Like anchors, my legs slow down after only a few sprints. I force them to run, repeatedly, but they refuse to move as fast as I want them to.
Come on!
I open Nana’s front door with a bang. She’s in the kitchen with a wine glass of water in her hand, her eyes wide. “What on earth?”
Desperate to catch my breath, I heave myself up the stairs to my bedroom, yelling down to her. “Dad’s at Mom’s house. I’m calling the police.” Grabbing the phone from my bed, I dial the number.
Pick up! Pick up!
I descend to the ground floor, still waiting for the police to answer, and hang up when I hear Nana’s voice from the hallway. “My daughter is in danger.” She gives the address. “The police are on their way.”
I run out to the BMW I now use from Skar’s after selling the Porsche, and speed down the street to make sure to stop Dad if he tries to drive off. Racing through the forest, I slow down, turning off the lights, closing in on the house, and park behind a tree. Creeping out the door, I ease it shut, then sneak back up to the house. I lean up towards the window to keep an eye on them until the police arrive. But the house is empty.
Where are you?
A voice asks from behind, “What are you doing?”
I fall to the ground, covering my face with both arms until I recognize the voice.
What the hell?
My attempt to whisper fails and I sound like Gollum shouting. “Josefine! What are you doing?”
She squats down to my level while chuckling. “What am I doing? I’m not the one who almost ran me over with her fancy car and am spying through my mother’s window.”
I don’t have time for this. “Dad’s back,” I say.
The color drains from her face. “Here?”
“No, in Africa. Why do you think I’m down on the ground? Now stop talking. I lost sight of them before you showed up.”
Familiar voices come from the garden down by the water, and we both spy around the corner of the house. Moonlight illuminates Mom’s laughing face, and Dad is gesticulating something. Keeping close to the house wall, I keep my eyes on them. With both hands in the pockets of his shorts, Dad looks like a schoolboy tilting back and forth on his feet. Mom strokes his arm, flirting.
Holding my breath, I can make out some of their conversation. It’s his stupid joke about why people can’t park their cars straight.
Jesus. Why is this funny to you, Mom? You used to hate this joke.
Dad points to a red bay boat tied to the shore. Mom grins.
“If you think it’s beautiful now, wait until we get out to sea,” Dad says.
Josefine whispers in my ear. “Why isn’t she running from him?”
I roll my eyes. “Memory loss, remember?”
Crap.
That means Mom only recalls Dad from before they had me when they were dating. She doesn’t know his evil side. “She must think he’s an old flame or something.”
I grab onto the corner of the house, my fingernails digging into the white paint. I can’t let him take her away in his boat. What if he throws her overboard, kidnaps her?
“We need a plan,” I say. I turn around to Josefine only to see her storm past me.
“He’s dangerous!” Josefine is screaming, running across the lawn with her arms waving in the air.
This is no plan!
I sprint after her, screaming so loud my voice breaks. “Don’t go with him!”
Josefine stops by Mom, while I dive into Dad’s body. “Leave her alone!”
He falls backward, and I land on the grass next to him. Like a crazed animal, I claw my fingers into the ground and jump him again. Police sirens ring through the air. A hand grabs my arm.
Yes, Josefine. Let’s get him!
But it’s not her. It’s Mom, desperately trying to pull me off Dad, screaming at me. “Are you crazy?”
Me?
Josefine is pulling on her, screaming. “He’s the crazy one.”
Dad flicks me off, running towards the boat. I run after, grabbing onto his leg. He shakes it, dragging me with him.
“Let me go, Amalie.” His voice is so stern that I do. Like a reflex, I listen to him instead of myself. No! I throw myself at him again, and we both fall over on the side of his boat. A blow strikes my head. A ringing sound, and as if I’m in a vacuum, I’m drifting away. I lose my grip. The sound of the boat engine roaring is the last thing I hear.
“Amalie?”
A hand squeezes mine. I blink rapidly to get a clear vision of who it is and wince when Josefine’s blue-lined eyes stare down at me. I panic and look around. “Where’s Dad?”
“Gone. He knocked you out. Celina’s with the police now explaining how we ruined her day.” She rolls her eyes. “She has no recollection at all. It’s insane. I don’t get how you can be around her like this.”
I turn my head. Mom stands in the driveway with the two police officers who interviewed me at the hospital. She appears to be screaming at them, pointing in my direction.
“Did you tell them he might kidnap her? That she was in danger?” I roll over to my side, and she holds out her hand for me to grab onto. “Thanks.”
“I tried. Celina refused. I even said it was him who beat her up, which she also denied, saying she hadn’t seen him in years.”
It’s like my heart is beating in my head, thumping in pain. The last time Dad beat me unconscious, I could hardly walk. Standing, it only takes me a second to confirm I’m in no shape to walk home without help. Staring down at my legs, I grit my teeth. Had I only run faster, been able to hold him. He shouldn’t have so much power over me that I let go at his command. If I hadn’t, Dad would be behind bars now.
Josefine sighs. “Let me get you home. Celina’s not thrilled about us being here. No restraining order or anything, but she’s told me to leave as soon as you’re able to. So…”
“What do you mean restraining order? I’m not the danger here.” My voice is shaking at the thought.
She thinks I’m dangerous.
Mom seems to be calming down. The policewoman, Clara I think her name was, is walking down to Josefine and me.
“Please tell me you had a boat waiting and he’s in jail by now?” My voice is frail. So is my balance, which Josefine notices and takes my arm to support me.
Thank you.
Clara flips a page in her notebook. “Did you see the boat?”
Are you serious?
You’ve been looking for my father for weeks, and Nana told you he’d be here.
What do you do?
I want to scream, and although I’m sure it won’t help by now, I explain in a calm voice. “He’s in a red medium-sized day cruiser.” It can’t be that hard to find since most boats are white with a navy stripe on the side.
Clara writes down what I’m saying, and asks me to sign at the bottom. “I’m sorry to say that the police boat we do have was already in pursuit, so we’ve been unable to locate your father or the boat he ran away in. But be patient, we’ll find him.”
Patient.
Like my grandmother is disgusted by the word artist, showing the police patience now makes my mouth water as if preparing to throw up. “Can we go now?”
Josefine nods. “I texted Johan. He should be here any minute to drive you to Nana.”
Although the entire town knows my Nana as Nana, I don’t usually like Josefine referring to her like that. Nana isn’t her family. I look at Josefine who’s supporting me up towards the road, her concentration on making sure I’m all right, then at Mom staring daggers my way.
Right now, you can call Nana whatever you like.
“Who’s Johan?”
As if I’ve shot off a gun, Josefine stops dead, forcing me to do the same. Her eyebrows lift. “My boyfriend? I’ve talked about him every day since we started working together.”
It must have been to someone else; she’s confusing me with Ms. Berg, or someone else. I’ve never heard about a Johan before.
Oh, ye
s, I have.
“Not Johan, the criminal?”
Josefine laughs. “I guess you hurt your head pretty bad. He’s not a criminal because he’s got tattoos. He’s kind, and…”
“Sure he is.” He’s also a player.
I’ve seen him with other girls when you’ve left your shift at The Bluebird.
“You can do better,” I say.
Or, well. You can try.
The male police officer calls for Clara. Mom’s striking her finger down in my direction as if releasing a whip.
Calm down. We’re leaving.
The ground appears to be spinning. Walking home to Nana seems an impossible task.
A black rusty coupe parks by the house and Johan exits the car. “Come, I’ll help you,” he says and wraps his arm around my waist.
Didn’t he crash a car one time?
“Please drive carefully,” I say.
Johan nods, and I slide into the back seat, Josefine next to me making sure I’m all right.
He does drive slowly, and when we get to Nana’s, Josefine helps me up to my room. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.
Nana has ice ready, and when she leaves us, I’m still trying to figure out what is going on with Josefine. “If Johan’s your boyfriend, does that mean you’re not interested in William anymore?”
“That snob?” She laughs out loud, so my head rings. “What on earth makes you think I’ve been interested in him? Besides, you like him. I’d never go after a man you’re interested in.”
Josefine actually sounds sincere.
“I don’t know,” I say. Perhaps I imagined her flirting all along. Thinking back, she’d never made a move on William, she even warned me about him, which I took as competition. A contest I invented and acted on. “I should rest,” I say, embarrassed.
She leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I wonder if I’ve judged her all wrong from the beginning.
Maybe she’s actually nice.
The next day, my head feels like it’s stuck in a beehive, so I call Josefine. “I’m not able to work. Can you please cover for me?”
And thank you for helping me. Why is that so hard for me to say?
“Sure,” she says. Mr. Jensen is in the background calling out something. “He’s telling me to tell you to take the time you need to take care of yourself.”
I sigh. “Tell him thanks.” And now I should thank her too, I think. “And Josefine?”
“Yeah?”
I clear my throat to say the words but can’t get them out, as if I’m programmed to never show gratitude towards her.
Why is it so difficult?
It’s almost like I’m admitting she’s better than me by thanking her, which has nothing to do with it. Come to think of it, she probably is, even though she dresses wrong and wears too much makeup. It’s a struggle, but I have to tell her. “Thank you.”
What is wrong with me?
“Anytime. That’s what friends are for. I have to run. Feel better and don’t worry about work, I’ll cover for you for as long as you need.”
She hangs up.
Thank you.
William sits in a chair by the window when I wake up the next morning, his elbows on his knees with a cup of coffee between his hands. He stares into space, not aware of me watching him. The muscles in his upper arms act like they want to press through his green sweater, his leg shaking.
“Hi,” I say.
He puts his coffee down on the floor, and walks over to me, pulling me into his chest, holding me tight. “I’ve been so worried.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushes me an arm’s length away, studying my face. “He hit you in the head?”
Longing for him to hold me again, I point to my temple. “It seems to be his favorite target.” I hold my arms out, but he eases me down onto my pillow.
“You should lay down.” He walks over to the chair where he was sitting and lifts an extra cup. Black?”
I smile, and he sits down on my bedside and hands it to me. I sip the lukewarm coffee while he talks.
“The police seem completely incompetent,” he says, and rants on in frustration about Dad not in jail, Mom not remembering, me not well, and Nana having cancer. I’m relieved he’s angry. Unable to follow everything he says, my mind spaces out, and for the first time in a long time, I’m calm. His anger takes away from my need to be, as if he’s giving me a break from it, taking on that responsibility for us both.
“I can tell you’re tired. Do you want me to drive Nana to the hospital on Friday?”
His question jolts me back to reality. “What day is it today?”
“Tuesday. We should get you to the hospital too,” he says.
No. I’m not sick.
It’s as if my body is taking the opportunity to recharge. I know sick, this is not it. This is exhausted. “I’ll drive her.”
Three days later, Nana’s operation day has arrived. My dizziness has passed, so I drive her to the hospital after convincing her for about an hour I’m up for it.
In the car, she stares out the window, at the dark clouds rolling in. “What a beautiful day for surgery.”
I can’t speak. I drive in silence, past forests and fields with rolls of hay, continually thinking of what I will do if she dies.
I can’t lose her too.
She gets her own room, where the surgeon comes to assure her before the surgery. A tall woman, gray hair, and long slender fingers. Perfect for her job, or playing the piano, I think to myself. I ask the doctor. “Will it hurt?”
“Not at all,” Nana says.
The doctor nods. “She’ll be asleep.”
“When the nurses roll her out, Nana looks at me, her eyes wet. “Let go, Amalie. Follow your dream.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I say. With Dad’s return and Nana’s cancer, I can’t leave. I just don’t have the heart to tell her before the surgery.
Like an abused dog, she bows her head while they push her wheelchair out the door.
I head to the waiting area to get some coffee where William sits on the black couch with a grin on his face and roses on his lap.
You know I don’t like roses.
“I have to show you a house I found for us.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and places the flowers on the seat next to him. “I figured with your Dad back, and Nana sick, you wouldn’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Show me the house instead,” I say. Explaining it will only make it more real, and realizing I’m giving up on Porto is not something I want.
“We have to do some refurbishing, but I think it’s perfect.” William hands me his phone, ready with pictures of a white house with a red roof.
I swipe to the next image, capturing the house from behind overlooking the ocean. It’s one and a half stories, and swiping through room after room, they all need work. “This will take us a long time to…”
“It’s a steal.” William swipes over to the floor plans. “This could be our room, and this an office, or maybe…He pauses. His lips pull up, staring at me for my reaction. “… a child’s room?”
Like someone threw a bucket of ice water over my head, I drop the phone in his lap. This is what Mom had said. What Nana didn’t want for me. If I get pregnant, that would be my life. Mom doesn’t even remember me; what would she be to that child? My hand moves to my throat. “This is too much too soon. I’m not ready to talk about children.”
He tucks his phone away and skootches away from me. “I’m sorry. I want a family, and I know that’s what you want too. So, I just got a bit excited.”
You have no clue if I want kids. We’ve never talked about anything like that.
“I’ve recently decided to give up on the dream I’ve had my entire life. Nana’s on the operating table, Mom hates me, and my father is a lunatic. Besides, I’m only nineteen. Cool your excitement!”
“I thought you’d be happy, but nothing I do seems to be right.” He stands up and hands me the flowers. “For Nana when
she wakes up. They’re probably the wrong type, but most people like roses best, so I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what to say when he walks out. It’s too much to take in. Like a flood, my thoughts bawl up in me. He should know it’s too early to talk about kids, and he could at least discuss it before assuming we’ll make room for one. He’s right about one thing, though. Nana’s favorite flower is the lily, not roses. She’s too original for that.
Great, now I’m ungrateful.
Who can be mad about someone bringing roses?
Get a grip, Amalie.
CONTRACTS
Three hours later, Nana’s back in her room grinning from ear to ear. “This could not have gone better, I think.”
The surgeon agrees. “I removed the tumor. The lab will confirm the type, so when you come in next week, we’ll know for sure.”
“So, what now?”
“Here.” Nana hands me a paper. “This is the treatment plan with dates we agreed on if the results from the lab confirm the doctor’s diagnosis of the tumor.”
I study the dates and follow-up sessions, and it calms me down. “No chemo?”
“I am fortunate. Local radiation treatment. If the doctor is right.”
When we arrive back home a few hours later, I get Nana to bed. She’s trying to hide it, but she can barely keep her eyes open, and only seconds after her head hits the pillow, she sleeps.
The next morning, I make her lunch that I set in the fridge and bring breakfast up to her room. She’s smiling at me like she’s seeing the ocean for the first time. “We have to book your flight to Porto.”
I can’t tell her my decision. It hurts too much to think about. Watching her realize I’m not going? I can’t. “Your lunch is in the fridge.” I kiss her forehead, and her wrinkles tighten under my lips. Refusing to see her frown, I head towards the door and call up as I leave. “Call me if you need anything.”
Nana’s voice is frail. “You promised me.”
I close the door behind me, straighten up and walk to The Bluebird where Josefine is setting tables. “I almost miss the summer rush now. The days seem so long,” she says.
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