A Nearly Normal Family(27)

“Stop that,” Ulrika said. “Dwelling won’t help.”

“Then what should I do?”

“I’m going to work,” she said. “Maybe that would make you feel better too.”

It would at least help me think about something else. I reported myself healthy again over the phone and walked over to the church hall. September is like Advent for this university town. After the summer lull, the streets are full of giddy students trying to find their way, confused, consumed with putting their identities on display. Wobbling cyclists everywhere, GPS voices in their pockets, twenty-year-olds with answers to all of life’s difficult questions in their leather briefcases or Fj?llr?ven backpacks. Lund never recovers until October, when the worst of the coquetry has settled, after people have exchanged saliva during orientation and the very strangest of newcomers have been reabsorbed back into their hometowns. This is the downside to a university town as much as it is its charm. To be invaded, each autumn, by fresh dreamers and do-gooders, to shed its skin for a few weeks of Indian summer before the leaves fall. Love it or hate it, you never quite get used to it.

My colleagues were in the church-hall kitchen and their voices carried into the entryway as I hung up my coat.

“I was shocked at first, but when I gave it some thought, well…”

“She’s always had a terrible temper.”

It was impossible not to hear what they were saying.

“They haven’t set limits. There’s only one language a girl like Stella understands.”

“Ulrika and Adam have been too tolerant.”

I stood stock-still in the entryway, taking in their words.

“Of course it’s not Stella’s fault,” said Monika, one of the deacons. “She’s only a child, or at least a teenager.”

They were silent for a moment. I closed my eyes and felt myself slowly rising from the ground and floating. Then they went on:

“Stella’s seen a psychiatrist before, you know.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“She’s always had some sort of mental health issue. Even as a little girl, there was something different about her.”

Silence again. Someone coughed.

I like my colleagues. I have always depended upon them, always felt their trust and love. Ever since I started with this congregation, large parts of the operation have undergone positive changes, and I’m sure most people would agree that is largely to my credit. I was so unprepared to be slandered in this manner that it was as if my mind went numb. Like a zombie, I walked straight into the kitchen and joined them at the table.

“Why … Adam!” Monika exclaimed.

Five pairs of eyes stared at me, huge and mute, as if they had just witnessed the second coming of the Lord.

“You’re not supposed to be at work, are you?” they chorused.

“I have a wedding this afternoon.”

“But we assigned Otto to that,” said Anita, our administrator.

“Didn’t you see that I reported myself healthy again?”

She blushed.

“We didn’t think you…”

I examined each of them, one by one, and waited for someone to make excuses, but all that came out were broken sentences.

At last Monika stood up and took my arm. She has been with the congregation since the days of Saint Ansgar—she’s the glue that holds us all together, the rock we all cling to in every situation.

“Come,” she said, leading me slowly down the corridor as my brain continued to run on idle.

We sat down across from each other in the low easy chairs in her office. Monika placed her ring-adorned hands on my knees and leaned forward with her gentle cat eyes.

“Where do you think we went wrong, Monika?”

She took me by the elbows and shook her head slowly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “God has a purpose. Something we haven’t discovered yet.”

Part of me wanted to tell Monika and God to go to hell, but luckily I came to my senses and thanked her for her concern instead.

“Now go home and get some proper rest. Take care of Ulrika,” Monika said, hugging me. “I’ll be praying for you two. And for Stella.”

In that moment her words felt so petty. Almost fake.

But I do wish I had followed Monika’s advice.



* * *



There was too much crawling around under my skin. My thoughts seemed to take shape behind a thick curtain of fog, and my heart was scratching at my ribs like a terrier. My body was telling me to run, to keep from congealing into a single painful present, so I ran—or walked, at least—mile after mile until my back was soaked with sweat.

I walked all the way downtown, and as I left City Park I wondered how everything would have turned out if we’d reported Robin to the police. He had raped Stella, and we had let him get away with it. What signals had that sent to our daughter? What sort of parents were we?

My pulse was pounding indignantly in my neck, and my muscles were twitching. I sped up as I passed the dog park at S?dra Esplanaden.

When I saw the street sign for Tullgatan, I felt a stabbing in my chest. I stopped and stared.

This was where Christopher Olsen’s ex-girlfriend lived. Blomberg had read us her address. I couldn’t just walk by.