“Is there anyone else I can talk to?”
Another sigh. “Do you think this is some kind of Make-A-Wish program? We’re swamped as it is. We can’t take on stuff like this, too.”
I don’t respond.
Per Gunnarsson coughs.
“Sven Nilsson. He’s been retired for many years. Last I heard he’d moved to Norrköping. I know he saved some material. He often talked about some tip we never followed up on. Don’t have a clue what he meant by that; he was a curious fella. We turned over every stone, as you probably remember. There were no tips we forgot about. It was a hopeless case if you ask me. But get ahold of him, that’s all I can tell you. Now I have other things I need to do.”
He hangs up.
I see on the screen that I have nine missed calls and ten text messages. Angry and annoyed text messages from both Henrik and Milo wondering if I’m alive. It makes me annoyed.
I text Henrik that I’m on my way home. Then I turn off my phone.
The evening is coming on. The air is cool and fresh, and I don’t hurry as I walk through Humlegården park.
Stella
Henrik and Milo are sitting on the sofa eating popcorn. They’re watching a rerun of Top Gear and roaring with laughter at some RVs crashing into each other.
Henrik notices that I’ve entered the living room and throws me a quick glance. I can see that he’s angry with me. Why? Because I’m not available every second of every day?
“Hello, my loves,” I say.
“Hi, Mom,” Milo says. “Where have you been?”
“Yes, indeed, where have you been?” Henrik says.
“Did you miss me?”
“I waited for you for forever after practice,” Milo says.
“What?” I say.
“Yeah, you never showed up, so I went home by myself.”
“Did you ride the subway by yourself?”
“I had my subway card with me.”
“Why didn’t you pick him up?” I say to Henrik.
I sound angry but actually I’m terrified. I think of all the things that could have happened. He could have been hurt, gotten lost, been robbed or kidnapped. Why didn’t Henrik pick him up?
He raises his eyebrows, and we stare at each other over Milo’s head.
“Why didn’t you pick him up?” he replies.
“Because you told me you were.”
“Where did you get that idea from? You always pick him up after tennis.”
“I know,” I say. “But you called and said you were going to do it.”
“When did I call?”
“This afternoon. Around two-thirty or so.”
“I had a meeting at that time.”
“It wasn’t you. It was some assistant who gave me the message. Otherwise, of course I would have been there.”
“Which assistant? Erica? Why would she call you?”
“I don’t know her name. But she probably called because you asked her to?”
“I didn’t ask anyone to give you that message. But it all turned out fine. Right, buddy?” He squeezes Milo’s shoulder.
“Sorry, honey,” I say, stroking his hair. “It was a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean for you to have to go home by yourself.”
“Please, he can handle it,” Henrik says. “We talked about it before you got here. He’s ready to start riding the subway on his own now.”
I want to protest. I don’t want him going anywhere by himself. Never.
Henrik reads my reaction immediately.
“He’s been riding around with his friends quite a lot lately. There’s never been any problem, Stella.”
I go out to the kitchen. Pour myself a glass of wine. I feel like smoking for the first time in many years. Henrik follows me.
“Where have you been?” he says. “I imagined all sorts of crazy scenarios when I couldn’t get ahold of you.”
He strokes my arm. I pull away.
“I was at the library.”
“Why are you angry?” he asks.
“You’re the one who’s angry.”
“Not at all. But you always let me know what you’re up to. It’s not like you to be so hard to reach.”
He touches me again. I take my glass and go to the other side of the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to accuse me as soon as I came in the door,” I say.
“And you don’t have to sound so pissed off. You really haven’t been yourself lately. Could it be that you’re projecting some of your state of mind onto me?”
“Are you trying to play psychologist now, Henrik? Please don’t.”
He crosses his arms.
“If I said I was going to pick up Milo, wouldn’t I have done that?” he says. “I’ve never asked any employee of mine to call you.”
“Someone called me. Or do you think I dreamed it up?”
He doesn’t answer that. Instead he says, “Milo can ride the subway on his own now, Stella. He’s thirteen years old. You don’t need to drop him off and pick him up everywhere.”
“I do that gladly,” I answer.
“It wasn’t an accusation.”
I don’t meet his eyes.
He sighs audibly and leaves the kitchen.
I see a movement from the corner of my eye and recoil from the window. Someone walked by on the street. I lean forward warily and peer out. A plastic bag is whirling across the street. I prop my hands on the sink and exhale. Am I losing my mind? A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to Milo riding home on his own. Wouldn’t have gotten half so scared and jittery. But lately I’ve been reminded what just one moment of negligence can result in.
When I left Alice alone, the consequences were devastating. I lost her forever.
And Milo, I left him alone as well. It turned out fine. Nothing happened. But afterward I swore never to be negligent again. When he was younger, I avoided places, wherever crowds gathered. I’d rather his friends sleep over at our house. Hampus and Pernilla and his grandparents are the only exceptions. I take him to all of his practices and games. Drive or walk with him to all of his friends’ houses, even if they live close by. I’m overprotective.
Henrik has tried to balance that out as much as possible. He took Milo to Gröna Lund; I could never bring myself to join them. He hasn’t made a big deal out of it, either. I’ve gotten better at managing my fears over the years, gradually eased up on my need for control. Until now.
Milo has to be allowed to stand on his own two feet. I know that. But he’s only thirteen. I’m not quite ready to let go. Maybe I never will be.
I heat up the food that was on the stove, but I don’t have any appetite. I poke at it and throw most of it away. I stand at the sink.
I can’t go on like this. I have to talk to Henrik. He has the right to know at some point that I’ve found Alice. I want him to understand that it’s real this time. He’s going to understand. He’ll help me.
I pour two glasses of wine and go to the living room. It’s dark outside; the wind rocks the trees. Rain is coming. I light the candles on the coffee table and go over to the window. I’m about to pick up one of the candles when I see him. He’s standing in the street behind our house. He’s staring at me.
It’s impossible to make out the face under that hood. The same shapeless coat as last time. The same tense posture. The same menacing figure.
I throw open the door to the patio.
I scream: “What do you want? Get lost, leave me alone. LEAVE!”
I try to run out to the backyard, but trip on the threshold. I grab hold of the curtains; the rod gives way and tumbles down. I fall headfirst out the door.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Milo says as he comes running in. Henrik is right behind him. They find me lying on the patio.
“Someone was watching our house,” I say, pointing. “Look. There. With a hood covering their face. He’s been here before. Same coat, same hood.”
Henrik goes out and stares down the street; Milo follows him. They look in both directions before returning. Henrik squats down next to me; he rubs my shoulder.
“Come in now, honey. There’s nobody there.”
I look at him. “There was someone there just now.”
Henrik looks away.
“Don’t you believe me?” I say.
He takes my hand in both of his, and Milo helps me up without a word.
“Henrik? Don’t you believe me?”
“There’s no one there now anyway,” he says and smiles.
I recognize that smile. He uses it when he thinks I’m wrong. When he wishes I weren’t so emotional, so hysterical.
I look out the window. Henrik and Milo do, too. Someone is walking down the street. Someone in a raincoat with a hood pulled up. I grab hold of Henrik’s arm.
“That’s him,” I whisper.
“Oh, come on now, don’t you recognize Johan?” Henrik points. “He’s out with his dog like usual.”
And he’s right. It’s the investor. Out with his tiny dog again. The color of his raincoat is lighter, I see that now. Johan Lindberg sees us standing by the window staring at him. He grins and waves. Henrik smiles and waves back.
Then Henrik looks at me. He’s not smiling anymore.
JUNE 22, 2003
I’ve found her. I’ve found Alice.
Two weeks ago, when we were at Skansen. Milo and I were standing in line to buy ice cream.
And there she was.
I recognized her. She looked just as she would have looked if I’d never lost her. One breath later and she disappeared into the crowd again.