Chapter 49-50

                                                                             49.

“I track her into the mountains she loved
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino
Our mustaneros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino”

Bruce Springsteen

 

When Kristin had stopped crying they talked. Really truly talked to each other as grown-ups. Talked for the first time about all that lay in between them. First carefully, opened one memory at the time. Folded away the tissue paper and looked at them one by one. The wonderful, glimmering ones and the haunting painful ones.

Was it that years had passed? Was it that Kristin also was a mother? Was it that she knew now what passion can make you do? For every memory they dissected, she felt closer to her mother, she started to understand, she started to see her as a woman and not just her mother.

As they talked her mother cooked dinner and they talked through the whole meal. Her mother cried and Kristin cried. But it wasn’t an overwhelming cry, simply a cry to put weight behind the words.  When the sun set both of them were exhausted.

When Kristin got undressed to go to bed, the paper with George Hemstad’s address fell on the floor. She picked it up, held it in her hand, felt the weight of the paper, caressed the crease and decided that she would go early tomorrow morning to see him. And she decided to not tell her mother, not now when they had finally found some stable ground to meet on.

She picked up the diary from the floor, crawled under the blanket and kept reading. The passion and the love her grandmother felt for George was strong but through all the secret meetings and the fiery sex she kept saying how she loved her husband. By the end of July, when her period didn’t start she had realized what happened. Her grandmother’s panic was tangible and her thoughts ran across the paper. A scared kitten chased by a dog. After many pages of frantic writing she had come to a decision. Her place was on the farm with Albert and the baby in her belly was theirs. No one else’s!

When George left in September she finally told Albert. At first they were cautious, the shadows of too many miscarriages blocked out the sunny happiness. But as the late summer turned into fall and then winter, the joy grew. Then among the pages was a note with her grandfather’s neat handwriting.

My dearest Kristin,

I started to read your diaries because I missed you so. I have to confess that I was shocked when I found out what happened the summer when George was here. At first I was greatly disappointed but after a few days I realized that it doesn’t matter. You loved me, I loved you and Linda will always be our daughter.

She is 15 years old now and a very sweet and good girl. I do worry about her and wish you were here now. She needs a mother more and more for everyday she grows into a young woman.

I love you my dearest Kristin and miss you every day.

Yours always Albert

Kristin sniffled as she read, then she folded the note and tucked it back into the diary and lay down with it next to her and fell asleep.  

When her phone buzzed under her pillow she was pulled out of a deep dream, it was a pleasant dream but she couldn’t remember it. Careful not to wake her mother she tiptoed downstairs, grabbed her toiletries in the bathroom and walked out in the kitchen. She closed the door behind her and washed up by the kitchen sink, put on some mascara and brushed her hair before she did a French braid. Made two sandwiches and grabbed a bottle of water. Wrote a reassuring note to her mother and left the house.

The morning was cold and the sun had started to rise as she got in the car and turned on the GPS.

She drove slowly down the street, one ranch house after another. She carefully looked for the house numbers. 142, 144, 146, the next one should be his. She parked the car on the other side of the street and walked slowly across.  An old man was cutting branches off a bush on the side of 148. She looked at him, tried to remember the man she met almost 30 years ago.

To me he was old then, but he wasn’t much older than Robert is now.

The midmorning light was bright and the sun made his white hair shine.

“Excuse me,” she called out and the man turned around and looked at her, “I’m looking for George Hemstad.”

The man took a few steps closer to her and put his hand behind his ear. She raised her voice.

“I’m looking for George Hemstad.”

He took down his hand and smiled.

“That should be me,” He reached out his hand towards her and she took it, “And who are you, young lady.”

“I’m Kristin, the granddaughter of Kristin Berger from,” Then she stopped because George’s smile faded and he looked a bit pale. “We met at my grandfather’s funeral.”

He nodded and let go of her hand.

“Yes, yes,” he said quietly and looked at her face. The same greenish, brownish, yellowish eyes, the same as hers. The same as Anna’s.

“You know that…” she didn’t say anymore because he nodded slowly.

“Yes, I know,” he sighed deeply, “let’s go inside.”

They walked up on the porch; the door was open letting the fresh spring air into the house. He opened the screen door for her and let her in. The house was well kept, light and airy with oak floors and big glass doors from the living room out to the backyard.

“Why don’t you sit down and I will make some coffee.”

She walked over to the couch next to the glass doors and sat down. Behind her was a dining room table and in front of her a fireplace with a big wooden mantel. On top of the mantel were several framed photographs of George and who she presumed was his wife and children. A wedding picture stood in the middle and she strained her eyes to make out how the wife looked , all she saw was a dainty woman with dark hair.

After about five minutes George carried in a tray with two coffee cups, a saucer with milk and a small plate with cookies. She thought the coffee cups were Meakin, they looked familiar with their geometric pattern of turquoise and beige.

She took one cup and a cookie, the coffee was good, robust but not too strong.

“So,” George said after he had taken a sip of his coffee, “what brings you here?”

“I read my grandmother’s diary and,” she hesitated, “I never knew her and maybe you could tell me about her,” she stopped again, “and you are my grandfather after all.”

And it would be nice if something made any sense. Anything! I thought a man loved me and he didn't.  My little sister was molested and murdered. My grandpa wasn't my grandpa.  Please tell me something real, something human. Something that makes sense.

He looked down at his hands for a moment and spun his wedding band a few times. “I met Caroline, my wife, the second year in college. We got engaged and we were going to get married as soon as I was done with my education and had a job.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “Your grandmother, Kristin,” he smiled softly, “she was different from any woman I ever had met. I was a city boy and she,” he huffed, “she was like a creature from the forest, wild and strong.”

He took another sip of his coffee before he continued.

“You look a lot like her, or at least the way I remember her.” His eyes glided over her face and then his gaze got distant.” She always had this dog with her, a brown scruffy dog with yellow eyes. Followed her everywhere, sometimes I even got the impression they talked to each other. She used to sit down and put her hands around the dog’s face and they looked at each other for a long time,” he sighed deeply, “mesmerizing.”

“Were you in love with her?”

He looked at her face again, blinked a few times to get back to the present.

“Hell, yeah.”

Kristin laughed out of shock over the choice of words. He laughed too and pulled a hand through his hair.

“For me it was love at first sight, an instant connection. I was doomed!”

Kristin sighed now, her stomach got tight and uncomfortable.

Don’t think about Robert now. Don’t!

“What else did she do?”

“She rode bareback on those Indian ponies they kept. Just took off out in the woods for hours sometimes. And she chopped wood and dug in the garden.” He stopped and picked up the plate with cookies and held  it towards her, she shook her head, “Where I came from women didn’t do those things. She even went hunting with Albert; I believe she knew the forest better than he did.”

Every word was a glimmering jewel she gently picked up and placed inside her heart.

My grandmother I never knew was like me, in more than one way, she also betrayed her husband.

“I don’t want to sound judgmental, but in those days,” she searched for words, “I mean, I thought that maybe people were less prone to cheat.”

He laughed again, louder than before.

“People are always people no matter when they live, and I never saw what we did as something wrong,” he shrugged his shoulders, “to me it was perfect. Short but wonderful.”

“Did you guess? I mean when you left that…”

“No!” George interrupted her. “I had no idea. If I had known,” he stopped and shook his head, “it is so long ago, almost hard to recall. But if I had known before I got married I would have,” he stopped again, “but to be honest I’m not sure Kristin would have left Albert.”

Kristin shook her head.

"No,” she said, “I don’t think so either.”

He looked surprised.

“I read her diary,” she shook her head, “I don’t think she would have left my grandfather. She loved him too.”

George nodded.

“I know that, and when I came back to Caroline the love I felt for Kristin faded. Slowly but it faded, it’s very hard to keep a fire burning without wood. And my life was good, I loved my wife too but I never stopped loving Kristin,” he shook his head firmly, “never. I don’t think many days have passed in my life since when I haven’t thought about her. Of course life distracts you but there was always something that reminded me of her.”

He looked out the window and sat quiet for a minute.

I wonder what I have from you except for my hazel eyes.

“A girl with flaming red hair would walk by and I thought of her. Or a big brown dog, an Indian pony, the smell of pine trees, cold lemonade, swimming in a lake, fresh cream and strawberries, all of it made me think of her.”

Scrambled eggs, train rides, the City skyline, apple blossom, lions, Maine, broad shouldered men with greyish hair and freaking computers. 

“When I first came home I anxiously opened every letter and ran to the phone like a madman, thinking it would be her,” he rubbed his chin, “but of course it never was. Then I got married, became a father and all of it became a mirage. But I never forgot her and I never regretted what we had,” he shook his head again, “she always had a place in my heart and I always cherished those few months we had. When she died,” he closed his eyes for a moment, “it was heartbreaking, and I couldn’t show anything.”

Kristin looked out the window and thought of Robert. Thought of those few weeks they had shared. The burning passion and the close connection.

If months can last a lifetime, how long can a few weeks last?
She tried to shake the thought of him out of her mind, tried to focus on the man in front of her, her real grandfather.

“When did you find out that she was pregnant?”

He smiled a sad, forlorn smile.

“I didn’t know until she died and then.” He put a hand over his eyes for a moment. “Of course the thought of the child being mine but…” Sadness flared up in his face. “Then when Albert died his lawyer called me the same day and told me.”

“Wow that must have been a shock for you. And then you came to the funeral.”

“Yes, he wanted me to do the funeral and to see Linda. I wonder how he found out?”

“He read it in the diary when my mother was 15, but he never told her. And I didn’t know until a few days ago.”
George looked out the window again.
“Albert Berger was an extraordinary man!” he said without taking his eyes from the window.
“Yes,” she said and the grief for her grandpa flared up inside of her, fresh and burning, “I still miss him.”

Both of them sat quiet, Kristin peeked at him, tried to see herself in the old man, but she couldn’t.

“I thought about telling her then,” he pinched the fabric of his pants, “your mother. But her grief was so strong, so fresh I didn’t do it.”
He looked over at her with a question lingering in his eyes.
“She could use a friend,” Kristin said.
George nodded but didn’t say anything.

They drank some more coffee in silence. George hummed a few times and cleared his throat.

“I wrote so many love poems about Kristin. I guess you should have them,” he said more to himself than to her, “would you like them?” He turned his face towards her.
“Yes, please,” she nodded enthusiastically, “I would love them.”
“Hmm,” he said and got up, “I have them in a box in the attic. Perhaps you could go up there and get them. I don’t trust these old legs anymore,” he patted his thighs,” climbing ladders.”
“Sure,” she said and stood up.

 

They walked into the kitchen and he opened a door to a small mudroom, he stopped and pointed up to the ceiling.

“The attic is over the garage. We have to pull down the door and then the ladder will come with it.”

He reached over to a long stick with a hook on the end and grabbed the ring in the door on the ceiling and pulled. Down came the door and the ladder.

“Here,” he said and gave her a flashlight, “All the way in the back is a green box marked “Lake Country”.

 

She climbed up the ladder and turned on the flashlight. The attic was very neat and organized with boxes in rows. Each box had a number and a year written with black pen.

Wow, I wish I had inherited this from him or maybe it was his wife who was this neat. My sock draw looks like the archetypal image of chaos compared to this. And that is socks!

All the way in the back she found the green box; it wasn’t very big or heavy so she had no problem carrying it down the ladder again.

 He placed it on the dining room table and opened it.

“Hmm, let’s see.” He picked up a few notebooks and put them on the table, then he picked up a dark blue, he held it in his hands, caressed it and then handed it to Kristin.” This is the one.”

She took it softly in her hands, on the front he had written “Song of Salomon 8:6-7” .

“I was very romantic then, passionately in love with her and young,” he chuckled a little, “well you will see.”

 After a few more minutes of small talk Kristin said she needed to get going home. She gave him her mother’s phone number and he said he would call soon. They stood and looked at each other for a minute and he reached out his hand and caressed her cheek.

“Whatever you have from her,” his voice cracked, “whatever it is it is a marvelous thing.”

In the car she texted Jonas and asked if their mother and her could come for Sunday dinner later and asked him to call their mother. She texted John and said she would call later. She stuffed the notebook with George's poems in the glove compartment.  

She turned up the music and drove away from George’s house. Her mind was blank, worn out from the last month’s drama and truth bearing. After about an hour she stopped at a rest stop, went to the bathroom and grabbed something to eat.

 

 

                                                                              50.

“You never find yourself until you face the truth”

Pearl Bailey

 

When she turned down the road to the farm she was dog tired, she couldn’t see her mother’s car in the yard and she sighed with relief. Too tired to see anyone at the moment she simply put back the seat, pulled her jacket on top and fell asleep.

Knock, knock, knock. Oh, she so didn’t want to wake up. She opened one eye, then the other. Holly and James stood outside the car with their noses pressed against the glass. Holly’s finger tapped on the window.

“Wake up Aunt Kristin.”

She sat up and looked at the two children who now smiled at her. She was groggy after her deep, motionless nap and slightly nauseous. She opened the door and got out.

“Hi kids.”

“Why did you sleep in the car?”

James looked up at her.

“Why didn’t you come in the house, you could have slept in my bed.”

She sat down on the ground and put out her arms.

“Can I have a hug?”

James walked into her arms and when she hugged him she longed for Anna and Jack. A stomach turning longing.

“I was so tired I just fell asleep in the car.” She turned to Holly, who looked exactly like her mother with wild blonde hair and big blue eyes. A mini-Heidi. “Your turn!”

Holly gave her a hug and then she took her hand.

“Oma is already here. Daddy has made meatballs and mashed potatoes and me and James and mommy made apple pie.”

James took her other hand.

“And we will have ice cream.”

She squeezed both their hands.

“Sounds yummy.”

“Why didn’t Anna and Jack come?”

Holly dragged her by the hand.

“Next time.” Kristin said and the girl nodded.

“Albert cries a lot.” James said, let go of her hand and jumped up on the stoop.

“Babies do that,” she said, “you cried a lot when you were a baby.”

James looked offended.  

“Not like that.”

Kristin laughed and nodded her head.

I should come here more often.

 

Her mother stood on the kitchen floor with a sleeping Albert in her arms. She rocked slowly back and forth on her heels.

“Just like Jonas,” she said and smiled, “as soon as I put him down he would wake up and start crying.”

Kristin stood still and looked at her mother and realized that she had been angry with her for longer than she could remember but yesterday had chipped away on the anger. And under all that anger was love.

“Where did you go this morning?” Her mother asked.

Kristin hesitated, thought about George and his promise to call.

What would hurt more? If I told her and he never called? Or that I didn’t tell her and she found out that I knew?

Her brain was sluggish, had used up all its energy, couldn’t make any more decisions.

“I just needed some time to think.”

Her mother nodded and kept rocking back and forth on her heals.

At the dinner table everybody said some kind of version of “How nice this is. We should get together more often”.  

The kids ate fast and then they ran out the door with the dogs. James came in two minutes later with a nervous look on his face.

“Don’t forget to call us when it is time for dessert.”

The grown-ups laughed and reassured him before he took off.

Heidi nursed Albert, their mother went out to the kids and Jonas and Kristin cleaned up. The sense of belonging, the sense of ease, the sense of effortlessness was strong. Kristin and Jonas moved around each other without bumping into one another or leaving anything behind. What one missed the other one took without either uttering a sound.

“Mom told me something about dad yesterday.” They were almost done; Kristin was only going to wipe the table.

Jonas stopped what he was doing.

“Yeah, what?”

“I don’t know if she wants to tell you herself…” she stopped and looked at him.

He laughed and shook his head.

“Doubt it! We are not very big talkers , mom and me.”

“But if she does tell you…”

He nodded.

“Yes, I will pretend I didn’t know anything.”

She started slow so he would be able to grasp what she said. He grew paler as she spoke.

“Fuck!” he said when she was done. “Fuck!” He took a few steps on the floor.

He left the kitchen abruptly and Kristin heard the door slam.

“Fritz was one scary creep,” Heidi’s voice was angry, “he got what he deserved.”

Kristin went over to the doorway into the living room. Heidi lay on her side with Albert latched onto her breast.

“Yeah, weird how everybody disliked him and no one…” She didn’t know how to continue.

Heidi picked up Albert and sat up and put him to the other breast. He whimpered a little until he found the nipple.

“Jonas probably told you that my grandfather was in charge of both Teresa’s and Emma’s case? He was the only one who thought someone drowned those girls, everybody else on the force seemed to not care.”

Kristin shook her head, trying not to think about Emma in the hands of Fritz. Three year old Emma with the blond hair and the big blue eyes. And now Jonas knew, sensitive Jonas who fled into Scooby Doo when the world around them was hard to handle.

“I have to find Jonas.”

She ran out the door and looked in the yard. He wasn’t there; saw her mother and the kids by the swing set. Hedda came up to her. Kristin sat down and put her hands around the dog’s face.

“Where is Jonas? Can you find him? Where is he? “

The dog whimpered and took off, she ran after. Across the yard to the barn, around the barn to the ramp up to the hayloft, the dog ran up the ramp and in the cracked door. Kristin put her head in the door, at first she saw nothing in the dim light but then she could make out Jonas. He was sitting on top of the last hay from the year before. She walked in and was embraced by the smell of summer. She knew he had heard her but he did not acknowledge her presence.

She climbed up to the top, he sat with his arms around his knees and his face pressed into his legs. She knew that he had been crying.

“Jonas,” she whispered, “Jonas, I am sorry I just told you like that.”

He was quiet and she didn’t try to press an answer out of him.

“She was only three,” he said into his legs, “a tiny little girl.”

Kristin sat down next to him and put an arm across his back.

“I know,” she still whispered, “it is horrible.”

Jonas got up so fast she was about to topple over.

“What a fucking disgusting piece of shit! If he wasn’t dead...” He stopped short; breathing heavily withh is arms raised and his hands in fists. Then his arms sank down and he lowered his head.

“What a fucking life we have, sis.”

He sat down next to her again.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you?”

He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes were dazed just like when he was a child and things were hard to handle. He blinked a few times and the grown up Jonas came into focus again.

“It’s ok, it was just a shock. Better to know,” he stopped talking for a moment, “about dad at least.”

Kristin nodded and picked up a hay straw.

“Yeah, things are not always what they seem.”

Jonas chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“What shall we do?” she asked.

“Nothing much to do now, too long ago.”

Kristin pulled the hay straw through her fingers, deep in thought. Looked at the golden beige straw as it slithered in between the fingers.

“Robert said I was a good writer.”

“What?” Jonas voice sounded distant.

“Robert said I was a good writer.”

“So?”

“I think I will write a book about it all.”

Jonas moved away from her and looked at her.

“A book about what?”

She stood up, suddenly filled with fire.

“A book about us. And Emma and dad.”

And grandma and grandpa and George too.

Jonas smiled at her and shook his head.

“A book! Of course sis!”

 

After dessert Kristin and her mother went home. She finally got hold of John and the kids, even Anna was willing to talk to her this time.

They sat by the TV and watched a program on Showtime, normally Kristin was intrigued but today she was too tired.

Should I tell my mother about George? I can’t take more drama this weekend. I can’t! Uh, that is actually a good decision. I don’t have to do everything for everybody. I don’t have to sacrifice myself. I can choose to not put myself in hard situations. I actually have power over my own life.

She looked at her watch, 7:30, she stretched and sat up.

“I am going to bed.”

“Ok, sweetheart. See you tomorrow!”

She bent down and gave her mother a kiss on the head.

“Yes, mom, see you tomorrow.”

Her grandmother’s diaries lay exactly where she left them that morning. She found 1957 and searched for her mother’s birthday.

 

Dear Diary,                                                 April 1^st, 1957

 

Yesterday we brought home our wonderful daughter. She is tiny, precious, perfect. 

I would lie if I said labor was easy. The pain was different than any other pain I ever felt. Not a pain caused by a sickness. Yes, it hurt, horrible pain but I knew the pain was for something good. Something would come out of the pain, something wonderful.

When I got to hold her in my arms and she opened her big blue eyes, the pain disappeared. She has a tiny tuft of red hair on top of her head.  I put her to my breast and she drank. The nurses told me to stop, told me that they had formula but my doctor told me that I should keep nursing her. He thinks that my body knows exactly what my baby needs. I heard the nurses saying that he is just an old man stuck in the old ways, but I feel such a closeness when she lies by my breast I can’t even comprehend to give her a bottle.

Oh, my beloved Albert cried when he held her in his arms for the first time. He caressed her cheek so carefully and looked at me. He has waited so long for her.

She sleeps in Albert’s old cradle next to our bed and last night I spent far too much time watching her sleep instead of sleeping myself. I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up if she needed me. Albert kept telling me that he was sure she would let us know if she needed us.

Today Mrs. Henke is coming to help me a little with the household. Albert had to go to church this morning for a funeral but he promised to be back as soon as he could.

Oh, she is waking up!

Yours Truly,

Kristin

 

 

Dear Diary,                                         April 7^th 1957

 

The days fly by now when I have our little girl in the house. She is the most precious little baby and I spend so much of my time simply staring at her. We have decided to call her Linda and Albert asked if we couldn’t give her his mother’s name as a second name. I truly didn’t want to but I couldn’t say no. So her name will be Linda Annalise Berger. We will Christen her in a few weeks. 

Albert works so hard both in church and here at home so I don’t have to exert myself. He is a God given man and I feel so blessed to have him in my life.

Last night I dreamt of George, I have not dreamt of him in a long time. But last night he came to me and we sat on the porch like we did last summer and talked. He looked at me with his intriguing eyes and the sun made them green and glittering. Then Linda started to cry and I woke up but I thought about him for a long time last night and even this morning.

Nature is about to burst out in spring, we have had a very long and cold winter and we still have snow on the ground. A couple of days ago we got more snow but I can feel that the sun warms now.  I can see the buds on the trees about to explode and I know that under the new snow crocuses are blooming.

Yours Truly

Kristin

 

Dear Diary,                                                                                  April 15^h 1957

 

Finally spring has arrived a tad and Linda is growing beautifully. She is a strong and healthy girl. In four days she will be a whole month old. We are planning the Christening, we will have the reception in one of the church halls and we have ordered a pretty cake from the bakery. We decided to serve sandwiches and cake. Vera is coming over to help me with the sandwiches in a few days.

I have been feeling so tired the last few days. Albert told me to try to rest often with Linda but I feel like I should try to keep up with the household chores. Albert, the sweet man said he would hire someone to help out if I needed it. Maybe I am starting to get a cold or so.

 

Yours Truly

Kristin

 

 

Dear Diary,                                                                             April 19^st 1957

 

Vera was here today with her little Donny; he is 10 months old now and can almost walk already. He is a funny little boy who was very interested in Linda. He stood by her cradle and looked at her. Me and Vera laughed and said that they will get married one day. Vera brought over one of her marvelous meat pies. She is truly a great friend.

I am very tired now after a long day preparing for tomorrow’s christening. We made plenty of sandwiches. Egg salad, lax, cream cheese and strawberry puree and roast beef with horseradish cream.

I bumped my leg today and I got an awful bruise on the side of my thigh. Luckily my dress is long enough to cover.

Albert is in the church hall preparing but I am too tired and I am going to bed now. Linda is sleeping already with her arms over her head. I ironed the Christening gown before and put a pink ribbon on it. She will look like a little princess tomorrow. I do hope she won’t be very upset in the church.

Yours Truly

Kristin

Dear Diary,                                         April 24^th 1957

I have been ill since the day after the christening. I think I have gotten the flu. I feel very achy and tired. I do hope I won’t make little Linda sick. Perhaps I am a little better today.

The christening was wonderful and everybody brought the sweetest little presents. Vera had made a beautiful blue dress for Linda’s first birthday.

Kristin had to stop reading, she was crying so hard she couldn’t even see the delicate letters anymore.

I wonder if she ever wore that dress for her first birthday. Did she even have a first birthday party or did it all disappear in the grief?

She gently closed the book and put it on the floor. She wasn’t ready to read about her grandmother’s struggle against the leukemia. The struggle that ended five days before her mother’s first birthday. 

 

Chapter 47-48

47.

“You make me act like a fool

You treat me mean and cold and cruel

You make me do things that I hate to do

Why do you make me act like a fool.”

Dolly Parton

 

Kristin rarely got drunk; she had seen enough drunks in her life to not have the urge to get drunk herself.  But now she was close to it, she was right on the edge of tipsy and drunk. And it felt nice! All the joints in her body were filled with soda bubbles; they burst and made everything seem awfully glossy and pretty. When she went home to her mother’s she had felt an uncomfortable tension inside and it was a respite to leave the house again.  

This was her second glass of wine and she could feel she hadn’t eaten enough. She stuffed some more french fries in her mouth and took another bite of her burger. They had talked about “divorce or suicide PMS”, and the longing for a moment to themselves and sex after kids and sex after more than ten years together. Kristin couldn’t  remember when she had laughed this much.

“Let’s have dessert too,” she said and waved to the waiter. “We would like to have the chocolate cake with whipped cream and ice cream. Oh, and two spoons.”

She looked at the waiter, he was probably about 25.  He had dark hair and the slender build of a runner.

“Hot!” Karen whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, “shit, are we too old to flirt with waiters?”

Karen shook her head convincingly.

The chocolate cake arrived, they both dug in with their spoons. The cake was rich, not too sweet and stuck to their teeth.

All of the sudden, Karen pointed the spoon at her.

“You know what…you can be pretty intense. You remember when you threw Kevin’s bike in the river?”

Kristin laughed out loud and took another bite of the cake.

“He deserved it!”

“And when you were in love with Daniel, and you stalked him into falling in love with you.”

“Yeah!” Kristin smiled when she thought about herself as a 17 year old. That boy had been damn cool with his guitar and long hair. Of course she had to have him.

“And then,” Karen grabbed her arm, almost pinched it, “when he broke up with you and you made me prick your finger so you could sacrifice blood in some kind of witch spell.”

Kristin laughed and almost choked on the cake, she had to drink some water to clear her throat.

“But it worked!”

Both of them laughed.

“Maybe I should try that with this guy.”

Karen shook her head.

“That might be dangerous, I mean you are married.”

Kristin sneered a little.

“But it would be extremely satisfying if he came crawling back and begging for me. I would make him go down on me for hours.”

Karen laughed so hard she started to snort. Kristin’s gaze got unfocused. She looked over at the bar, met the bartender’s eyes for a moment then drifted away out the window. She looked at the train station, a train stopped and people got off. A woman and a man hugged for a long time on the platform.

“You know what, sometimes I feel like I would do anything to just get to talk to him again. Sit on his couch and talk to him.”

Karen stopped laughing as fast as she had started.

“That is a little twisted. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I know.” She leaned a little closer “He asked for passion and I gave him that.”

Karen took another sip of her drink.

“But at what cost?”

Kristin tilted her head to the side and thought about it. Thought about the pain, and the agony, and the stress, the good parts were bleak in comparison. A realization sank into her brain.

“I just realized that I exhaust myself when I meet someone new. I’m like a freaking hunting dog that doesn’t know when to stop. I run until I fall down.”

“Good lesson then.”

Kristin laughed.

“Yeah, next time I plan on cheating I will be slower.”

Karen laughed again, and then she put her hand over her stomach.

“I have to pee,” she stood up.

“Me too!”

When the woman who was in the bathroom finally came out both Karen and Kristin stood cross legged. Karen pulled her into the bathroom and locked the door.

“Me first!” Karen sat down and peed. “It doesn’t matter how many Kegels you do.”

Kristin started to giggle, and then it was her turn.

“You know what they say about the size of a man’s hands and feet.”

 Karen stood by the mirror and shook her head.

“Sure you do, you know big hands means a big…”

“Oh, yeah.” Karen put on some lip gloss.

“Well Robert has very small hands.”

That was all she said, it took a few seconds for Karen to get it and then she started to laugh.

“How small?”

Kristin showed with her fingers and Karen laughed even harder.

At 1am she had put Karen in a cab and walked home. She was careful not to wake her mother when she stumbled into the house. Her mother had left the kitchen light on like she used to do when she was a teenager and came home to the apartment. She made a butter and jelly sandwich, sat on the floor and ate it.  Drank straight out of the milk carton.

“Oh shit I am drunk,” she said to herself and giggled.

The bed was spinning one direction and the walls were spinning the other direction. She closed her eyes and thought the sensation would diminish, but it didn’t.  After a few more minutes she gave up and turned on the light again. Looked for something to do until she was less drunk, sat down on the floor and grabbed her grandmother’s diary and started to read.

 

Dear Diary,                                                     June 13^th ,1956

 

Today George Hemstad arrived; he will be living with us for three months to do his vicarage before he becomes a pastor in the fall. He will be staying in the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs and I have cleaned and put up new curtains for him.

He is younger than both me and Albert and he has lived his whole life in the city five hours away. Oh, you should have seen him when he got out of the car and the dogs ran up to him. He clearly wasn’t fond of them licking his hands. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

I had made a grand welcoming dinner; cold minted pea soup for starter, whole chicken with fresh potatoes and a green salad with French dressing. And I had picked strawberries from our garden and served them with whipped cream.  We sat outside under the maple tree and even though it was evening it was very warm.  The dinner was very nice and we all got along well.

I sit here now by the open window and I can hear him walk on the floor upstairs. I guess he is getting accustomed to the room.  Would you believe he had brought a portable record player and a whole suitcase filled with singles? He showed them to me when I helped him unpack. He asked if I liked music and I told him that I often play the radio but that Albert didn’t approve of a record player. He laughed and said that we could play the records one day when Albert wasn’t home. He is engaged to be married in the fall and he is 7 years younger than me but it still made me blush.

Yours Truly, Kristin

 

 

Dear Diary,                                         June 14th ,1956

 

I was very tired this morning and was still sleeping when Albert and Mr. Hemstad left. I couldn’t fall asleep last night; my body was filled with a strange restlessness. I don’t know if it was the heat, we did reach over 90 degrees yesterday. Or if it was because it is that time of the month and I always feel troubled when my period starts. Another failure to mark down on my calendar. Albert was considerate and let me sleep through milking time .

When I woke up it was close to lunch time so I had to rush. I didn’t want Albert and Mr. Hemstad to have to wait because I overslept. I quickly made a chicken salad from the left-over chicken and made sandwiches. I packed a bowl with strawberries and filled a bottle with some fresh iced tea.

The day was nice and warm and I rode my bike to the church. Mrs. Henke was outside with her three boys. The youngest one is just about to walk and he toddled around on the lawn outside church. His blond hair shone in the sun. My stomach just hurt when I saw that little boy. All I wanted was to pick him up in my arms and hold him tight. Oh, how I long for a child!

Albert didn’t care for his sandwich, said he didn’t feel well. I hope he won’t fall ill. After lunch I stopped by at Vera’s for a little while and we had a cup of coffee in the shade. She is due any day now; she told me she can’t sleep because the baby kicks her in the ribs.

I made a light dinner but Albert didn’t eat much, he said his stomach hurt and he went to bed after dinner. Mr. Hemstad helped me with the milking. I am so happy we have our Surge Milker.

 Afterwards we sat on the porch for dessert. We had a pleasant evening and talked about movies and music. He truly has the most intriguing eyes I have ever seen. Indoors they look close to brown but outside in the sunlight they change to green. He said he would prefer if I called him George so I said he could call me Kristin. And he reached out his hand the same way as if we met at that moment. Both of us laughed at the silliness.

I really have to stop writing now and try to get some sleep.

Yours Truly,

Kristin

 

Dear Diary      June 18^h ,1956

I haven’t been able to write for a few days. My poor Albert woke up early on Friday morning with a horrible stomachache. I called the doctor and he asked us to come in. George was kind to drive us.  I was awfully nervous and would never have been able to drive. 

We had to go to the closest hospital and Albert had surgery to remove his appendix. He will have to be in the hospital for at least ten days.

I feel lucky to have George here in the house. As you know I have never liked being alone and I don’t know what it is with this house but without Albert it feels less friendly. Perhaps it’s Albert’s mother’s ghost who comes out to haunt me. If she could have chosen, we would never have gotten married.

I have been to the hospital everyday but tomorrow I will stay home. I am exhausted and need some rest.

Yours truly,

Kristin

 

Dear Diary,                            June 21th, 1956

 

Finally the weather has changed and the heat wave is gone. I feel like I have been running around the whole week. In the mornings George and I have taken care of the cows, he have improved his milking skills tremendously, then I have made breakfast for the two of us and lunch to bring. After that I have packed my bicycle in the trunk and driven him to church. I thank God every day that he sent such a good man our way now when my Albert is incapable.

After I have dropped him off I have driven to the hospital to visit Albert. He asked me to bring a whole box of books but he is still too tired to read himself so I read to him for a few hours and he asks about the farm and how George is doing with all the responsibility. I reassure him everything is fine.

Then I have driven back to church and left the car for George, taken the bicycle and went home to take care of the house and the garden. At 5:30 George has come home and I have cooked dinner, then we have taken care of the cows and by half past seven I have been exhausted.

Albert told me to stay home Friday and Saturday and not come until Sunday after church. He asked me to bring George so he can discuss everything that has happened during the week.

I think I will bring George to the lake on Saturday; he also needs a day off. And I really need to lie down for a few hours in the sun.

Yours Truly,

Kristin

 

Dear Diary,                                                     June 25^th 1956

 

My hand is shaking as I write this, I have done something disgraceful. I have been unfaithful to my dear Albert. I don’t know what got into me. I still don’t understand how it happened.

I better start from the beginning. On Friday I didn’t go to the hospital to see Albert but stayed home and took care of a few errands and all the things I haven’t had time to do during the week. I saw Vera at the diner for lunch then I rode my bicycle home. George came home at regular time and we had dinner and took care of the cows.

I was so tired I was in bed already at eight and the night was cooler so I slept deeply and woke up feeling refreshed.

After taking care of the cows I made meatball sandwiches and packed a bottle of lemonade and George and I walked down to the lake. We had such a good time at the lake, he is a good swimmer and we even swam all the way out to the closest little island. Albert doesn’t like to swim and I know he only comes with me to the lake because he knows it makes me happy to be in the water and lay in the sun.

We talked about music and movies and once in a while our eyes locked. When we lay in the sun I could feel how close he was to my body. But I did, I promise I tried to not think about it.

When we came back home it was already late afternoon and after we took care of the cows I had to start with dinner. George said he would be happy with leftovers from the day before and I agreed.  We sat on the porch and ate cold chicken and tomatoes.

“I feel like I am on vacation,” I said to him and he laughed.

“Yes, we are like Adam and Eve in Paradise,” he said.

I can’t explain how it all happened. After we had our dinner he went upstairs and got his record player and we played so many records and then he asked me to dance. And we danced and danced until sweat was pouring down my back and then…then it happened. All of a sudden he grabbed me and kissed me and I didn’t resist one bit, and then we were on the floor right there in the living room and it was all a rush and burning.

Albert is the sweetest, most gentle man and I love him so but this was different. This was a fire that had to be put out. Afterwards we laid there panting and then we did it again.

I could clearly tell he knew what he was doing even though he isn’t even married yet and he made me feel things I never have with Albert. The only word I can find suitable enough is PASSION.

On Sunday we went to church together and during the whole sermon I could feel his eyes on me. I had to pinch my arm over and over again so I wouldn’t sit and stare at him. Then we went to the hospital and to sit there with Albert was the most bizarre experience. The room shrunk around us and I was sure he could see on me what had happened. But he seemed mostly interested in talking to George about the parish and how the day’s sermon had been.

After the hospital we went home and I could feel the tension between us. When I made lunch my hand was shaking and I cut my finger pretty bad. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my finger and walked to the bathroom to get a bandage. George was sitting in the living room and saw when I walked by and asked what was wrong. I told him and he came with me into the bathroom. He un-wrapped my finger and rinsed it under the water, I had sliced off a big piece of skin and it was bleeding profusely. He put on a bandage and stood so close I could feel the warmth from his body through my clothes.

I didn’t mean to do it but I reached out the other hand and caressed his neck, he closed his eyes and stood still while I was doing it. And it was the most arousing thing I have ever experienced, his skin under my fingers and his body next to me. When I stopped we were both breathing heavily. Then he took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom and this time it was all slow. We took our time and he touched every part of my body with his hands. It all feels so absurdly right.

I am filled with the strangest concoction of guilt and happiness. Oh, what will I do if Albert finds out? I CAN’T be a divorced woman. I CAN’T! 

Tomorrow Albert is coming home. The thought of sharing the house with the both of them makes me dizzy from nerves.

Yours Truly,

Kristin

 

Dear Diary,                                                                             June 28^th ,1956

 

Frenzy, no not even that word is strong enough to explain how I feel inside. Chaos, is perhaps more accurate. My beloved Albert is back from the hospital, he is still very weak and the doctor was very stern about what he is allowed to do and not do. He has to rest a lot and because of this George and I are left to ourselves a lot.

When I spend time with George I am in a bubble or one of those snow globes that children like.  Our world is small and nothing seems to be able to penetrate into us. At night when Albert has gone to sleep we sneak out like disobedient children and spend the last few light hours down by the lake or on a blanket in the meadow. I do not understand what has gotten into me. This is not like me.

We speak words to each other, words that should only be shared between a husband and wife. We share dreams and passions and beliefs.

As soon as we leave the woods behind us and I see the house our world disappears and I am Albert’s wife again.

And please don’t misunderstand me or judge me.  I love my Albert so. Is it possible to love two men? But, oh the love is so different. My love for Albert is grounded in the land, the burdens we have shared and our common understanding.

The love I feel for George is all ambers and fire and the same color as the setting sun. I only have to meet his eyes and I feel it all the way down into my pelvis. All day long I walk with an ache waiting for him. Nothing can set it right except for him.

On Sunday George’s fiancée is coming for the holiday. Albert insisted she should come even though he is still not completely well. I tried to talk him out of it but it was no use, and to be honest I don’t like the feeling of having to see George with another woman. How can I even put claim to him, I have not power to do that and still I feel like he is mine.

Albert said he wanted everything to be as usual and that I should call our friends and tell them to come for our annual 4^th of July party.  In many ways I don’t want anyone to come, I like the stillness out here and the few moments I have with George.

Yours Truly,

Kristin

 

Dear Diary,                                                     July 2 1956

 

George’s fiancée Caroline came yesterday afternoon with the train into town. She is a darling woman, sweet and helpful and I can understand why George wants to marry her.

Oh, last night was a horrible exercise; after Albert had gone to bed the three of us sat in the living room. I tried hard not to stare at George as he sat and held Caroline’s hand. I felt like a foolish teenager filled with jealousy.

I am sitting here by the kitchen table, it’s only five in the morning but I could not sleep any longer even though I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I laid in bed and heard how Caroline walked across the hallway into George’s room and I heard them through the floor. At first they were only talking quietly but then…I had to cover my ears. I could not stand to hear them make love. I know, I know he is not mine to keep but… Oh, I feel so confused!

Today I have to start preparing everything for Wednesday. So much to do, good in a way because then time will fly and it will keep my mind occupied.

I think I will take Adam with me out in the woods for a while now; I need to get away from the house for a moment.

Yours Truly,

Kristin

Dear Diary,                                                                 July 3 ^rd., 1956

 

I am the last one up, sitting again at the kitchen table. Caroline was kind enough to help me cook today.

Kristin stopped reading, looked around in the room, started to count on her fingers, realized she was a little bit too drunk to get it right and counted again.

“What the fuck!”

She turned back to June 14^th and counted on her fingers again. Stared across the room to the dresser, on top was a picture of her grandfather and her mother. Her mother was five years old and sat on one of the ponies, she smiled brightly into the camera and her grandfather held his arm protectively around her waist.

“What the fuck!”

She counted again on her fingers and stood up suddenly.  The book fell to the floor and the  memory became crystal clear. Her grandfather’s funeral and Pastor Hemstad met her eyes across the room. Eyes just like hers, eyes just like Anna’s. Eyes that change from brown indoors to green outdoors.

 

 

 

                                                                    48.

 

“When I woke the night was past. Alas, I had been going about for a long time in a sad state,

full of fever, on the verge of falling down stricken with some sickness or other.

Often things had seemed upside down. I had been looking at everything through inflamed eyes.

 A deep misery had possessed me.

It was over now. “

Knut Hamsun, Pan

She had been out in the hallway in between the two bedrooms several times but stopped outside her mother’s door and walked back into her room again. Eventually she lay down in the bed and stared out in the dark.

I am drunk! I can’t tell my mother when I am drunk.

When she woke up her mouth was dry, her head heavy and her stomach felt queasy. She grabbed her phone and checked the time. 10:37!  She heard her mother vacuuming downstairs. A calm domestic hum that only left her panic ridden.

My grandfather wasn’t my grandfather. My parents gave me up for almost a year. I cheated on my husband with someone who doesn’t want me. My grandfather wasn’t my grandfather. My parents gave me up for almost a year. I cheated on my husband with someone who doesn’t want me.

Her mother waved to her over the vacuum cleaner from the living room as she walked by to the kitchen. She made another jelly sandwich and when that was down in her stomach she drank three glasses of water. Went into the shower and stood for a long time under the water. But the itchy feeling wouldn’t go away.

Got dressed in a rush and left the house with the car keys cutting into her hand. Drove away from her mother’s house and ended up by the road down to the lake.

The parking lot was empty. This was the off season for the town, in between ice fishing and summer fun. As she walked down from the car she heard thunder in the distance and saw black and blue clouds over the water.

The docks were in the water but the plank that worked as a bridge from land was removed for the winter season. The snack bar was boarded up and all the tables were put away. The water was still, the same color as the sky. She walked slowly along the shoreline, kicked some of the branches and pieces of reed that had gathered on the sand during the winter.

She stopped and looked at the dock, estimated how deep the water could be, if it would be possible to walk from land to the dock without having to take off her pants. She took off her shoes, socks and rolled up her jeans.

The water was freezing, probably only in the 40’s. At first it hurt but when she stepped up on the dock her feet turned blazing hot.  Then lightning cut the world in two. She stopped suddenly; the realization that this might mean danger filled her body for a split second. Then she started to walk again. 

 When she came to the end of the dock, she stopped.  Stood still, listened to the thunder.  Rain started to fall. Heavy drops splattered on her face. Soaked her all the way into the skin in the matter of minutes.

Lightning everywhere, the wind started to whip, the thunder louder, cracking, ripping, shaking the air.

“Come on!” she said, “I dare you!”

Lightning hit behind her somewhere and she heard a loud crack.

“I am not scared! Come on!”

The sky above was now more black than blue, the rain so heavy it was hard to see and the thunder close enough for her to feel it in her body. The energy pulsating, vibrating, shivering.

She lifted her face to the rain, reached out her arms. A loud, crunching noise was all around her.

“I am not afraid!” she screamed to the storm.

The next thunder crack was so loud and so close her body ducked out of instinct.  She opened her eyes and saw how lightning struck on the shore to her left.  The electricity bounced over the ground. Made everything hazy and she could smell fire.

The rain kept pounding her, the thunder roared and the lightning struck with force. But she didn’t move! And in the middle of this beautiful, powerful, life threatening storm she was finally strong enough to let the truth penetrate her whole being.

“I will never see him again. He does not want me! He does not want me! I will never see him again.”

Her body had put a lid on the pain until she had gained back her weight, until she had slept enough, until she was ready. Her mind had sheltered her with beautiful day dreams of true love and serendipitous meetings. But now she was ready for the power in those painful words.

“He does not want me!”

She sat down on the dock and cried. Sobbed out every syllable.

“H-E  D-O-E-S   N-O-T   W-A-N-T   M-E!”

As she cried she realized she also cried for grandpa, and her father and Emma. And that when she needed someone the most no one had been there for her. No one!

The storm subsided as fast as it had started like spring storms tend to do. She sat trembling in her wet clothes. The birds started to sing again, the wind turned into a gentle breeze and the sun came out.  Took a deep breath, wiped her face with her hand and felt clean.

 Empty! Washed out! Liberated! Stronger than before!

 

She walked slowly back to land; the water wasn’t as cold this time, she barely felt it. She picked up her socks and shoes and walked towards the car.

When she came up to the parking lot a car pulled in and stopped a few yards away. A man stepped out followed by a happy golden retriever. She tilted her head to the side and looked intently.

Is that Kevin?

The man opened the backdoor and helped a small child climb out. The child was dressed in an orange fleece with matching orange and yellow striped hat.

“Daddy, daddy,” the child said and raised his arms to get picked up. The man picked up the child and called the dog back from a bush where it had put in its head.

When he saw her he stopped and looked confused. He was probably as surprised to see anyone here as she was.

When they came closer she could tell that he recognized her.

“Kristin?”

“Yes, hi Kevin.”

The dog ran up to her and wagged its tail. She reached down and scratched it behind its ear.

“How are you?” Kevin asked.

“I am good. How are you?”

“Out of work,” he sighed and looked down at the ground, “the upside is that I get to spend time with this little guy.” He smiled towards the child and the child smiled back.

Who could have ever guessed that Kevin would turn into a daddy?

“So what are you doing here? Visiting your mom?”

The dog sat down in front of her and looked at her with big brown eyes.

“Yeah, I came on Thursday afternoon.”

He looked down at her bare feet, and then looked up at her with a questioning expression.

“Did you go in the water?”

“Yeah, I went out one of the docks.”

“Wasn’t the water ice cold?”

“It was ok.”

He put down the little boy on the ground and the dog instantly left its spot by her feet and followed him when he started to walk across the parking lot.

“You were always a toughie. The toughest girl I ever met.”

She smiled, surprised.

“I know I was prick back then.” He looked down on the ground and then he lifted his head again. “I’m sorry about that, you so didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t know what to say, astonished and slightly embarrassed she looked over at the little boy and the dog.

“Anyway,” he said and shuffled his feet around, “it was good seeing you. Take care.”

Kevin waved his hand as he walked away. Kristin looked at him as they disappeared down the hill. She stood still until she realized that she was shivering.

Turned the heat up high in the car and put her feet on the vents, tapped with her toes on the dashboard and thought about things. Thought about things in a calmer way, the fretting had stopped. No more ferrets gnawing at her or fire ants under her skin.

I was really stupid to trust Robert like I did. Why did I do that?

She walked back into her memory of the first meeting. The cold march day, the horrible morning, the warm museum, his hand in hers. Slowly she touched the feelings he had awakened. The feeling of belonging, the feeling of home.

Home!

She closed her eyes, tight until she saw red spots in the black. Then light appeared and grandpa was there and daddy, both of them inside Robert.  Her grandfather’s hands, her grandfather’s books, her grandfather’s constant calmness. Her father’s irresistible charm, her father’s blue eyes and her father’s restlessness. A combination hard to resist. She sighed deeply and leaned her head back.

Will I ever know what actually happened or is this one of those things that is supposed to teach me something? I hate those things!

She sighed again.

Unfaithfulness runs in my family like a freaking plague. And grandpa is not grandpa!

Closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing for a while, it didn’t work very well so she opened her eyes again. Got filled with determination, put on her socks and shoes and drove away from the lake.  

 

She parked outside the church and was halfway down the path to the office when her stomach gurgled. She turned around and went to the bakery.

The little bell jingled when she stepped in the door, the lady from her childhood was replaced by a woman in her twenties with a pierced nose and spiky hair. The woman smiled brightly towards her.

“Hi, what would you like today?”

Kristin looked at the rolls, still Kaiser rolls and dollar rolls but also more wholegrain and ciabattas.

“I would like three Kaiser rolls and a bottle of orange juice, please.”

The woman took the tongs and put her rolls in a brown paper bag, placed the bag on the counter and grabbed an orange juice bottle from the fridge.

“That will be $4.50,” the woman smiled again and took the money.

Kristin walked back to the church, she leaned against the wall and ate her rolls and drank the juice.

Exactly like when she was small the church office was open on Saturdays until two. No one else was there when she walked in. No young couples in love wanting to get married or new parents with a screaming infant.

Grandpa looked down at her with his kind eyes from the painting on the wall behind the counter. “Albert Berger 1919-1988”

Did you know? Did you know that she wasn’t your daughter? Did you know and never told?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door to the pastor’s office opened and a woman in her early fifties stepped out. She had a neat bob and a blue dress and looked slightly familiar to Kristin.

“What can I help you with?” the woman asked and smiled cheerfully.

“I am trying to locate a pastor from the church who is retired. Do you maybe have a register of all the pastors?”

The woman’s face turned colder and her eyes filled up with evaluation.

“We do,” she said slowly, “but we don’t share our information for privacy reasons.”

Kristin smiled and put her head to the side.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Kristin, Albert Berger’s granddaughter.”

She reached out her hand and the woman took it. First the woman looked skeptical but then she started to smile.

“Yes, of course you are. I didn’t recognize you.”

Kristin put out her hands in a forgiving gesture.

“No problem, it was a long time ago,” she smiled, embarrassed, “to be honest I am not sure I recognize you.”

The woman laughed and shook her head.

“Of course not, I didn’t work here then, I was newly married. Pastor Berger actually wedded me and my husband.”

The woman’s eyes glossed over for a second and she sighed.

“So who is it you want to find?”

“George Hemstad.”

The woman sat down by the computer and started to type, while she waited she marched her red fingernails back and forth on the desk. Tap, tapi, tap, tapi, tap.

“Let’s see,” she pointed to the screen, “ah yes here he is. Do you want me to print out the address?”

“Thank you that would be great.”

 She folded the paper with the address and put it in her back pocket, then she opened the car door and got in. As soon as she sat down her cellphone beeped loudly, her mother had sent a text message asking where she was and she had called three times. Kristin put the phone back on the passenger side and started the car, drove slowly down the street. Thought about George Hemstad; estimated it would take three hours to drive to his house. Wondered what he would say if she showed up on his doorstep.

 

 

“Where have you been?” her mother said when she came in the door. “I was very worried.” Her mother sat on the couch with a book and a cup of tea.

Kristin didn’t mean to but she smirked.

“Mom, come on I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

Then something strange happened, the unfairness of her childhood grew inside of her. Grew and turned her angry. Furious at her mother.

“Isn’t it a little late to be worried about me now?” She put her hands on her hips and stared at her mother. Her mother’s face got pale.

“Why did you give us up, over and over again? Why?”

Kristin’s anger started to bubble inside of her. She had never talked like this to her mother and her mother looked bothered, uncomfortable.

“For him? When I was so small? For months! I was not even two.”

Her mother shook her head.

“Don’t blame only your father,” she said softly, “I was as responsible as he was and I know… I know I wasn’t a good mother.”

“But why mom? Why?”

Kristin started to walk across the room.

“I know Jimmy wasn’t good for me in many ways but I couldn’t resist him. I did love him.”

Kristin shook her head.

“Yes, but what about us? You loved him more?”

Her mother shook her head again.

“I didn’t know how to be a good mother. I…” she stopped talking and looked defeated. “I am so sorry Kristin.”

Kristin stopped in the middle of the floor and looked at her mother. She was angry, angry at her mother. Angry in her whole body. Angry, angry, angry!

“And when Emma died and he just left. Left you! And us! He just left! How could you take him back? How could you?”

Her mother lifted her eyes and looked at Kristin, didn’t say anything, rubbed her hands together, looked out the window, came back to Kristin.

“It makes no difference anymore,” she said quietly and rubbed her hands together again, “makes no difference so I might as well tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Kristin’s voice came out as a whip.

“Why don’t you sit down sweetheart,” her mother patted on the couch. Kristin shook her head.

“No! I rather stand.”

Her mother smiled and looked out the window again.

“You remember when your father left after Emma’s death, you remember how I called all his friends and no one had seen him?”

Her mother didn’t look at her but there was something in the voice that alerted Kristin to pay attention.

“Your father told me that he went to them all and they all told him to go home again. Go home and be with us. They wouldn’t give him anything to drink. Eventually there was only one left to go to and that was Fritz.” Her mother turned her head and looked at Kristin. “I never liked Fritz, not even when I was a little girl. He was ten years older than me and everybody knew to stay away from him.”

Kristin got an uncomfortable tightness in her stomach. Fritz with the sweaty hands and carnivore eyes. Fritz who always wanted her to sit on his lap, one time she had done it, and one time was one time too many. His fingers had moved under her shirt and caressed her stomach in ticklish circles.

“Yeah, what about it?” She tried to be angry with her mother still but it didn’t work.

“Jimmy went to see Fritz.” Her mother looked down at her hands, rubbed them together again. “They drank whiskey, a lot of whiskey and Jimmy was so upset over Emma’s death. He cried and then Fritz started to say things like, I didn’t mean to do it, and I am sorry Jimmy.”

Kristin’s legs turned strangely weak and she sat down on the floor. Her mother lifted her head and met Kristin’s eyes.

“You know Jimmy’s bad temper,” her mother sighed, “and when he understood what Fritz meant, he exploded.”

Kristin put her hand over her mouth, bile burned her throat and she had to swallow to not throw up.

“He shoved Fritz up against the wall and told him to tell the truth. Fritz started to ramble about Emma and then he also talked about Teresa.”

Kristin felt lightheaded; the room moved weirdly around her, her mother’s face was blurry.

“What are you telling me?” she whispered. 

“Fritz got hold of Teresa, molested her and drowned her on the moor. And he did the same thing to Emma. I always wondered where she was that whole time before they found her…” her mother’s voice faded.

Kristin had to lay down on the floor, this was too much to comprehend. They were both quiet for a long time.

“Did he kill him?” Kristin whispered.

“He wasn’t sure, but Fritz was unconscious at least so your father put him in the trunk of Fritz’s car and started to drive. He stopped many times but decided to keep driving and eventually he ended up down south in the desert where he carried Fritz into a cave and left him there.”

The ceiling over her head had a few cracks, thin black lines.

I wonder if the paint would fall down if I touch the cracks. Crumble like my life just did.

She stared at the cracks as her mother continued her story. Her father had left Fritz in the cave and kept driving until he came to an old friend from Vietnam. The friend took him in and her father worked on the farm there. Lived in a trailer and helped his friend with the animals. Saw his friend’s children grow up and missed his own the whole time. Eventually the longing to come home was stronger than the fear of prison.  So he packed his few belongings and walked and hitchhiked back home.

“He was willing to go to prison as long as he had the chance to tell me the truth. But I told him to not tell anyone. Just stay with me.”

Her mother stopped talking and Kristin didn’t know what to say. In the last 24 hours her whole life had been turned upside down, things were not the way she thought. What she had just heard felt unreal, a movie she had seen but not participated in. She slowly turned and looked at her mother. Her mother sat still on the couch with her hands in her lap. They looked at each other for a long time. Then her mother got up from the couch and walked the few steps over to Kristin on the floor. She lay down next to Kristin and took her hand. Her mother’s hand was warm.

“I am so sorry Kristin,” her mother whispered, “we, I…I am sorry we didn’t take care of you as we should have.”

She squeezed her mother’s hand, squeezed it hard and a tear spilled over and then another one. Her mother turned on her side and put her arms around Kristin’s body. Kristin buried her face against her mother’s neck and cried, quietly, softly into her mother’s skin.