“OK.”
“I love you. I have to go now.”
“OK. Bye.”
She ends the call, wipes away a stubborn tear. Breathes in. Breathes out.
She racks her brain. It’s fifteen years since they met. Back then, when they first fell in love, they would spend all day in bed. Make love ten times a day, until their skin was raw. That was love, wasn’t it? But it had been so long now. She thinks about it. Maybe only once since Tyra was born. She’s a mess down there now, after three kids, so maybe it isn’t a good idea after all? It wouldn’t be very nice for either of them.
She frowns.
Only once since Tyra was born?
That can’t be true.
She crawls into bed and lies close to Tyra, right up against her. The way she used to lie next to Willie. Up close, with her nose to his neck. Tyra smells both sweet and sour. The hair at the nape of her neck is damp and curly. Like Willie’s curls. He’s a part of her.
She phones him back.
“Yeah?” he says brusquely.
“I love you too.”
“I know. Of course, what we have is true love. I’ve never said any different.”
“And we’re still in love, aren’t we?”
“Yes, of course we are.”
“Good.”
“Get some sleep now. Rest.”
“OK. I will.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know if it’s the right Allan.”
“Thanks!”
“I’m doing this for your sake. I’d do anything for you. Remember that.”
“That’s love.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
34
A strong smell of urine hits her as she opens the door to Doris’s room. Doris is lying on her side in bed, and the nurses are busy changing the sheets.
“They dropped the bag,” Doris mouths, wrinkling her nose, bothered by the stench.
“You spilled pee in her bed?” Jenny hisses at the nurses.
“Yes, there was . . . it was an accident. We’re just cleaning up.”
“Isn’t she going to have a shower?”
Doris’s hair is flat again. Her pink dress is a damp heap on the floor. While she waits for the standard white hospital gown, her body is covered by a towel, which is far too small.
“According to the schedule, she’s due for a shower tomorrow.”
“But she’s covered in piss!”
“We’ll clean her up with wet wipes. If she has a shower, it takes more staff.”
“I don’t give a damn what it takes! If you spill urine on a patient, you’ll just have to ignore the schedule!”
In embarrassed silence, the nurses start to clean Doris. Then one of them stops.
“Sorry. You’re absolutely right, of course she should have a shower. Do you think you could help us?”
Jenny nods and pushes Tyra, who is sleeping in her stroller, over to the wall. Together, Jenny and the nurses lift Doris into a shower chair and then push her into the bathroom. Her head hangs; she doesn’t have the energy to hold it upright. Jenny carefully washes her with soap.
“We’ll fix your hair again.”
“The old lady won’t die ugly,” Doris whispers.
“No, the old lady won’t die ugly. I promise. Though you’ve never been ugly. You’re the most beautiful person I know.”
“Now you’re lying.” Doris sounds out of breath. When they lift her back into bed, she falls asleep right away. Jenny places a hand on her forehead.
“How is she?”
“Her pulse is weak. Her heart is still fighting, but it might not be able to manage for much longer. We’re probably talking days now.”
Jenny leans forward and rests her cheek against Doris’s. The way she used to as a child while they sat on the sofa in New York. Suddenly, she’s that little girl again. Rootless, insecure. And Doris is her life jacket, keeping her head above the surface.
“Please, you can’t leave me,” she whispers, kissing her forehead. Doris sleeps on, one rattling breath at a time. Tyra wakes up and starts whimpering. Jenny lifts her and holds her, but the girl squirms and Jenny lowers her to the floor. Jenny partly lies down on the bed next to Doris. Close, close. Deep breaths.
“You need to keep an eye on your daughter.” A nurse comes into the room with Tyra in her arms. “Hospitals are full of dangerous things.”
Jenny nods, flashes the nurse an apologetic look. Takes the girl and hands her a bag of candy. Tyra smacks her lips happily. Jenny puts her back into the stroller and fastens the belt around her.
“Sit there awhile, please. Sit there. I have to . . .”
“Is she causing trouble?” Doris whispers, barely audible.
“Hello, are you awake? How are you feeling? You fell asleep after your shower.”
“I’m very tired.”
“We don’t need to talk if you don’t feel up to it.”
“I want to tell you. Everything I didn’t have time to write down. And answer your questions.”
“Oh, there are so many, I don’t know where to begin. You’ve written so little about your years with Gösta.”
“Twenty years.”
“Yeah, you lived together for so long. Did he take care of you? Was he kind? Did you love him?”
“Yes, like a father.”
“You must have been so sad when he died.”
“Yes.” Doris nods and closes her eyes. “It was almost like losing an arm.”
“What happened, how did he die?”
“He just got old. He died a long time ago, in the sixties.”
“When I was born?”
“Just before. When someone beloved dies, another is born.”
“And you inherited all of his things?”
“Yes. His apartment, a bit of furniture, and his paintings. I sold the big ones over the years; they slowly became worth a lot of money. That’s what I lived on all the years after his death. And I continued to write pieces for women’s magazines here and there. Some of that money went to your mom.”
“Those paintings sell for millions today.”
“Just think, if Gösta had known.”
“He would have been happy. Proud.”
“I don’t know, it was never money that motivated him. But he could have gone back to Paris if the paintings had started to sell sooner. We could have gone together.”
“Would you have wanted that?”
“Yes.”
“He probably knows he found success. Maybe he’s an angel up there, and you’ll get to see him soon.” She picks up one of Doris’s porcelain angels from the bedside table and holds it out to her.
“He was so afraid of dying. Back then, in those days, they said that homosexuals didn’t get into heaven. He believed it.”
“Was he religious?”
“Not publicly. But in private. Like all of us.”
“If heaven exists, Gösta will be there waiting for you.”
“We can have a party.” Doris gasps for air as she tries to laugh.
“You’re so wonderful. It’s so good to hear your laugh. It keeps me going. It’s always there, inside me. I can call it up whenever I need it.”
“Marshmallow war.”
“Yes, you remember!” Jenny laughs at the memory. “In the kitchen, with that table we didn’t have room for. You, me, and Mom. We laughed so much. And ate. My stomach ached all evening.”
“A bit of silliness does you good.”
Jenny nods and strokes Doris’s hair with her palm. The strands are as soft as a baby’s.
“Let’s make your hair nice again.”
Doris falls asleep as Jenny winds her hair onto the rollers. Her breathing is heavy. Tyra has finished her candy but Jenny ignores her restlessness. She continues to comb and roll. Only when a nurse draws her attention to the crying child does she finally lift her into her arms.
35
The phone is ringing.
Jenny fumbles for it in the darkness.
Tyra murmurs in her sleep.
“Hello?” she whispers sleepily, afraid that the call is from the hospital.
“Jenny, get online so we can Skype!”
“What?”
“I’m sitting here with Allan. He is the right one. He’s old and sick, just like Doris. But he remembers her. He started to cry when I told him she was still alive.”
Jenny sits bolt upright, her heart pounding and her ears ringing. Allan!
“You found him!”
“Yes! Are you with Doris? If not, go now!”
“It’s the middle of the night, but I’ll head over.”
“Take a cab, hurry.”
“OK, I’ll call when we get there.”
She leaps out of bed and runs to the bathroom. Splashes some cold water on her face, pulls on yesterday’s clothes, and calls a taxi. Drops her laptop into the changing bag and wraps a blanket around Tyra. The girl mumbles as she is lifted into the stroller, but she doesn’t wake. Not even while bouncing down the stairs on its back wheels. The taxi is waiting outside. She transfers Tyra into the car as the driver folds up the stroller and puts it in the trunk. They drive through the Stockholm night without speaking. Old love songs are playing on the radio. “Purple Rain”—she knows the words by heart and smiles at the memories. There was a time when she and Willie still slow-danced in the kitchen, and he would hum the song in her ear. Close together, his erection pressing against her. Before the kids, before everyday life. When she gets home, she’ll play it for him. And they’ll dance.
“Is the little one sick?” The driver speaks up as he turns off the main road.
“No, we’re visiting someone. Could you just pull up by the main entrance?”
He nods and brakes gently. By the time she climbs out of the car with Tyra in her arms, he has already taken the stroller out and unfolded it. He nods to her.
“Hope everything is OK.”
She thanks him quickly, but she is too stressed to smile.
When Jenny runs into the room, Doris is awake, her eyes clear and her face not quite so pale as it was earlier. Thankfully, Jenny didn’t encounter any nurses on the way in.
“You’re awake!” Jenny whispers so as not to wake the other patients.
“Yes.” Doris gives her a broad smile.
“I have a surprise for you. We need to get you into your dress and move you into the corridor.” She releases the brake and rolls the bed toward the door. A nurse appears, her eyes wild.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Jenny shushes her and continues to move the bed. The nurse follows, obviously agitated.
“What are you doing? You can’t just . . . Do you know what time it is?”
“Just let us stay here for a bit. It’s important. And no, it really can’t wait. I know the others are sleeping; this way, we won’t wake them.”
She pushes the bed into a corner of the day room and flashes the nurse a rushed smile. The nurse shakes her head and turns on her heel without a word. Jenny pulls the dress out of the changing bag. It’s still slightly damp from Jenny’s hand-washing.
“What are we doing, Jenny? Are we going to a party?”
Jenny laughs. “It’s a surprise, I told you. But yes, you could say that.”
She gently combs through Doris’s hair and powders her cheeks with a little blush.
“Lipstick too.” Doris purses her lips.
Jenny mixes pink and beige until she finds a shade she knows Doris will like, and then she paints the lipstick onto the dry, thin lips. She sits on the edge of the bed with the laptop on her knee. She can’t hold back any longer.
“Dossi, he’s alive!”
“What? Who’s alive? What are you talking about?”
“We have, or Willie has . . . we’ve found Allan.”
Doris startles, and stares at Jenny. “Allan!” She sounds terrified.
“He wants to see you, to talk to you on Skype. Willie is with him now. I just need to call them.” She opens the silver lid of the laptop.
“No! He can’t see me like this.” Doris’s eyes dart nervously, her cheeks flushing. Apparently the blusher was unnecessary.
“He’s old too, and dying. This is your last chance. You have to be brave and take it.”
“But what if . . .”
“What if what?”
“What if he isn’t how I remember him? What if I’m disappointed? Or what if he is?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Take the risk. I’m going to call them now.”
Doris pulls the blanket up to her chin. Jenny pulls it back down.
“You look beautiful. Trust me.”
She clicks Willie’s name and the program calls him. He answers immediately.
“Jenny, Doris, hello.” Willie grins and waves. The dark circles beneath his eyes reveal how little sleep he has had lately. “Are you ready?”
Jenny nods. Willie turns the computer screen to face a man sitting in a dark-brown armchair. Doris gazes at the screen. His hands are clasped in his lap. His feet rest on a footstool, and a red blanket covers his legs. His face is furrowed, his cheeks sunken. His jacket hangs unevenly on his thin shoulders. Just like it used to in Paris. His shirt is buttoned to the top, and the skin of his neck hangs loosely over the collar. He smiles and waves a gnarled hand, squints toward the screen. Willie leans forward.
“Turn on the camera, Jenny,” he says, placing the laptop on the old man’s knee.
Jenny glances up at Doris. She is staring straight into Allan’s eyes, her mouth half-open. When Jenny asks if she is ready, she nods eagerly.
Allan gives a start when he catches sight of the slender woman in the hospital bed.
“Oh, Doris,” he gasps, his voice sorrowful. He reaches out with a trembling hand, as if to touch her.
They sit in silence for a while. Jenny nods impatiently off-screen and gestures to Doris, to talk. Allan breaks the silence.
“I never forgot you, Doris.” Tears are rolling down his cheeks.
Doris reaches for the locket Jenny has hung around her neck. She tries to open it, but her fingers are too weak. Jenny helps her, and Doris holds the picture out to Allan. He squints to see and then laughs loudly.
“Paris,” he mumbles.
“Those few months were the best of my life.” Doris whispers these words to him, and her eyes well up. “I never forgot you either.”
“You’re still so incredibly beautiful.”
“The best months of my life. You —” Her voice breaks. Her eyes lose focus and roll. Jenny places a hand on her wrist to check the pulse. It’s weak.
“I searched for you,” she manages to whisper.
“I searched for you too. I wrote.”
“What happened? Where were you?”
“I stayed in Paris after the war. For years.”
Doris wipes her eyes. “And your wife?”
“She died in childbirth. The child too. I eventually remarried, after many years. I looked everywhere for you, I traveled to New York, I wrote letters. Eventually, there was nowhere left to look. Where did you go, where have you been all these years?”
“I left New York for you, traveled to Europe. I was planning to come to Paris, but France was still at war when I arrived, times were difficult. Eventually, I ended up in Sweden, in Stockholm.”
“I never stopped thinking about you. About our dinners, our walks . . . the car trip to Provence.”
Doris is silent, smiling fondly at the memories. Jenny sees the joy on the old woman’s face. Her eyes have suddenly come to life. Doris blows an unsteady kiss to Allan and continues:
“That night beneath the stars, do you remember it? That wonderful night!”
“When I kidnapped you from the fashion show.”
“Ah, you really didn’t. You waited patiently until I was finished; you were asleep on the grass outside the castle. Do you remember? I woke you with a kiss.”
“I remember. I remember every single step I took with you. It was the
time of my life.”
Doris’s voice weakens again, sounding sad. “You broke my heart in New York. Why did you do that, if you loved me so much?”
“I had no other choice, my love. You were the reason I went to Europe.”
“What do you mean? You said you were going because of the war. You left me behind!”
“I ran. I couldn’t look my wife in the eye once I knew you were in the same city. I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Leaving you both was my way of escaping.”
They look at each other in silence. In the background, they hear Willie clear his throat. Jenny leans forward to see whether he is onscreen, but it’s still just Allan. She pulls out her phone and sends a single red heart to Willie.
“And you’re still alive. I can’t believe it.” Doris lifts her fingers to the screen. He raises his hand to meet them.
“Oh, my love,” he mumbles.
“You’re so far away, why are you so far away?” Doris sniffs. “I wish I could be in your arms one last time. That you could hold me. Kiss me.”
“I can’t believe you’ve had my picture in your locket all these years. If only I’d known . . . We could have . . . We should have . . . Oh, Doris . . . All the children we were going to have. The life we were going to live together.” His head slumps into his hands, but he forces it up again. Tries to smile through his tears, his fingers still covering his face. “We’ll meet in heaven, my love. I’ll take care of you there. I love you, Doris. I’ve loved you every day since I first saw you. It’s always been us, in my heart it’s always been us.”
Allan’s words echo down the deserted corridor. Doris’s head is resting on the pillow, and she is struggling to keep her eyes open. She tries to talk, but makes half-stifled sounds.
Behind the screen, Jenny dries her tears. She leans over to the computer camera.
“Hello, Allan. I’m sorry, she’s so weak, I don’t think she can manage much more.”
“I can manage.” Doris finds her voice.
“You sleep, my love. I’ll stay here and watch you sleep. You’re still so beautiful. Just as beautiful as I remember. The most beautiful.”
“And you’re the same as ever, full of big words.” Doris smiles wearily.
“When it comes to you, there are no words big enough. Nothing could be more beautiful than you. Never has been.”
The Red Address Book Page 23