sunday afternoon, Adam called as soon as his interrogation was over. When I realized he’d lied to the police to give Stella an alibi, I was flooded with warmth. It was an act of love, perhaps the ultimate proof of how much he loved Stella and me. From that moment on, I knew that I would do anything for our family.

  I told Adam that the police technicians were still in our house. He couldn’t return home for a few more hours. I needed to buy time.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I stole to the window of the laundry room and peeked out.

  All I could see of the person at the door was a black cap pulled so low on their forehead that it hid their face. A pair of feet in dark sneakers were shuffling nervously on the stone steps.

  I cracked the door, just wide enough to grab her arm and pull her into the entryway.

  “I didn’t want to call anymore,” she said.

  I peered out the small window mounted in the door and concluded that the street was deserted. No one had seen her.

  “Come in,” I said.

  She walked to the kitchen without removing her shoes. I hurried past her to the window and flicked the curtain over it.

  “What happened?”

  My voice quaked.

  Amina looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes, which had gone red and runny.

  “I can’t believe it … Stella … I…”

  She was shaking as I took her hand. We hugged each other tightly; it felt as if she wanted to cling to me. After a while I had to work my way out of her arms.

  “I know,” I said. “I read Stella’s texts.”

  “You did?”

  She stiffened. I stroked her arm and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

  “Stella forgot her phone at home.”

  Amina gasped. I held her with both hands and found myself struggling not to break down.

  “We’re going to fix this, sweetie. We’ll fix it.”

  She cried like a child.

  She was just a child. She and Stella were both children.

  I was the adult here. I was the mother. I was the one who had to save them.

  All of a sudden, the tears stopped. Amina heaved silently.

  “He wasn’t supposed to die.”

  104

  “It was self-defense,” said Amina. “Wasn’t it?”

  I tried to absorb what she’d just told me. There was so much, all at once, so many emotions and details.

  “I was planning to run as soon as he stopped the car. I even had my hand on the door handle, ready to jump out. But he had locked the doors from the inside. I couldn’t go anywhere.”

  She looked at me as if she were dangling from a cliff and I was the only one who could extend a helping hand.

  “You must have been so scared,” I said.

  Amina nodded.

  “It was self-defense, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. I still hadn’t quite formed a clear picture of what had happened. “Where did the knife come from?”

  “It was in the basket. Chris had brought it to our picnic.”

  Amina had gone on a date with Christopher Olsen, somewhere at the seaside. I understood that much.

  “The knife was on top, in the basket. Between the seats,” she said. “I saw it and just took it. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He had forced himself on her. That brute had raped Amina.

  “What about the pepper spray?” I asked.

  “I always carry that. Stella has one too. You can buy them online.”

  I knew that, of course. I was the one who had urged Stella to purchase it. I had even paid for it.

  “So first you sprayed him and then you grabbed the knife?”

  Amina nodded and I gently stroked her swollen, pale cheek.

  “But he figured out what I was doing before I hit the spray button. He put up his arms and turned his face away. Some of it must have hit him, though, because he roared like an animal. Then I tried to unlock the car door, but the button was in the wrong spot, on the dashboard. I had to lean over his lap, but at last I managed to get the door open. That’s when I saw the knife.”

  “And you ran away from the car with the knife in your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  I tried to picture it.

  “He followed you?”

  She nodded again.

  “Obviously I didn’t want to use the knife. Why the hell did I take it with me?”

  “Stop,” I said. “There’s no point in that. You were terrified. You did the right thing. Anyone would have taken the knife.”

  Amina swore at herself.

  “What about Stella?” I asked. “What was St
ella doing there?”

  “I don’t know. She was … angry … worried. She had called and sent a bunch of messages.”

  “She didn’t know you were with Christopher?”

  “I lied to her. I betrayed my best friend.”

  Amina doubled over, sobbing. And I tried to comfort her, to embrace and stroke her. Even as my mind was gearing up.

  “Stella had blood on her blouse, Amina.”

  She shuddered and turned her face up to me.

  “He’s dead! Don’t you get it? Dead!”

  I squeezed her arms hard, holding her the way you hold your baby to keep it from plunging to the floor.

  My thoughts slowly turned down a new path.

  You have no idea what you’re capable of doing for another person until you are faced with a true threat. I still didn’t realize what I was prepared to sacrifice for Amina’s sake.

  “Stella is in custody under suspicion of murder,” I said. “The police were here and searched our house.”

  Amina sobbed.

  “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! Can you drive me to the police station so I can tell them? They have to let Stella go.”

  Naturally, she was right. That was what we had to do. It was the right thing. Amina would lay out the truth for the police and Stella would be released from jail. Justice would be served, eventually, in some form. If there was such a thing as justice. Either way, there were extenuating circumstances. Amina would presumably be convicted of manslaughter, but she was young so her sentence would be reduced. It wouldn’t be out of the question for her to be released in just a few years.

  But she would never become a doctor. She would always carry that conviction with her. Her bright future had suddenly gone fuzzy at the edges.

  “We have to get Stella out,” she said. “Can you come with me? Please, can you give me a ride?”

  I pushed back my chair and took the car keys from the silver dish on the kitchen island.

  Was there any other option?

  “The police will figure out that one of us did it,” Amina said. “They’re going to figure that out, right?”

  I stopped midstep.

  Of course there was another option. There always is.