by Karin Nordin
‘Your granddaughter.’
‘Yes, yes. That’s a fine idea. Your mother would enjoy that.’
‘I’ll see you around, Dad.’
Stenar looked up from his book. A flash of unfamiliarity crossed his eyes and then he smiled. ‘Don’t take so long coming back, son.’
Epilogue
The sun peeked through the clouds on the E45 southbound and despite the fact that it was yet to officially arrive, Kjeld felt like he’d left winter behind him. Oskar howled in the back seat, carsick and starved for attention. Kjeld’s mobile phone dinged on the passenger seat and he glanced over to see that Esme had left him another voicemail. He’d barely been on the road for a few hours and this was already her third attempt to get ahold of him. He would call her back the next time he stopped for petrol.
It was still early and the road was all but deserted. Kjeld spent the straight stretches of highway thinking about Tove. He wanted to spend more time with her when he got home. He wanted to apologise for being absent. Not just to her, but to Bengt as well. He didn’t know how that would go. There was still a lot of animosity between the two of them, but Kjeld had the feeling that a lot of that resentment and bitterness had been on his part. A part of him hadn’t been willing to let go and it built up more bad blood between them than there had actually been. Perhaps if he had been able to accept that he’d made more mistakes in the relationship than Bengt, they would still be together. Instead he’d skewed his own perception and gave himself a reason to blame Bengt. He just hadn’t realised it until now. He knew he’d have to work at it. Bengt wouldn’t make it easy on him. He was protecting their daughter, after all. And, as much as Kjeld hated to admit it, Bengt was right. She’d needed protecting from Kjeld and his inability to dedicate his time to her.
But Kjeld was ready to change. He was prepared to make things good between them. It scared him, this desire to take on parental responsibility, but it scared him even more to think that there would come a time when it wasn’t necessary anymore. When it wouldn’t matter. He wanted to be her father before she was too old to realise she didn’t need him.
The icy shimmer of Lake Orsasjön beamed from the right and Kjeld slipped on a pair of sunglasses to block the glare. Just before reaching Mora he took the third roundabout exit and followed Route 70 instead. It would add a few hours to his trip home and possibly delay the official witness statement he was supposed to give on the Aubuchon case, but he’d made a promise that he’d drop off a business card at the Nordea Bank in Västerås. And it was time that Kjeld started fulfilling his promises. All of them.
He pressed the play button on the CD player. The whining blare of a solo trumpet rang out above the lilting backdrop of a piano and the slow thunking beat of an upright bass. When the rest of the band joined in at the refrain, Kjeld caught himself humming along with the rhythm. He’d listened to this song a hundred times before, but this was the first time he’d heard it. As far as smooth jazz went, it wasn’t half bad.
THE END
Acknowledgements
I still feel like this is a dream.
When I wrote this novel it was with the hope that just one person would read past the first page. I feel incredibly grateful that Sarah Goodey was the editor who not only gave this novel a chance, but helped turn it into something better than it was. As well as working on a very tight schedule to bring more depth to the characters and the story, she welcomed me into an amazing new family during one of the most challenging years of my life. A sincere thank you to Abigail Fenton for finding me in the open submissions pile and passing me on to her amazing team. A huge thanks to everyone at the HQ HarperCollins team for showing such an outpouring of enthusiasm and support for this novel, with specific thanks to those who worked on it directly to bring it to readers all over the world – Belinda Toor, Chris Sturtivant, Audrey Linton, Anna Sikorska, Kate Oakley, Anneka Sandher, Jo Kite, Becca Joyce, Kelly Webster, Sara Eusebi, Aisling Smyth, Tom Keane, and Lisa Milton.
To my first grade teacher who taught me how to read, my second grade teacher who helped me improve my reading, my third grade teacher who introduced me to stories above my reading level, and every teacher that followed who helped foster in me a love of reading and encouraged me to write.
Although I’ve been writing stories since before I can remember, it was my creative writing courses at various universities that put me on the path to finishing this book. To Robert Pope who saw merit in my early writing and taught me two of the most important lessons of the craft: 1) always include an animal in your story and 2) write because you love to write not because it’ll get you a job. The animals in this book are for you, Bob. To Jane Alexander and Miriam Gamble who were my dissertation advisers on what would become the first act of Where Ravens Roost. Without your inspiration and criticism this book never would have made it past the initial draft.
As much as a story is written in isolation, it is not improved by it. My utmost thanks to everyone who read the book in its earliest form and offered their suggestions for improvement. Particularly Rebecca Barker, who has not only been my best friend, but one of my strongest confidantes both in writing and in life. To Christine Delano, who has seen more versions of Kjeld than anyone else, and yet still took the time to read one more version of him and give me the hard truths of what was and wasn’t working well. To Pine Irwin, who has been reading my stories since the beginning and is still with me. You motivate me to keep going, even when I have trouble finding the words. To Zeena Price who not only offered me sincere advice on improving the plot, but also helped me adjust to my new life in a new country. To the 2019 graduating class of the University of Edinburgh’s MSc in Creative Writing by Distance Learning programme for critiquing two and a half years of my short story westerns only to have me switch genres in the last semester. A special thanks to two of my classmates, Melissa Dudek and Dayle Furlong, who stuck with me after the programme ended and convinced me to rewrite half the book. You were both right. Those chapters had to go.
Without my family’s support I don’t know if I would have ever gotten this far. To my mom who has been telling me since childhood how much she loves my writing. (Even though I know she’s just saying that because she’s my mom.) To my dad who has supported all of my crazy career decisions over the years. (I promise I’ll try to stick with this one for a while.) To Ronaldo who taught me to trust in other people. To Bonnie who has always treated me as one of her own. To my sisters, Kelly and Kristina, for challenging me in a way that only younger sisters can. To my cousin, Jessika Björklund, who answered my Swedish language questions. To my family in Norway and Sweden who opened my eyes to new cultures, languages, and landscapes that I fell in love with. To my family in the Netherlands, for supporting me during the most difficult adventure of my life and helping me find myself again.
A huge thanks also to the scientists, medical professionals, and researchers working tirelessly to find a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease. And to those, like myself, who have lost loved ones waiting for that cure.
But mostly thanks to Feiko, who loved me even at my worst, and made it possible for me to follow this dream.
And to my cat, Watson, who sat on my lap long enough for me to write a book.
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