Page 20

He cast his eyes to the mounds of crumpled wrapping paper. The longer he remained silent, the more her hope for an answer—a real answer—caved.

Peter finally said, “Car crash. The Midwest is not so forgiving in the winter.”

She didn’t believe him. He’d told vague stories over the years. But her sadness for him—for herself, too, at their lack of family—had always tethered them. The thought of having a family with Peter—she tried to stop the warmth from ensnaring her.

Leo and Bridget moved on to drinking till near blackout. They sang awful Christmas carols and laughed over the fact they were laughing.

“Hey, Peter, don’ miss out on the fun jus’ ‘cause Ronnie has ta!” Bridget tossed a shot and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Leo kept her upright.

Peter showed no emotion at Bridget’s invitation. He turned on the television to a Christmas special. Two women clad in skimpy Santa outfits clung to either arm of a handsome gentleman in a tuxedo. Bridget squealed, “Dean Martin!” and flopped onto the couch with a flourish. Leo joined her. They both unceremoniously took up the entire length, entangled with one another.

Ronja sat on the floor and arranged her baby’s new items into a pile. Peter balled the wrapping, and the sound crinkled throughout the tiny apartment. He worked slowly, as did Ronja, and they kept their eyes trained on Leo and Bridget. Their laughter eventually grew less gregarious and lazier and finally gave way to heavy eyelids.

Peter cleaned the kitchen, and Ronja sank into the recliner, tracing its brown threads. A commercial for a Porsche 911L appeared. A Neunelfer. She watched it hug mountainous curves. Fast and free. It summoned the thought of her baby’s father and lanced her with pangs of intolerable longing. She sucked down a cry.

Peter returned, and he touched her hair. It made her shiver. He leaned over the back of the recliner and in Swedish, whispered in her ear, “Come with me?”

Ronja glanced at Bridget and Leo, both halfway off the couch and passed out.

When she held his hand, Ronja felt a current through her body, and Leo’s comment from earlier—he’s got a little crush on you—drew her closer to Peter’s naked, hunting eyes.

He led her to the bedroom and closed the door, locking it behind.

She couldn’t say who kissed whom first. It didn’t feel like a kiss as much as a feral release. A sensual paradox of desperation and gentleness. They made love without hesitation or question. When she lay spent in his arms, with his hands cradling her belly, he spoke first. “I didn’t give you my present yet.” He kissed her below her ear and sent her wanting all over again.

“You gave me plenty of presents,” she whispered.

“No, those were for the baby. I bought you a house.”

Ronja shifted to meet his gaze. “Peter, no.”

His eyes filled, as if he knew she’d reject his offer. “Don’t leave, Ronja. Don’t leave me again. Stay.”

Chapter Ten

January – March 1969

One Month Later

Ronja

Peter and Ronja said nothing of their affair to Leo and Bridget.“They’ll know soon enough when we move,” he’d said. It was late January, three days past Ronja’s due date, and they lay next to one another, their sated respirations slowing after making love.

“Are you sure it’s not because Bridget has a crush on you?” Ronja replied, testing him.

With a mix of smugness and humor on his face, Peter only shook his head. “Do you want to come,” he asked, “when I close on the house tomorrow?”

Ronja wiped a sheen of sweat from his temple and braved the question she’d been avoiding, pretending not to care about. “How did you buy a house so soon?”

Peter left the bed, his absence chilling her. He pulled his pants on, and said with his back facing her, “I helped Gabby develop some clinics, like spas, and I have investments. I’m good with money. You’ve known this. Why ask?”

She studied his tense muscles and spoke the words circling her mind. The very same words she’d once delivered in their Stockholm apartment. “Because the only life worth living is an honest one. Don’t you think?”

He turned to her with a loaded gaze. “You and I both know we’d rather live with lies if it meant we could hold onto love.”

Love? Ronja tore her eyes away. She struggled to sit up. Her belly contracted. It had been doing that often, but the doctor said they were practice contractions and not to worry.

They both startled at the sound of the front lock jiggling. Ronja moved quickly to dress, but Peter remained. Perhaps it was Leo coming home, but his weight made the floorboards groan, not creak. “Ronnie? You home?” Bridget called out. “I have some good news!”