by Hope Franke
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell her yourself?” he asked gently. “She’s very fond of you.”
Katja knew Renata was already at the coffee shop but it was too close to Micah’s flat. She couldn’t risk running into him.
“I know, and I’m very fond of her. It’s just, I have to go right now. I’m so sorry I can’t tell her in person, but I’ll call her. Tell her I’ll call her later, okay?”
“Of course.” Maurice threw a tea towel over his shoulder. “We’ll miss you here.”
Katja forced a smile. “I’ll miss you, too.”
She picked up her guitar and bag, and pushed on the front door.
“Wait!”Maurice called after her. “Where are you going?”
Katja shrugged. “Wherever the next train is headed.”
The parking lot of the train station was filled with bicycles owned by people who rode their bikes to the station in order to catch a train to work. Katja cut through it, jig sawing her way, struggling with the weight and bulkiness of her baggage.
She entered through the tall, wide doors into the bright, busy building. The ceilings were high, peaking with a glass pyramid-like topper, echoing the sounds of footsteps and chatter in many languages: German, French, Polish, English to name a few. The perimeter was lined with food kiosks and book stores, and on another day, she might’ve taken time to peruse the selection, of both the food and the books. Instead, she went directly to the ticket center and stood in line. When she reached the front, the attendant asked her where she wanted to go.
“Where is the next train headed?”
The clerk checked the schedule. “There’s one leaving in fifteen minutes for Berlin, and one ten minutes later to Frankfurt.”
Frankfurt or Berlin? Frankfurt would be a clean start. She didn’t know anyone there. She also didn’t know her way around. It would be starting over from scratch, and she didn’t know if she had the energy for that. Berlin, the city, was still home. And truth be told, she deeply missed her mother and sister. Suddenly, she needed their comfort.
“Berlin.”
“One way or return.”
“One way.”
She went directly to the platform stated on her ticket and waited. The chairs were all occupied, so she leaned against a cement post. The sadness weighed heavily in her cheeks, making the bones of her face ache, and her eyelids felt heavy and hooded. She just wanted to lie down and sleep, but that would have to wait until she got to Berlin.
Time seemed to drag. Again, she checked the large, white clock that hung in the middle of the platform: ten more minutes.
“Katja! Katja!”
Her eyes popped wide open. Was she seeing things?
Micah stood on the platform on the other side of the tracks.
“Katja!” he shouted again. “Don’t go! Please, wait!”
Katja’s heart thumped against her chest. A train arrived on Micah’s side of the tracks, blocking her view of him. She stood still, feeling paralyzed. The train left, and she searched for Micah but he was gone.
She folded her arms tightly around her chest. Maybe she’d imagined it. She was sleep deprived and emotionally distraught. Her mind was playing evil tricks on her. She glanced up at the clock again: five minutes.
Come on. She was so tired. She just needed to leave this place and start over. No more Dresden. No more Micah Sturm.
“Katja!”
She turned, and he was there. Right in front of her. She wasn’t imagining it.
“Go away,” she said.
Three more minutes.
“Please, Katja, hear me out.”
“You chose her over me. Now go away.”
“I didn’t choose her. I’m choosing you. I want you.”
Katja felt her lip quiver. “You left with her.”
“I had to hear her story. Please understand.”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“She took it from me and wouldn’t give it back until she was done talking.”
“You didn’t have to stay with her. It was our engagement night. You spent it with her!”
“I had to know, Katja. I’m so sorry. I was just so stunned to see her after so long. And I had to know why.”
One minute.
“Did you kiss her?”
“What?”
She knew he’d heard her. “Did you kiss her?”
His hesitation was her answer. She turned away and he grabbed her arm. “Just a goodbye kiss. That’s all.”
She narrowed her unforgiving gaze at him. “At least you got that from one of us.”
Thirty seconds.
Her phone rang. She fumbled to remove it from her purse. “Katja Stoltz.” Her frown deepened. “Sibylle, calm down… Oh my God… Okay, stay home. Just lock the door. I’m actually at the train station. I’ll be there soon.”
“What is it?” Micah asked.
She glared at him. “Horst beat up my mother.”
His expression darkened. Did his mind go to the same place hers did? That it was his fault?
The train pulled up, and the doors opened in front of Katja. She picked up her bag with one hand and her guitar with the other, conveniently making it impossible for her to hug Micah, or worse, for him to reach out for her.
“Katja?”
She hardened her heart to spare herself more pain. “Bye, Micah,” she muttered. She boarded the train and never looked back.
Her phone buzzed repeatedly in her pocket, each time like a branding iron in her side. She knew who it was, and she didn’t want to talk to him. How could she talk when she could barely breathe? He’d maimed and injured her soul, tearing it to pieces.
But, maybe it was Sibylle? The thought forced her to check her phone—his phone—and to feel freshly wounded every time she saw his name. When she refused to answer his calls, he switched to texts.
I shouldn’t have gone with her. I’m sorry. Please, can we talk?
I know you’re mad, and I don’t blame you. I was a jerk. Just talk to me!
Katja, I love you.
She powered it off. If Micah really loved her, he wouldn’t have gone with Greta. He could’ve made plans to meet her the next day, or the next week if all he needed to do was to satisfy his curiosity. At the very least, he should’ve come home before dawn.
The glaring fact was he’d made a choice, and he hadn’t chosen her.
She leaned her tear-stained face against the cool window pane. Her hot breaths fogged up her view of the passing villages, their red tile rooftops a blood-like blur.
The train finally arrived at the main station in Berlin, and Katja hefted her guitar and bag down the narrow aisle, trying hard not to bang into anyone. It was a difficult feat in the full train, and she got more than one dirty look. She jostled her way through the crowds on the platform until she reached the outdoors. The last time she’d viewed this city, she was with Micah and she’d thought her biggest threat was his colleague, Anna. Well, if Anna was still interested in Micah, she sure had her work cut out for her.
The sky was an angry grey with dark storm clouds billowing in from the east. It fit Katja’s mood, but for now she had to push thoughts of Micah out of her head. Sibylle’s frightened voice rang in her ears, and she hurried to catch the next city bus that would take her to her neighborhood. The promise of rain arrived with a fury, pelting Katja at sharp angles as she exited the bus at her stop, and she leaned into it. Her damp hand cramped around the handle of her guitar case, and her bag strap bore a heavy groove on her stiff shoulder. By the time she reached the front door of her building, she was soaked and shivering, and her key almost slipped out of her hand.
Exhaustion and cold zapped her strength, but she rallied herself to make it to the second floor.
She accidentally banged the door of their flat with the end of her guitar, but it sounded like a knock, and she heard her sister’s voice from the other side. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Katja.”
Sibylle turned t
he lock and opened the door. Katja dropped her things and embraced the frightened girl. She kissed her head. “I’m home now.”
Katja closed the door behind her and locked it, though she knew it wasn’t enough to keep Horst out. Her mother sat on the sofa, and Katja’s heart sunk when she saw her bruised and swollen face.
“Oh, Mama,” she whimpered. She sat gently beside her and took her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “I’ll take care of things. I promise.”
Katja didn’t know where all these brave words were coming from. Her time away had changed her. She was stronger now. She had to be.
She instructed Sibylle, “Get me the phone book, sweetie.” Katja looked up the number for a locksmith and dialed. A speedy job to change the lock cost extra, but she had the fruit bowl money and a little more that she’d saved over the last couple months. And this was an emergency.
Afterward, she put the kettle on. A cup of strong coffee would help to both wake her and warm her. A cursory glance around the place told her that her day’s work had yet to begin. She walked through each room opening the windows to air out the stale smell. The rain had subsided, but the wind still blew cold, and she made another round to close them again. Then she grabbed a garbage bag from a kitchen drawer and marched into her mother’s room. She tossed all of Horst’s things into it.
“What are you doing?” Gisela asked, aghast.
“I’m kicking him out.”
“You can’t do that. He’ll…”
“He’ll do nothing. I’m calling the police and social services. He’s an abuser and it’s not safe for Sibylle for him to be here. You’re pressing charges.”
Fear flashed across her mother’s face. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Then I will.” Katja looked purposefully into Gisela’s tired eyes. “Mama, he attacked me. It’s why I left.”
Her mother’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
The kettle whistle blew. “Can you get that, Sibylle?” Katja called out. “It would be great if you could pour it into the bodum carafe.”
The young girl seemed relieved to have something to do.
Katja’s jaw tightened, and she continued her unpleasant task. She hauled Horst’s things into the hall, praying the locksmith would get there before Horst was finished his pub crawl.
She sipped her coffee, but kept moving. She knew if she stopped to rest, her body would revolt and she wouldn’t be able to get started again. She counted on the a surge of adrenaline that had kicked in as she started washing the dishes. Her mother watched her and after a few moments, she picked up a tea-towel and began drying. Sibylle pitched in and collected the garbage strewn around the flat, distributing the items in the proper receptacles.
Before too long, the place looked livable. Respectable.
The next thing Katja did was wash all the linens. She attacked the bathroom like her life depended on it. In the other room, she heard the whirl of the vacuum cleaner, and her lips tugged upward. Her mother was alive in that shell somewhere.
The locksmith showed up in the middle of their cleaning spree. She paid him when he finished replacing the handle and double-checked that the door was locked when he left.
There wasn’t much in the cupboards, but Katja found enough to cook the three of them a simple pasta dish. It wasn’t anything compared to the meals Micah liked to prepare, but he’d taught her a few things, and at least the pasta was properly cooked.
When the sheets were dry, she made the beds and tucked Sibylle in to sleep. Her sister looked up at Katja with wide, blue eyes. “You’ll still be here when I wake up?”
Katja stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Yes. I’ll be here. I’m living here now. So don’t worry.”
“You’ll sleep with me again?”
“If you don’t mind. Or I could sleep on the sofa.”
“No, stay with me. I don’t mind.”
“Good. Sleep well, Schatz. I’ll come to bed soon.” She kissed the soft skin of the girl’s forehead, and closed the door behind her.
Her mother was already in bed. Her medication stripped her of her normal energy, and the beating had exhausted her physically and emotionally. Katja had encouraged her to go, telling her she would take care of Sibylle.
Now she sat on the sofa and waited. She had the police on speed dial. She nodded off, but sprung awake when she heard someone struggle with the door handle. The failed attempt was followed by loud cursing. Katja pushed the button on her phone for the police.
“I’d like to report an incidence of domestic violence.”
Katja gave the address and waited. Horst banged on the door, yelling for her mother to open it. Even though she was pretty certain Horst couldn’t knock the door open, his temper frightened her and she curled up on the sofa clutching a cushion to her belly.
Sirens sounded outside. Her phone rang. “Yes, you have the right address,” she said. “His name is Horst Bergmann. He beat my mother this morning. Six months ago, he attacked me. No, I didn’t report it then, but I’m doing it now.”
She heard the scuffle in the hallway as the police detained her drunk and aggressive stepfather. The verbal tirade faded as the officers guided him outside, and Katja watched through the window as Horst was moved into the backseat of the green and white cruiser. The neighbors were all out for the show, and she was glad for the witnesses. Horst hadn’t made himself any friends here.
She stood at the window until the street was cleared and silence returned to the building. Then she slipped into bed with her sister and fell into a deep sleep.
Micah called her several times the next day and left messages. Call me, please. Katja ignored them all. He could just go search for another hazel-eyed girl with long honey-blond hair for all she cared.
It wasn’t true. The pain that mercilessly squeezed her heart testified to that. She’d had a chance against a dead girl, but Greta was now very much alive and she couldn’t compete against that. Everything the locked room stood for and all those years Micah spent chasing Greta was a big part of him. Always would be, even if he wouldn’t admit it right now.
Katja woke her mother by gently rubbing her shoulder. “Mama? I’m walking Sibylle to school. When I get back, I’m taking you to the doctor. Get ready while I’m gone, okay?”
Katja held Sibylle’s hand as they walked down the tree-lined street. There were shadows under her eyes that were concerning. Sibylle needed to eat better, and to sleep more. And to let go of the burdens that weren’t meant for her young shoulders.
Katja hated to bring up the dreaded question, but she had to know. “Sibylle, did your daddy ever… hurt you?”
Sibylle shook her head, and Katja let out a short breath of relief.
“He scares me, though. I’m glad you locked him out.”
Katja squeezed her hand. “He scares me, too.”
A block from the school, Sibylle gently tugged her hand free. Katja spotted other kids walking, and smiled. Sibylle didn’t want to be seen holding her big sister’s hand. She understood.
Katy stopped and said, “I think you can make it from here.”
“I’ve been making the whole distance by myself all these years, Katja.”
“I know. I just like walking with you.” And until she was sure Horst wasn’t a danger, she’d keep walking her. “I’ll see you after school, okay?”
The late autumn morning chill was lifting, and Katja welcomed the warmth of the sun’s rays poking through the remnants of the clouds from yesterday’s storm. When she reached her building, she heard someone call her name. She recognized the voice and had wondered how long it would be until she ran into him.
“Hi, Niklas,” she said, forcing a small smile. Niklas Reinhardt hadn’t changed much. Still thin with a scruffy beard on his chin. He wore work overalls and had grease marks on his arms and hands. A cigarette with a long ash hung out the side of his mouth.
“I heard you were back,” he said. He tossed his cigarette an
d ground it with his boot. “Pulled a good one on your old man.”
“Nice to see you, too.” She tugged on the door to her building.
“Hey, wait, Katja. We should go out sometime. Like old times.” Niklas leaned against his van and flicked his hair back. He smiled crookedly. “Hey?”
Katja couldn’t believe she spent two years of her life hanging onto this guy. That she actually let him touch her. She cringed inwardly. “I don’t think so.”
Niklas huffed and opened his van door. “You go away for six months, and you’re a hot shot now?”
“Too hot for you.” She went inside and headed upstairs with the sound of Niklas’s van roaring to life behind her. She took a deep breath, readying herself for her next task. Surprisingly, her mother was actually ready, dressed in a clean blouse and skirt. The swelling in her face had receded a little, but her skin remained a deep purple.
Katja smiled. “You look good.” At least, as good as someone who got beat up the day before could look. “Before we go to the doctor we have to go to the police station. I know you don’t want to…”
“I do, Katja.” She blinked back tears. “I heard him last night, pounding at the door. I was so afraid he’d get in and kill us all. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let anything else bad happen to you girls.”
Katja took her mother by the arm. “Good. We’ll do this together.”
They spent much of the morning filling out paperwork. An officer took several pictures of Gisela’s face to document the injuries. She looked so vulnerable, standing there, unsmiling as the camera flashed. Katja’s heart ached for her mother, sad for her hard life. They were doing the right thing by pressing charges. Things would get better for her family if they stayed strong, she was sure of it.
“We’re going to the doctor next,” Katja informed the clerk. “I’ll have the physician forward her report.”
Horst was in jail, and though Katja didn’t know how long he’d be detained, they now had a restraining order. Horst wasn’t allowed in the building where they lived or anywhere on that block. Katja was determined to make a point of letting all her neighbors know and to get them to promise her they’d call the police if they ever saw him again.