“I needed…” Killian fumbled through his words, as though he’d kept quiet so long that they wouldn’t simply come to him; rather, he had to actively search for them, test them out before he could say them aloud. “I thought I could make my way to the chapel, no problem. For a long time I wondered if it was worth the risk, but it was…I didn’t come when Mom died, even though I looked up when the funeral was. I’ve never been able to forget it, that I didn’t go, that I never got to say goodbye, but I guess it was…you know, I was too scared to come. And afterwards, it was too late. So this time, with Dad, I felt like I had no choice. And I figured I would make it easy and quick. But when I got there, it was like something grabbed hold of me.”
He frowned, as if his story had already gone wrong.
“I don’t know how to describe it.”
He came through the forest, avoiding roads and trails, but it was hard to figure out where to go. He knew about the landslide, of course, but he hadn’t realized how much had been destroyed. Or had it always looked like this? He couldn’t tell what was changed and what he had simply forgotten.
Between the trees he caught a glimpse of a woman working in a garden. She wore jeans and a T-shirt in the warm morning sun, and she was holding a big watering can. Killian stopped to watch her. Hewas close enough to hear the burbling of the water from the can, its gentle splatter on leaves and petals.
It was her. In the split second before she turned and looked straight at him, there at the forest’s edge, he knew.
He couldn’t simply pass by, avoid her. And when she touched his cheek, as if to make sure he was really there, something remarkable happened: she burst out laughing, just as Sander would do in a few days’ time.
—
Felicia convinced him to come back to her house after the funeral. She needed to make an appearance at the reception at the village hall; she’d said she would be there, and if she didn’t turn up people would wonder where she was. Then she had to go in to work for a while. But she asked him to stick around.
“Just so we can talk a little more,” she said. “So I can understand. That’s all. Just for a little while.”
So, after the funeral, he came back. She had left the front door unlocked.
Killian sat down at the kitchen table and hoped Felicia would arrive soon.
He couldn’t think.
He had been spotted during the funeral, he was sure of it, but he told himself it was just the shock of being back, that and his grief over his father’s death. It waskymig,he thought, how he’d stayed away so long to protect not just himself but others. Now he was completely unprotected, vulnerable.
Time passed. An hour, maybe two? He tentatively walked through Felicia’s house, as if it might contain clues to the person she’d become. He pulled photo albums from the shelves and saw faces he didn’t recognize, men and children, scenes from a life he had missed outon.
Someone arrived. He heard brisk steps in the yard and realized it wasn’t Felicia. As if to confirm why his hands were trembling, Killian went to the door and opened it, and there he stood. He had changedinto work clothes, like this was simply a brief stop on the way. Maybe it was.
There was a moment of absolute silence as they stood there, taking in what had become of one another. Killian was astonished. In Filip’s face, he saw a life that reminded him of his own.
“I thought you might be here,” Filip said. “I’m sorry for your loss. I have to go to work, but I thought we should talk.” He was holding a large, dark object in his hand. “I have a feeling you recognize this.”
The spade. Everything surrounding Killian fell apart.
100
Filip didn’t even seem surprised to see him. Killian wondered why but couldn’t bring himself to ask. If one person knew, there must be more. Who? Would any of them call the police? He couldn’t handle that, not now. For so long he’d gone to great lengths to keep from being noticed; he had given up so much. Was he about to learn that he had failed?
He recalled one of the few close calls: a homeless encampment one summer, long ago, where he ended up after spending some time with the farmer in Mjäla. The police had almost gotten him that time. He had dashed off through the trees.
They hadn’t had time to see that it was him, he was sure of it. Or had they?
He never should have come back. He wondered if Filip understood the position of power he was in, if he knew how small Killian felt as he stood before him. How vulnerable he was. All it would take was one phone call, to just about anyone.
Killian looked at the road outside, noticed Filip’s van. If anyone passed by, they would see him, recognize him. They would surely wonder what Filip Söderström was doing at Felicia Grenberg’s house. Peril throbbed in his chest like a second pulse.
“I would really rather not stand so out in the open like this,” he told Filip. “Can you come in?”
Filip hesitated, seemingly also uncertain about what was going to happen next.
“Let’s take a drive and talk. You probably haven’t seen what it looks like around here for a long time.”
Killian wasn’t sure he wanted to find out, but he couldn’t refuse. He climbed into the van, which smelled like smoke and old sweat, and settled into the passenger seat. He focused on breathing.
Filip got behind the wheel. He placed the spade between them and drove off slowly. The area looked so different. Killian could see the young forest, short and sparse compared to the older, lush growth. He sank deeper into the seat; he would be so easily spotted if they met any oncoming traffic. He glanced at the spade. Hadn’t seen it for a long time, but he did recognizeit.
