Strangers: A Novel(32)

I suggest I cook something nice for the two of us. “Are you good at cooking?” she asks.

“I’m best when you’re helping,” I say, but she shakes her head and sits down. “No, please, it’d be nice if you cooked something for us. I’ll watch you.”

I agree. The notion of cooking something for her feels good, like something that could help break down the distance between us.

Our freezer is in the pantry. I’ve just pulled out a large ice-cold bag of shrimp when the doorbell rings.

When I come out of the storeroom, Joanna has got up from her chair. I recognize fear in her expression. “Who could that be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone else from work who’s deleted a file from their laptop,” I say dryly.

Joanna follows me as I leave the kitchen, but stops in the passage to the hall and holds on to the doorframe as if afraid she could topple over.

I open the door and stare in surprise at the person opposite me for some time before finally finding my ability to speak.

Standing on our doorstep, with a smile on his face, is Dr. Bartsch, the company psychologist at Gabor Energy Engineering. I say hello haltingly and feel anger rising up inside me. Is this another attempt to give me the boot?

“Good evening, Herr Thieben,” he says, grinning ever more broadly. “I just wanted to drop by briefly to check if everything was all right with you. May I come in?”





15

The man is of average height and wiry, and I immediately notice that Erik can’t stand him. He takes two deep breaths before inviting the visitor into the house with an abrupt jerk of his hand. “Dr. Bartsch. What brings you here?”

Another doctor? I instinctively edge backward into the kitchen.

The man strokes his trim beard. “Herr Gabor sent me, he wanted me to check in with you. Naturally he heard how close you came to a tragedy…”

As he says these words, he looks over at me. Studies me with blatant interest. “You must be Joanna, is that right?”

I’m so tired. I don’t want to make small talk with this doctor, and if he’s capable of even just the tiniest bit of empathy, he should notice that. But before I can answer, Erik is by my side. “Jo, this is Dr. Bartsch, our company psychologist. I didn’t ask him to come here, if that’s what you’re thinking; I know you want to rest today.”

Perhaps it’s just the tiredness, but I find myself unable to grasp what’s going on. Is this visit about me? What do I have to do with Erik’s business? Over the past few days he’s told me a fair amount about himself, including his work. It has to do with renewable energy—an emerging market, my father would say.

“No.” Bartsch looks serious now. “Erik didn’t ask me to come here, that’s true. But our manager thought it would be a good idea if I check in on you. Perhaps there’s something I can help with, and if that’s the case, I’d be very happy to.”

It’s clear that Erik is struggling to contain himself. “Come on, we both know why you’re really here,” he says quietly. “You’re looking for some reason which would allow Gabor to can me.”

I give Erik a sideways glance. He hadn’t mentioned he was having problems at work.

The psychologist shakes his head with a smile. “But why on earth would Gabor want to do that? You’re doing an outstanding job, Herr Thieben, and believe me, he knows that too.” He nods toward the living room. “I’d like it if we could sit down. I won’t keep you long, I promise.”

Even though everything in me is fighting against it, I nod. Yet another stranger in my living room.

Bartsch sits down on the couch and crosses his legs. He looks over at us expectantly.

I pull myself together. “Would you like something to drink, perhaps?”

His expression softens. “Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you. I’d love a glass of water.”

I go into the kitchen, where the pack of shrimp is lying next to the stove, slowly thawing. I can completely understand that Erik wants the man out of the house as soon as possible; I feel the same way. He has that penetrating psychologist’s gaze, which gives me the feeling that he’s able to look right through me. And, ultimately, that he knows more about me than even I do.

Not a difficult accomplishment right now, admittedly.

Feeling a chuckle creeping up my throat, I quickly take a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water.

“Thank you,” he says, as I place it on the coffee table in front of him. He takes a sip, not averting his eyes from me for even a second, then leans back. “Joanna. I’m very happy that you came through the accident unharmed. How are you feeling?”

It’s not just the stare, it’s also … his voice. It’s not unpleasant, but nonetheless there’s something about it which makes me want to leave the room and hide.

“Leave her be,” Erik answers for me. He takes my hand and interlaces his fingers with mine. “If you want to cross-examine me, then go ahead, but leave Joanna out of it.”

Bartsch shakes his head once more. “I really don’t know what gave you this idea, Herr Thieben.” Without waiting for an answer, he turns to me again. “How long have you been living here?”

For … I have to concentrate. “For six months. Roughly.”