before they reached the roundabout.
“There’s no hurry, it’s only five.”
“This is something I have to do alone.”
She pointed at a side street ahead. “Would you please drop me off there?”
Eik’s expression became serious. When they reached the street, he stopped and turned to her. “Are you sure this is wise?”
She saw the doubt in his face. He couldn’t possibly know where she was going, but he wasn’t dumb; she’d told him about losing a man she’d loved. She touched his cheek again and nodded.
“I haven’t spoken with Klaus’s parents since he died, and now I have to. They deserve to know what René Gamst told me. If their son didn’t commit suicide, they should know. But going out to eat Peking duck tomorrow or this weekend sounds fantastic.”
She loved the thin pancakes and the pungent hoisin sauce. It was one of Jonas’s favorite foods, something he and his father had made together. Jonas had diced the cucumbers and spring onions; his father had been an expert at the crisp skin. Suddenly Louise missed her foster son terribly. His relaxed face, the thick, dark hair that fell into his eyes.
“Of course,” Eik said, jolting her out of her thoughts, the chaos of emotions from the past and present bouncing around inside her. All the things she had pushed away, repressed.
She didn’t even know if Lissy and Ernst still lived in the white house on Skovvej. Back in the eighth grade, Louise always bicycled past as slowly as possible on the way to Lerbjerg, to see if Klaus’s scooter was parked in the drive, or if he was helping his father behind the house.
She studied Eik’s face in profile for a moment before getting out of the car. She shook her head when he asked if he should wait for her.
“I’ll take the train home,” she said, and smiled at him.
“Shouldn’t we check to see if they still live here?”
“I have to do this alone,” she repeated. She was beginning to wonder herself if this was such a good idea.
Eik watched her a moment, then nodded and blew her a kiss.
She stood on the corner as he made a U-turn and drove off toward Copenhagen.
11
L ouise walked the last stretch with her hands in her jacket pockets, her eyes on the sidewalk. Step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back . It was as if the lock on her trunk of repressed memories had been blown off. The old children’s rhyme kept running through her head, in time with her steps.
It was a game she’d played with her girlfriends at school. They had upgraded it to a teenage version—whoever stepped on a crack had to tell the others a secret. Louise had revealed that she was secretly in love with Klaus, and instantly she’d seen that she wasn’t the only one; he was one of the boys many girls in school had their eyes on.
Suddenly she spotted the freshly painted picket fence and house, which looked exactly like it had all those years ago. Well kept, though not renovated. A café curtain still hung in the kitchen window.
She breathed deeply. Did they still live here? Anyone younger probably wouldn’t have hung that curtain. She crossed the street and stopped at the gate, her legs refusing to take her another step.
Pull yourself together , she thought. Their name was on the mailbox. But she still couldn’t move.
In her mind’s eye she saw Klaus’s scooter and the birdhouses his father had built, a hobby that had given him something to talk about with Louise’s father. The two men were always showing each other something or telling stories that had to do with birds. She had completely forgotten about those birdhouses. She looked around; they hung from every tree in the yard, more numerous now than back then. Many were ornate, too. One on the big tree in the middle of the yard was a precise copy of a Swiss hut. A newer model, she thought. Surely he wouldn’t have had time for that level of detail back when he’d worked at the sawmill.
She heard a voice from the woodshed. “Louise? Is that
“There’s no hurry, it’s only five.”
“This is something I have to do alone.”
She pointed at a side street ahead. “Would you please drop me off there?”
Eik’s expression became serious. When they reached the street, he stopped and turned to her. “Are you sure this is wise?”
She saw the doubt in his face. He couldn’t possibly know where she was going, but he wasn’t dumb; she’d told him about losing a man she’d loved. She touched his cheek again and nodded.
“I haven’t spoken with Klaus’s parents since he died, and now I have to. They deserve to know what René Gamst told me. If their son didn’t commit suicide, they should know. But going out to eat Peking duck tomorrow or this weekend sounds fantastic.”
She loved the thin pancakes and the pungent hoisin sauce. It was one of Jonas’s favorite foods, something he and his father had made together. Jonas had diced the cucumbers and spring onions; his father had been an expert at the crisp skin. Suddenly Louise missed her foster son terribly. His relaxed face, the thick, dark hair that fell into his eyes.
“Of course,” Eik said, jolting her out of her thoughts, the chaos of emotions from the past and present bouncing around inside her. All the things she had pushed away, repressed.
She didn’t even know if Lissy and Ernst still lived in the white house on Skovvej. Back in the eighth grade, Louise always bicycled past as slowly as possible on the way to Lerbjerg, to see if Klaus’s scooter was parked in the drive, or if he was helping his father behind the house.
She studied Eik’s face in profile for a moment before getting out of the car. She shook her head when he asked if he should wait for her.
“I’ll take the train home,” she said, and smiled at him.
“Shouldn’t we check to see if they still live here?”
“I have to do this alone,” she repeated. She was beginning to wonder herself if this was such a good idea.
Eik watched her a moment, then nodded and blew her a kiss.
She stood on the corner as he made a U-turn and drove off toward Copenhagen.
11
L ouise walked the last stretch with her hands in her jacket pockets, her eyes on the sidewalk. Step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back . It was as if the lock on her trunk of repressed memories had been blown off. The old children’s rhyme kept running through her head, in time with her steps.
It was a game she’d played with her girlfriends at school. They had upgraded it to a teenage version—whoever stepped on a crack had to tell the others a secret. Louise had revealed that she was secretly in love with Klaus, and instantly she’d seen that she wasn’t the only one; he was one of the boys many girls in school had their eyes on.
Suddenly she spotted the freshly painted picket fence and house, which looked exactly like it had all those years ago. Well kept, though not renovated. A café curtain still hung in the kitchen window.
She breathed deeply. Did they still live here? Anyone younger probably wouldn’t have hung that curtain. She crossed the street and stopped at the gate, her legs refusing to take her another step.
Pull yourself together , she thought. Their name was on the mailbox. But she still couldn’t move.
In her mind’s eye she saw Klaus’s scooter and the birdhouses his father had built, a hobby that had given him something to talk about with Louise’s father. The two men were always showing each other something or telling stories that had to do with birds. She had completely forgotten about those birdhouses. She looked around; they hung from every tree in the yard, more numerous now than back then. Many were ornate, too. One on the big tree in the middle of the yard was a precise copy of a Swiss hut. A newer model, she thought. Surely he wouldn’t have had time for that level of detail back when he’d worked at the sawmill.
She heard a voice from the woodshed. “Louise? Is that
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