The Third Sister

by Sara Blaedel

“No, don’t,” her mother called out. “We’ll sleep here, we’ll be fine. We came to be with you.”

  Ilka turned to her. “It’ll be a lot comfier for you down at the hotel, it’s right outside the marina, a great view.”

  “Nonsense. We’ll find a place to sleep here. We’ve thought about it, there must be lots of space in the room where you hold the services you told me about. All the sofas where the families sit. And we’ve seen it in the photos you’ve sent. We’ll be fine there.”

  Her tone of voice at the end settled it. If Ilka made any more of an issue of it, they would think she was throwing them out. “So, what about some tea?”

  They both nodded.

  Slowly, it was sinking in that her mother really and truly had shown up, that she was standing just a few feet away. Her thick gray hair lay flat against her neck from all the time on the plane and bus. She was wearing her favorite shawl and a colorful blouse, and her eyes were warm and sparkling as she talked and pointed around the high-ceilinged foyer. Ilka felt the warmth in her chest growing, until finally she rushed over and buried her nose in her mother’s hair, and for several moments Ilka hugged her, this woman who had traveled all this way to be with her. When she finally let go, her mother ran her hand through Ilka’s hair and told her everything was going to be fine. Ilka merely nodded, then she smiled at Jette and gave her a big hug too.

  “It’s good to see you,” her mother’s partner murmured, and again Ilka felt a surge of warmth.

  Ilka showed them the bathroom before putting water on to boil and taking down crackers and teacups from the cupboards. She hadn’t felt this way since arriving in Racine. The mere scent of her mother was enough; even though she was the last person Ilka wanted to drag into this enormous mess, Ilka felt a familiar sense of security.

  She led them into the reception and closed the curtains. “You should have told me you two were coming.” She set her steaming teacup down.

  “But I did! I wrote to you before we packed, I asked you if it was cold here.”

  “Cold?”

  Ilka remembered the message she’d received back when she was sitting in the hearse as Lydia walked out of sight on the highway. Back then she thought her mother was asking if she was keeping warm enough. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood you.”

  “It’s not easy to get hold of you, you know.” Her mother explained that she’d also called from the airport before leaving Copenhagen, to ask Ilka to find out where the bus left from. “But we managed ourselves. The bus trip wasn’t really so bad.”

  Ilka glanced over at Jette, who was obviously exhausted.

  The two women were the same age but very different in temperament. Her mother was full of life, sensitive, with an explosive temper. Outgoing and creative. Down-to-earth Jette took care of all the practical details, made sure things went the way they should. Ilka had always felt that nothing could really go wrong when Jette was around. She was compact but strong, energetic, and Ilka loved the woman for being there for her mother and keeping their lives on an even keel. They made a good pair. Her mother tossed up balls and Jette juggled them.

  Ilka studied the two of them. That’s how the trip had gone, she surmised: her mother full of enthusiasm, Jette taking care of the tickets, finding out which bus to take after landing in Chicago.

  Her mother blew on her tea. “We are so excited to meet Artie and the nun you’ve talked about.” She glanced around the reception. “It’s a nice place to greet people here, but it would help so much if it was more personal. Cozy. Something to make it look inviting. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have some indication of the Danish connection.”

  She sounded as if she’d come all this way just to inspect the funeral home. Ilka merely nodded. Her mother was actually right; the place wasn’t all that cozy and appealing after they’d taken away the large mirror and all the lamps, but anyway, what difference did it make now? The funeral home was out of business.

  “You can stay over in Sister Eileen’s apartment. She’s away, and it would definitely be more comfortable than the sofas in the memorial room. And you’ll have your own bathroom.”

  Her mother nodded. “Perfect.”

  “I should warn you, though, Leslie is staying here for the time being. She’s the older of my half sisters.”

  Her mother tilted her head. “They treated you so horribly at first. Wasn’t she the worst of them?”

  Ilka nodded vaguely.

  “Well, it’s wonderful that you’re getting along now.”

  Jette hadn’t touched her tea, and had in fact fallen asleep sitting up.

  “Come.” Ilka stood up and helped Jette to her feet.

  “Why in the world are you so sleepy?” her mother grumbled. “We slept on the bus!”

  “You slept,” Jette mumbled. She let Ilka take her suitcase and followed slowly, cautiously, as if she were afraid of dozing off on the way.

  Ilka let them in the nun’s apartment and pointed out the drawers Lydia had emptied. “I’ll bring over some comforters.”

  They also kept extra bedding in the washroom, and Ilka was on her way to fetch everything when her mother called out after her.

  “There’s a rollaway in here behind the wardrobe, and comforters and bedding in the dresser.”

  A rollaway. For guests. Lydia had been living a secret life, Ilka knew that, but the notion that she’d had people staying there overnight after Fernanda and Ethan moved out surprised her.

  “Do you think she’ll mind us using her bedding?”

  “No, not at all. Go ahead, put it on.”

  Her mother had opened her suitcase, and the first thing she brought out looked like a black suit, which wasn’t at all what she usually wore. Her mother loved deep colors such as green, purple, Bordeaux, rust, but Ilka had seldom seen her in black. Or anything that resembled a suit, for that matter. She knitted most of her clothes herself.

  “What do you think?” She waved the black skirt around and said it was the type of thing she wore back when she was struggling to keep the funeral home on Brønshøj Square afloat. “We found it in a Red Cross shop. Jette has one too.”

  Ilka stared at her. “You’re going to wear that?”

  Her mother hung the skirt up. “Only here at the funeral home. It’s just a uniform. An undertaker’s uniform.”

  “But the funeral home is closed. I tried to sell it, but I couldn’t, and we had to close it down. Everything went exactly as you said it would. I ended up with an enormous debt.”

  Her mother had advised her not to go to Racine, fearing that even after his death Ilka’s father would pull her down into a bottomless pit. And she’d been right. It hadn’t been easy for Ilka to call and tell her mother that she was coming home with a debt of several million kroner, if they even let her out of the country.

  She looked away. Now that her father wasn’t dead after all, she assumed his will would be nullified and the worst of her financial problems would disappear, but right then she couldn’t start explaining everything to her mother. Once again, Lydia and the bag with all that money crossed her mind. The money could easily have covered what her father owed the IRS, but instead she’d let Artie use his entire savings to buy Ilka some time. Now Artie was in a situation where he desperately needed his money. Her anger with Lydia flared up again.

  Suddenly she was aware of her mother speaking to her. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I just said that we’ll get this business on its feet so we can sell it for a reasonable price. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Even though I swore I was through with carrying coffins.”

  Her mother sounded enthusiastic as she stuffed the comforter into its cover. It seemed as if thinking about the project ahead of them was energizing her.

  “I thought you hated the funeral home business,” Ilka said.

  Her mother nodded. “But we’re always here to help you, you know that. And I won’t have your father ruining your life like he did mine.”

  Oh boy, Ilka thou
ght. “I don’t think it’s going to be so easy,” she mumbled.

  “My idea is to give the business a Danish feel, make it cozy, emphasize Danish history. Because that’s what we can do that others can’t. And anyway, Danish hygge is so popular nowadays. You have to stand out in some way to attract customers. Our driver agreed with me.”

  “Gregg.” Ilka nodded.

  “Yes, Gregg. He knew Paul, and he also offered to help if we needed an extra hand. In fact, it sounded as if he wouldn’t mind having something to do again. I think he needs to be around people and feel useful.”

  Ilka wondered how they possibly could have covered all that during the relatively short drive from the square downtown to the funeral home, but that was typical of her mother. People opened up the minute they met her.

  “But Mom, the funeral home is closed.”

  Her mother had finished hanging all her clothes up, and she turned to Ilka now. “It never pays to sell a business that’s been shut down. When we get it up and going, it will be a much more attractive investment, and we’ll get a good price for it. I’ve googled the other funeral homes in town, and honestly, they all look depressing. Just wait, we’ll get those customers back.”

  Ilka gave up.

  Her mother pushed her own suitcase under the bed and started unpacking Jette’s things. “It was so lucky for us that Gregg came by just as the bus left. Getting a taxi in this town isn’t easy, it seems. And we don’t have that Uber thing installed on our phones, but Jette says it’s probably a good idea to figure out how it works.”

  Ilka could hear that her mother was running out of gas, and she took the opportunity to say good night when Jette came out of the bathroom in her nightgown.

  Jette nodded at Ilka then climbed into bed and rolled over to the side close to the wall. She pulled the comforter up and covered her head.

  “We’ll have to find something to liven up the walls in the reception,” her mother continued.

  Ilka stepped over and gave her a kiss. “We’ll look at it in the morning. Call me when you wake up, I’ll come down and let you in.”

  “You can just leave the door unlocked, so we don’t need to disturb you.”

  “This is America,” Ilka said, trying not to sound harsh. “We lock the doors, and you need to over here too.”

  Her mother nodded and followed Ilka to the door. She was clearly exhausted now; it was six in the morning in Denmark, and she wasn’t used to traveling.

  “I hope you both get a good, long night’s sleep.” Suddenly Ilka wished she was staying there with them. She shut the door behind her and waited until she heard the door lock click. Moments later the light in the small living room vanished.

  She walked across the parking lot and let herself in. Her mother showing up had brought out that old familiar feeling in Ilka of being safe and warm, but it also terrified her. As if she somehow was more vulnerable simply because her mother and Jette were there. She trudged up to the second floor, stopping for a moment outside her father’s room to put her ear to the door, but it was quiet inside. She would have to smuggle him out before her mother and Jette got up.

  17

  The rain pounding against the window woke Ilka. For a moment she lay listening in a daze until everything came rushing back to her. Her mother and Jette had flown over. They were here. In Racine.

  Ilka rolled out of bed and slipped into her pants, which she’d left on the floor the night before. She felt listless. Her dreams had kept shifting scenes; one moment she stood in panic in an empty office in the hospital, trying to convince the administrators that accidents could happen, the next she was watching Lydia disappear down a long, straight stretch of highway, carrying her bag. Her back had grown smaller and smaller, until at last the light swallowed it up.

  She jerked a thick sweater down over her head, flung the storage room door open, took one step out onto the landing, and froze: Her father’s door was open. She stuck her head in and noticed the curtains were open and the bed made. She glanced at the portable alarm clock on the windowsill. It was almost nine thirty.

  She cursed herself under her breath—why hadn’t she set her alarm? Her mother and Jette had been up for hours, no doubt about that. Her palms turned sweaty as she headed down the stairs. At the bottom step she ran into the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. But she couldn’t hear any voices. Only the coffeemaker bubbling out in the kitchen.

  She strode in and noticed the thermos was gone. Empty bakery sacks rested on the table, and that made her nervous. She walked past the arrangement room, to the doorway leading to the reception, where once more she stopped in surprise. Lydia’s desk had been converted into a sort of breakfast table. Her father had laid out plates of kringles and rolls, peanut butter, and several jars of jam, and set the table for five. He sat at the end of the table and smiled at Ilka from behind the morning paper.

  She remembered asking her mother to call when they woke up so she could let them inside, but now she noticed her phone was on mute. Fortunately, no messages or calls had come in. She turned off the mute. “This is a surprise! So, you’ve decided to be here when they come in.” She glanced around the table.

  Her father nodded, but she saw the doubt in his eyes. She clearly wasn’t the only one worried about how this would go.

  “I should have given your mother an explanation years ago. I owed her that. But I’m a coward and a scaredy-cat. And the way things turned out, well, suddenly it became too difficult. I’m not going to run away today. Last night was just so overwhelming, hearing her voice again. I heard all of you talking down here, but I just needed time to get myself settled.”

  Ilka noticed that, though he hadn’t forgotten how to speak Danish, many of his words sounded odd.

  “I’m so ashamed at the way I treated both of you. And it’s time for me to face up to it.”

  She nodded. He had the same expression on his face as when he had spoken about Leslie earlier: dejected, but also resolute. As if he was determined to do what was demanded of him.

  “Honesty,” he said. “You’re better off being honest.”

  A spike of anger shot up through Ilka, but she pressed her lips together and kept it down with a shake of her head. “I think I’d better prepare them for this, that you’re not dead. So you don’t scare them to death.”

  But it was too late. She heard her mother yelling out a hello.

  “How did they get in?” Ilka asked. She glanced at the table, wishing she could make the food, the plates, the coffee, everything disappear.

  “I left the back door open when I got back from the bakery.”

  “For God’s sake! Lucky for us it’s not the Rodriguez brothers standing out in the hall yelling!”

  Jette walked in first, followed by Ilka’s mother, who wore a turquoise sweater, a gold-colored necklace, comfortable shoes, and an enormous smile. “We thought about walking into town to get a sense of the atmosphere, talk to people.”

  She spread her arms to give Ilka a big hug. “I’ve seen there’s a café that’s also a secondhand store. We’ll have a look. Maybe we can find something nice for out here. Would you like to go with us?”

  Jette had stopped in the doorway and was staring at Ilka’s father and the table set for breakfast.

  Her mother was still walking over to Ilka when she caught sight of her ex-husband, who had folded up and set aside his newspaper and was standing up.

  “Who’s this?” Her mother’s arms fell.

  “It’s Dad,” Ilka said.

  Her mother stared at him and began backing up slowly, with tiny steps, until she was out of the reception.

  The three of them stood frozen; Ilka had never experienced a silence as loud as that moment. Then her mother walked back in.

  “Why aren’t you dead?” she said. It was an accusation.

  Jette’s fingers dug into Ilka’s arm as she drew her off to the side. “How long have you known?”

  “Only a few days,” Ilka answered quietly.

  Je
tte turned and stepped toward him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve caused?” she said in a dark, distorted voice Ilka barely recognized. “Do you know what it cost Karin, you abandoning her the way you did? Do you have any idea how much pain is involved with a betrayal like that? No, obviously you don’t, otherwise you would never have put someone in that situation, and certainly not the mother of your child.”

  All the while she was waving her arms in the air in disgust and indignation. “And anger. It is so self-centered to force such anger on another person. Karin isn’t an angry person, but you forced it on her. You made her angry. And she nearly strangled in that anger for so many years. You not only destroyed her love, you destroyed her trust in life. You are to blame for her becoming bitter, for living in sorrow. That’s all on you. You—”

  Ilka’s mother stepped over and laid a hand on Jette’s shoulder. “Jette. Let’s give Paul a chance to speak.”

  Jette was quivering with rage underneath her blue, round-necked sweatshirt. Ilka knew her mother’s partner would never forgive her father for Karin’s suffering. She felt sorry for Jette. She was the one who had listened patiently with loving care every time her mother had unloaded another bitter story about her ex. She was the one who had picked up the pieces that were Karin and slowly put them together again. In fact, she was the one who had defended her father to a degree over the years, claiming there might be a side to the story they weren’t aware of.

  Ilka walked around the table and pulled out a chair for Jette, then gestured to her mother to have a seat while she went out for the coffee. On her way back, she heard Jette, at it again.

  “I just cannot understand how you could do this. To a person who loved you so much.”

  Ilka’s mother shushed her again. “This is Jette,” she explained. “We live together.”

  Ilka’s father was back in his chair. She handed him a cup of coffee. He set it down and rolled his sleeves up, as if he needed to get himself ready for action in the midst of Jette’s barrage. But he hadn’t looked away. Several times he’d nodded, seemingly agreeing with every word she belted him with.