A Nearly Normal Family(8)

“It was like a bright light came on in the dark water. I saw the little girl and got hold of her. My body filled with strength—I’ve never felt so strong, so determined, nothing could stop me from saving that child. It was almost effortless. Something supernatural pulled the girl up over the edge, made me blow life back into her. The mom and the little sisters were standing next to me, screaming, as water poured from the girl’s mouth and she came to. At the same time, God left my body and I returned to my regular self.”

Ulrika blinked a few times, her mouth open.

“So she made it?”

“Everything turned out okay.”

“Incredible,” she said, giving me her amazing smile. “And ever since, you’ve known?”

“I don’t know anything,” I said firmly. “But I believe.”





7


On that Saturday night when our lives were about to change, I turned to God. I was worried about the stained blouse in the washing machine. I made the snap decision not to mention it to Ulrika. Those stains could be from anything, it didn’t necessarily mean much, and there was no reason to subject Ulrika to further anxiety. Instead I closed my eyes and prayed to God, asking Him to take care of my little girl.

I was leaning against the kitchen island and swirling a glass of amber-colored whiskey in my hand when Ulrika came bounding down the stairs.

“I just talked to Alexandra,” she said, out of breath. “She woke Amina. Apparently she was shocked to hear that Stella never came home.”

“What did she say?”

“She doesn’t seem to know anything.”

I swallowed all the whiskey.

“Should we call her colleagues at H&M?” I asked.

Ulrika placed Stella’s phone on the counter.

“I already tried. She only has Benita’s number saved, and Benita didn’t know who was working today.”

I sighed and muttered. My anxiety was mixed with irritation. Wasn’t Stella aware of what she put us through? How we worried about her?

When the phone began to jump on the counter, both Ulrika and I lunged for it. I was faster, and hit the green button.

“Yes?”

I was met with a deep, slightly guarded male voice.

“I’m calling about the Vespa.”

“The Vespa?”

My head was spinning.

“The Vespa that’s for sale,” the man said.

“There’s no Vespa for sale here. You must have the wrong number.”

He apologized but insisted that he hadn’t misdialed. There was an ad online with this number, and a Vespa for sale. A pink Piaggio.

I grunted something about a mistake and hung up.

“Who was that?”

Ulrika sounded eager.

“She’s planning to sell the Vespa.”

“What?”

“Stella put out an ad.”



* * *



We sat on the sofa. Ulrika sent a group text asking anyone with any information about Stella to text back. I poured another whiskey and Ulrika put Stella’s iPhone on the table in front of us. We sat there staring at it, and every time it buzzed we bounced up. Time stood still as Ulrika scrolled with her thumb.

A few of Stella’s friends texted back; some seemed mildly worried, but most of them stopped at stating they knew nothing.

When I googled Stella’s phone number, I found the ad straightaway. She really had put the Vespa up for sale. Her birthday present. What was she up to?

“Should I take my bike and go looking for her?”

Ulrika wrinkled her nose.

“Isn’t it best to stay here?”

“This must never happen again. Doesn’t she understand how much we worry?”

Ulrika was close to tears.

“Should we call the police?” she said.

“The police?”

That seemed excessive. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

“I have some contacts,” Ulrika said. “They could at least keep their eyes peeled.”

“This is ridiculous!” I stood up. “That we should even have to … I’m so…”

“Shhh!” Ulrika said, one finger in the air. “Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Ringing.”

I stood stock still, watching her. Both of us were sick with worry. Soon a long signal echoed through the house.

“The landline?” Ulrika said, standing up.

No one ever calls the landline.





8


We never planned to have Stella. She was a wanted, welcome baby; eagerly awaited and beloved long before she took her first breath. But she wasn’t planned.

Ulrika had just received her Master of Law degree and was about to start a clerkship when, one evening, she sat down across from me, placed her hands over mine, and looked deep into my eyes. Her smile was restrained as she shared with me the fantastic but overwhelming news.

I had one year left in my education and another year as a curate after that. We lived in a one-room apartment in Norra F?laden and survived on loans; our situation was far from optimal for bringing a child into the world. I realized, of course, that Ulrika had doubts; there was an anxious hesitation behind that initial, effervescent joy, but a whole week passed before either of us even said the word “abortion” aloud.