Silver Tears(8)

“You could always drink something,” Kerstin said dryly, sipping her coffee while Faye drained the sparkling wine from her glass.

“Like I said, we don’t have any meetings until tomorrow. So I fully intend to drown my sorrows in booze with a clear conscience. Anyway, shouldn’t you be drinking something? Given you’re scared of flying…”

“Thanks for the reminder. I had just managed to stop thinking about it. No, if I’m going to die then I’m going to die sober.”

“Sounds completely illogical. And unnecessary. When I die I want to go completely hammered. Preferably with that pilot between my legs…”

Faye raised her eyebrows and nodded toward one of the pilots who had emerged from the cockpit to exchange a few words with the flight attendant. He looked to be in his thirties, had dark hair, a charming smile, and an ass that divulged many hours spent in the gym.

“You know what, I think it’s probably best if we let the pilot focus on flying the plane instead of potentially pursuing an encounter in the onboard lavatory.”

Kerstin looked nervous and Faye laughed.

“Calm down, Kerstin. That’s why God invented autopilot…”

“So that the pilot could sleep with the passengers? Seems doubtful.”

Faye downed the last of the bubbly, opened the bottle of red wine, and poured it into the glass.

She loved Kerstin, but she was often reminded that they came from different generations. Chris would have understood exactly what Faye meant and laughed with her—maybe even challenged her to make good on her talk about the pilot. Ever since they had made friends at the Stockholm School of Economics, Chris had been there for Faye. Guided her, protected her, been her biggest supporter—and her most honest critic. Now Faye always wore her Fuck Cancer wristband as a reminder of Chris and what she had lost.



Kerstin patted Faye’s hand. As usual, she could tell when her thoughts had wandered to Chris.

Faye cleared her throat.

“It’ll take a couple of days before the rental apartments we looked at are available,” she said. “We’ll have to stay at the Grand H?tel for the time being.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage there,” said Kerstin dryly.

Faye smiled. They most certainly would.

“I sometimes think back to the early days after the divorce,” she said. “When I was your lodger. Sitting there after dinner drawing up the plans for Revenge.”

“You were an amazingly inspirational woman,” said Kerstin, patting her hand. “And you still are.”

Faye was forced to blink away tears and turned once again toward the cockpit. The pilot had come out for another brief chat with one of the flight attendants. Faye held her glass midair in a toast and received a faint smile in reply.

A few minutes later the pilot announced on the PA that it was time to prepare the cabin for landing. The crew roamed up and down the aisle collecting trash and checking that all the tables were stowed, all seats upright, and all seatbelts fastened.

Kerstin gripped the armrests so hard that her knuckles went white and Faye took the hand closest to her. She stroked it gently.

“Most accidents happen during takeoff and landing,” Kerstin said breathlessly.

Before long, the plane’s wheels bounced against the ground and Kerstin squeezed Faye’s hand so hard that her rings cut into her skin. But Faye kept her expression neutral and calm.

“We’re down now,” she said. “It’s over.”

Kerstin exhaled and smiled weakly at her.



When the plane came to a stop, they gathered together their hand luggage and moved forward along the aisle. The crew was standing by the exit saying farewell to all the passengers. The pilot met Faye’s eye and she discreetly passed him her business card. He smiled warmly at her and she hoped most sincerely that they were allowed to take their uniforms home from work.





Once they had checked in at the Grand H?tel, Kerstin went up to her room to rest. Faye contemplated heading down to the spa to book a treatment, but realized she was far too restless to do that right now. Instead, she headed for the Cadier Bar.

She sat down at the long bar and looked around. The Cadier was as full as ever. The majority of the clientele were businessmen in expensive suits, with receding hairlines and business-lunch bellies. The women were also expensively dressed and Faye browsed the labels she could see from a quick glance: Hugo Boss, Max Mara, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and a few intrepid souls who were out and about in Pucci.

Emilio Pucci signaled “expensive but rebellious,” and Faye herself had a large number of garments from the collections of recent years in her wardrobe.

Today, however, she had opted for something more sober. Slacks from Furstenberg and a silk blouse from Stella McCartney. Cream. Dry-clean-only clothes. Love bracelets from Cartier. She shuddered when she discovered that next to her Fuck Cancer wristband she was still wearing a bracelet that Julienne had made for her. Colorful beads strung together with no coherent pattern whatsoever. She quickly took it off and slipped it into her pocket. For a moment, she had forgotten that everyone in Sweden thought that Julienne was dead.

“What can I get for you?”



A young blond bartender was looking attentively at her. She ordered a mojito—one of Chris’s favorite drinks. She could picture her friend moving the stirrer around in her glass with that playful look in her eyes before telling Faye about her latest adventure—whether it was in the world of business or with a hot young guy.