Page 107

He looked genuinely hurt. “I would never do that.”

“We’re happy. The two of us, all right? We’re happy.”

“You said that twice.”

She yanked the t-shirt over her head, then, realizing she forgot her bra, swiped it off.

“Ulla doesn’t look happy,” he said.

“Ulla’s had her heart broken.”

Peter sighed heavily and placed his legs over the edge of the bed. He reached for his trousers.

There was a knock on the door. “Mamma, is Peter in there?”

“No,” said Ronja when Peter said, “Yes.”

“I'm ready for school,” said Ulla from the other side.

Ronja avoided his eyes and blinked away the emotion in hers. Peter buttoned his pants and quickly tossed his flannel on. He opened the door. “Let's go,” he said to Ulla and turned to Ronja, hand on the door jamb, eyes pinched, as if he wanted to say something, but Ronja had her eyes fixed on Ulla. She’d not seen her daughter look this happy, not in a long while.

It was mid-April when Ronja sped home for Ulla, annoyed that she’d stopped at school and was informed that, “Ulla was feeling ill. Her dad picked her up.” Ronja had wanted to surprise Ulla with good news, and here Peter was stealing her thunder. She found the two of them plopped on the couch watching Days of Our Lives. A bowl of popcorn kernels sat on the coffee table.

“Why aren’t you in school?” Ronja asked Ulla.

The guilt that passed between Ulla and Peter was fleeting.

“I had a stomachache,” Ulla said and fetal-positioned herself into the couch, muffling her giggle into the throw pillow.

Ronja picked up the empty bowl of popcorn and Hershey wrappers. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Peter ate all of it.” The two of them cracked up.

Ronja surveyed the clutter. They’d binged on more than popcorn and chocolate. They’d made cookies and brownies from a box. As if sensing her rising temper, Peter said, “Relax, I thought I had the rest of the afternoon to clean before you came home.”

Ronja massaged her head. “I don’t care about the mess. Ulla, do you want to go on a pickup with me? It’s just outside Pine City. I stopped at the school to surprise you. It’s a Dodge Charger. The sheriff thinks it’s in good shape.” Ronja hoped her daughter could have first dibs on the salvageable parts. Lexie still needed bodywork.

Ulla sat up. “You’re not mad?”

“Are you still going to graduate?” Ronja stared at the unopened box of announcements that they’d gotten for free and would send to no one.

Ulla shrugged. Ronja had wondered if one day Ulla would plain refuse to go to school. She had felt the extra long stares at Bachman’s SuperValu the past year, the whispers when no one realized she was standing in the opposite aisle: Think about it, her mother never dates, even turned down Vic Lidstrom. What if. . . ? Ronja heard at Town & Country Oil from one of the more sympathetic teachers that Ulla’s locker had been plastered with Kotex on her birthday, and Ulla had said nothing about it.

“So can I go with you?” Ulla asked Ronja, reaching through her jumbled thoughts. She nodded, and Ulla dashed for her coat.

Ronja looked into Peter’s compassionate eyes. He rose slowly and went to her. They exchanged a long look, and she masked the worry and unease chipping away at her. He slid his hands across her cheeks and up into her hair, kissing her. “You look tired,” he whispered in Swedish. “Hurry back?”

Ulla returned with her jean jacket and flipped her ponytail out from the collar. She glanced at Peter with a tiny but conflicted smile when she said to him, “Bye.” The sentiment hung incomplete, as if she’d wanted to close it with, Pappa.

They walked outside. Sprouts of green were poking through branches, and a pair of squirrels chased each other up the maple.

Ronja touched the handle of the T-bird and halted, rolling her eyes. “I forgot the keys.” She went into the house and heard Peter’s voice. “I have to go,” he said, followed by the click of the phone on the receiver. She froze.

Peter walked out of the kitchen and chuckled at her. “You took my wish seriously.”

“I need . . . ” Ronja began to say, stopping herself, and searched about the spinning room. She touched her forehead in false admonishment. “I forgot the dispatch address.”

Peter’s eyes clouded. “Oh,” he said, and they moved past one another. She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone.