Tell Me You're Mine(24)

That’s why I took care of things.

It might seem impulsive, but I thought it through carefully before I went to Stockholm. It’s a long drive to do in just one day, but it was worth it. I had to do something. I can’t just passively stand by while my daughter is led astray.

I chose to talk to her husband first. Henrik Widstrand. Surely he’ll be able to influence her. I didn’t want to storm into her clinic and confront her unnecessarily. For Isabelle’s sake, I’ll give her a chance. She has to understand that my daughter is vulnerable and at a very sensitive stage.

Henrik Widstrand was pleasant. He took time, showed me in, and offered me coffee. He listened, I wasn’t interrupted, he let me finish what I had to say. And not once did he look at his expensive watch or show any impatience. Obviously, he was loyal to his wife. Said she maintains her patients’ confidentiality, he doesn’t know anything about them. He was sure she’s good at her job. But he took me seriously, I could see that. I worried him. I hope I don’t cause any problems between them. I wouldn’t want that. But what else could I do? What alternative did I have? All I want is to protect my child. That’s most important. Keeping my daughter safe.

Henrik Widstrand thanked me, took my hand and looked into my eyes. He was quite tall, handsome, in good shape. He could have been snobby, but he was warm and friendly. She should be happy to have such a good husband. I feel much better after talking to him. I actually think everything will turn out okay.

I hum and sing, stroking Hedvig’s hand until she falls asleep. Then I sit with her until it’s time to go home for the day.





Stella



The sky is overcast as I pass by Avesta and drive over the Dal River. I don’t remember the last time I visited Dalarna.

Just before I reach Borlänge, the landscape opens up. Wide meadows and fields. The tree-covered mountains in the distance are blue. I’ve forgotten how beautiful this part of Sweden is, even on a gray day like today.

I turn right and drive across the Dal River again. I drive past the steelworks. Lead-colored smoke disappears into a cloudy sky.

Barkargärdet lies northwest of Borlänge, and it takes me a while to find the right address on Faluvägen. Leafy trees and firs grow high and thick. The area is dark, murky, and I wonder if the sun ever reaches here.

Most of the houses in Barkargärdet are well cared for, with neat gardens. But some houses are more like shacks: decaying and abandoned, overgrown gardens, garbage and old cars on their lawns. Hans and Kerstin Karlsson’s house is one of these. I park on the shoulder, but stay in the car. I contemplate the house my daughter grew up in.

The paint is peeling and needs to be redone. It was probably a nice house once upon a time, but it gives the impression of neglect now. A pile of trash sits next to the driveway and an old dishwasher stands below the kitchen window. The garden is overgrown, the grass high, and the flower beds untended for a long time. The mailbox looks like something from a fairy tale, light yellow with intricate details. It doesn’t fit its surroundings.

I want to find out who Kerstin is. What she does, what kind of background she has, how much she knows. I want to know why she tracked down Henrik, instead of talking to me directly. I want to know why she took the time to look up his business, the address of his office, then wriggled time to see him between all the meetings he has. The more I think about it, the stranger it seems.

The driveway is empty and the windows dark; no one seems to be home. A car approaches. I hunch down, it passes by, and I exhale. My armpits are sweaty. My heart is pounding. I feel ridiculous. But if it’s Kerstin, she absolutely cannot see me.

I swing out onto the road and follow Faluvägen until I get to an exit. But instead of heading onto the E16, back toward Borlänge, I turn around.

I drive by the house again. Stop, turn off the engine, and leave the car. I have to try to get in. Maybe there’s an unlocked door or a cellar window I can force open.

The door to the neighboring house opens when I’m almost at the gate. A woman and a man come out, wearing matching exercise clothes. They go down the stairs, and the man looks in my direction. He seems suspicious, as if he thinks I’m here to break in. On their gate hangs a sign: Neighborhood Watch. A red triangle with a broken crowbar in the middle, and beneath it the police logo.

I turn around and walk back quickly.

“Hello? Can we help you with something?” the man calls after me. I jog toward the car, jump into it, and drive away from there.

In the rearview mirror, I see him still watching me go.

I park farther away and wait. Then I turn and drive back toward Kerstin’s house again. The neighbors are still outside; they’ve taken out some gardening tools. They’re keeping an eye on the area; there’s no way to get to the house without them noticing.

I came all the way here. I’ve looked at the house; I know where Alice lived. Where Kerstin Karlsson lived with my child. It’s so frustrating not to be able to do more. At the same time, I’m relieved. I can’t make any mistakes now. If it came out that I was snooping around like this, my career would be over for good.

I look at the house one last time. Alice grew up here. I can’t take it in. It’s unimaginable. Did she stand at those windows looking out? Did she run around that garden and play? Was she loved or was she mistreated? I don’t know anything about the life of my lost daughter.





Isabelle



What do you think of this?” Johanna holds up a short, sequined dress. “You’d look so hot in it.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“Cheer up, Isabelle!” She hangs the dress up again and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Shopping is the best medicine for depression.”

“Is it? Mom says you end up more depressed once your money is gone.”

“She’s wrong. You’ll see.”

I’m not at all as sure that this is helping. “Can’t we go home instead?”

“If you lie in that bed for one more minute, you’ll go crazy for real. Believe me.” Johanna takes me under the arm and pulls me along to the next clothing rack.

She came home after the lecture, pulled up my blinds, and asked me what I was doing. At first she thought I was sick. Then she realized what was wrong. She crawled into my bed and gave me a big hug. Said she thought life was shitty, too. Then she ordered me up and into the shower. Now the two of us and about a thousand other people are at H&M on Drottninggatan in the middle of the city.

Johanna holds up a tiny silver crop top that’s both silky and gorgeous. I reluctantly agree to try it on. That, the dress, and a pair of slim, black super-stretchy pants. Johanna takes the lead and heads to the changing rooms, commandeers the largest one. She sits down on the bench inside and gestures for me to get going. I take off my sweater and jeans. Try on the clothes and twirl around obediently.

I end up buying both the shirt and the pants. And maybe I do feel a tiny bit better. But probably it’s more that someone cares about me than that I went shopping.

Johanna doesn’t ask me until we’re sitting at Joe & the Juice at Åhléns. Everyone here is so cool. The music is way too loud. She buys a juice for each of us and then sits down close to me.

“I bought you a Sex Me Up juice, I thought you might need it.”

I taste it. “Thank you. It’s good.”

“It’s been a while since you were this depressed. Is it your dad?”

“It’s my whole sad life.”

“Oh, Isabelle, you’re so dramatic. What is it now?”

“My childhood was just so weird.”

Johanna puts her arm around me. “Because you’re adopted and didn’t know about it?”

“Not just that. Like, we never met other people. Only Grandma. We lived like in a bubble, very isolated. And Mom always wanted me to be her little doll, who she could command and rearrange.”

I take a drink, my brain whirring.

“My parents never did the things other parents do. They were so different from everyone else. I was ashamed of them. Mostly of Mom. She was strange in some way. Neither of them went to the parent-teacher conferences, they found excuses whenever our class and the other parents planned to do something together, and I was never allowed to go on class trips. I could help Dad in the garage and bake with Mom. But it’s just all so weird.”

“All parents are crazy. Sick in the head in some way. All of them, I promise.”

“Not like my mom. She watched me all the time. As soon as a boy was interested in me she’d find out. Then she’d call his parents, threaten to report him to the police, and all sorts of things. My mom is crazy, everyone knew it. And eventually everyone avoided me because of her.”

“You have me now.” Johanna leans against my shoulder. “And Fredde, too? You’ve been texting a lot lately, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like him?”

“A little.”

“Just a little?”

“Stop it, Johanna.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Do you think he likes me?” I say after a while.

Johanna rolls her eyes. “He’s so into you, you could make him do anything.”

“Even though I’m weird?”

“You know what? You are not as weird as you think. It’s in your head.”