A Nearly Normal Family(88)

I saw my chance.

“Come on,” I said. “Do you really think everyone is truly equal?”

They stared at me like you do when you’re not sure if someone is trying to make a joke or if they just said something unusually stupid.

“I’m totally serious.” I turned to Malin, the manager, since she’s the easiest to get worked up. “If you had to choose, either fifty kids in Syria have to die or else your Tindra does, what would you do?”

“Oh, lay off,” Sofie whined. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

But Malin wanted to answer.

“That example has nothing to do with people being equal. Of course Tindra is worth more to me, because she’s my child, but from a purely objective standpoint she isn’t worth more than any other person.”

I hadn’t expected anything else. Malin isn’t dumb.

“Would you say that Tindra is worth the same as a pedophile?”

Malin made a face.

“Pedophiles don’t even deserve to be called human.”

I smiled triumphantly.

“What about murderers? Rapists?”

“Those are extreme examples,” said Sofie. “Ninety-nine percent of people are neither pedophiles nor murderers.”

“What about someone who beats their wife or kid? A racist? Someone who writes hate messages online, a bully? Is that person worth the same as an innocent child?”

Sofie started to respond, but she was interrupted by Malin, who thought that the “discussion was pointless.” I tried in vain to goad her back into it but soon the mommy chatter was back in full swing again. The step from moral dilemmas to vitamin drops and Pull-Ups is not as far as you might think.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, hugging them one by one. Then I strolled across the town square to get my bike.

You could tell it was a payday weekend. It was ten thirty, but people were streaming through town, excited at the chance to treat themselves to an extra drink, happy about the nice weather, pumped about sucking up the last few drops of warmth as fall was approaching.

At the bus stop I lifted my bike out of the rack and had just swung my right leg over the frame when something caught my eye.

There she was, right across the street, her back to a brick wall and her eyes roving the bus stop, wearing a floral, summery yellow dress, boots, and a beige coat with her bag held tightly over her shoulder.

I had to look again to make sure.

My arms turned to spaghetti and the bike tipped. I lost my balance.





80


Shirine’s eyes are glistening with tears.

“Get ahold of yourself,” I say.

Sentimental farewells are, like, not my thing. So obviously I’m crabby.

“I’m sure I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“I don’t think so,” Shirine says, biting her lower lip.

She’s leaving tomorrow; she’ll be gone for three weeks.

“It’s going to trial, right?” she says.

“Seems like.”

I don’t really want to talk about it.

“The Canary Islands?” I say instead, a skeptical look on my face. “I’m sure you can still change your mind. You got cancellation insurance, didn’t you?”

It works. Shirine’s teary sad-face transforms into a sparkling smile.

“You’re just jealous. Eighty degrees in the shade all week long.”

“Don’t forget your sunscreen.” I laugh.

She nods, wrinkling her nose.

“Can I ask you something, Shirine?”

“Of course.”

I hesitate. I try to find the right words, but it’s not easy.

I lay awake all night, thinking about Dad. Why did he claim I came home much earlier that night than I actually did?

“How far would you go to protect your daughter?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” Shirine says. “I would do anything for Lovisa. I think any parent would.”

“Perjury?”

“Huh?”

Shirine shoots me a look of suspicion.

“It means lying under oath.”

“I know what it means, but I’m pretty sure you can’t be forced to testify under oath against your own child.”

“No, but forget the details. Would you lie in court to protect Lovisa?”

“That’s a tough one,” she says, apparently thinking it over. “It depends…”

“Come on.”

“Okay,” she says, with resolve. “I’m sure I would do everything in my power. Even lie. In court.”

“Good.”

“I bet a parent could do the most unimaginable things to save their child.”

“But my dad does things for his own sake. Or so that other people won’t find out that he and his family aren’t as perfect as he wants them to be.”

A prominent wrinkle appears on Shirine’s forehead. She doesn’t say anything for a minute.

“Know what? I don’t think that’s so unusual. I suppose we all want our families to appear a little more harmonious and faultless than they really are.”

I shake my head. Shirine doesn’t get it; she can’t even imagine what it’s like.