by Hill, Roxann
“We’ll see,” David said, falling silent. All that remained were the sounds of the engine and the one functioning windshield wiper.
I enjoyed gliding through the darkness without knowing exactly where we were going. I also enjoyed the quiet. With Valentin, I talked constantly. Mostly because he was a highly intelligent conversation partner. But David and I experienced these pauses, which in no way seemed unpleasant or embarrassing. Strange.
We drove past three hotels that seemed too fancy. Then we came upon a two-story house with a modest sign promising an overnight stay with breakfast.
“Shall we try here?” David asked.
I murmured approvingly as we pulled up in front of the entrance.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, climbing out of the still-running car. He rang the doorbell. Just when I thought no one would answer, the door swung in and an older man appeared. David exchanged a few words with him and entered the house. It wasn’t too long before he came back. He summoned me with a wave.
I turned off the engine, and it stopped with a predictable bang. I pulled out the key and stepped out of the car to join David.
“Take Emma upstairs with you,” he said.
“I can easily stay downstairs.”
“No, no,” he said, breezing past me. “We got the last room. It’s a family room. Three beds. I’ll get the suitcases.”
I opened the car’s rear door as quietly as possible. I carefully grabbed hold of Emma and picked her up, making sure that she stayed wrapped in my ski jacket.
Half-asleep she mumbled, “Mama,” and put an arm around me.
In the meantime, David had freed my suitcases from the rust-monster’s trunk; he stood, slightly weary, in front of me. On his shoulder hung another large duffel bag, which seemed to be the only baggage that he and his daughter had with them.
“Isn’t Emma too heavy?” he asked.
“Not a problem,” I said softly. “I’m stronger than I look. I do Pilates every morning.”
“It looks good on you,” David said. And before I could ask whether “it” meant my sporty figure or a sleeping Emma in my arms, he’d walked past me and was holding open the door to the bed-and-breakfast.
Of course, the guest house had a narrow wooden staircase—no trace of an elevator. There were three flights of stairs, and the climb turned out to be strenuous indeed. Finally, David opened a door and flipped the light switch—and we stood in our refuge for the night: an especially small by my standards—but very clean—attic with a wooden roof, waxed floor, and a ’70s-patterned floral rug. There was a plain table with two chairs, a large bed, and a dreadful plastic air mattress in the corner for small children.
I sized up the bed as discreetly as possible. It was definitely one massive mattress, not two pushed together. It would be impossible to separate it. No way could I stay here.
Evidently, David had noticed the direction of my gaze, despite my discretion. And judging from the set of his mouth, he seemed just as skeptical.
Emma became restless in my arms and opened her sleepy eyes. “Are we there yet?” she mumbled.
“Yes,” I said.
“Cool!” She pointed to the horrible plastic air mattress. “A bed all to myself. It’s so nice and colorful.”
I put her down, and she ran to it immediately. She yanked on the protective net that was attached to all four sides of the bed to prevent falls. “Papa, Michelle—I am so tired. I want to lie down now.”
“We need to wash up first,” I said. “And only then may the young lady go to sleep.”
David grabbed the car key I’d set on the end table. “While you’re busy doing that,” he said, “I’ll go move the car to the guest parking lot.” And he left.
The bathroom was small. Windowless. A single shower stall, a toilet, a sink. Dark-green tiles from the seventies. Oh, my God!
Emma fished out her toiletries from the duffel bag, and we brushed her teeth together, combed her hair, washed her face, and—since it was important to her—we washed her feet, too. Then she ran across the room, crawled into the plastic monstrosity at lightning speed, and pulled the covers up to her nose.
“I’m done,” she said. “If you want me to fall asleep, you need to tell me a story right away.”
“What kind of story?” I said, perplexed.
“About princesses and queens. Or about elves and Santa Claus. That would also be fine.”
David was just walking back in, his clothes covered in snow. He shook himself off and acted surprised to see Emma in bed. “You’re quick little soldiers.”
“Michelle still needs to tell me a story!” Emma said.
“Not tonight,” her father replied. “Now it’s really too late.”
Emma’s disappointment was obvious.
“We have the whole day tomorrow,” I said, secretly feeling relieved. This way I’d have time to come up with something. “I promise you an especially cool story. With a princess and a king. I’m totally familiar with that kind of stuff, you know.”
“And a pink-red car,” Emma said sleepily. “And snow . . .”
“If you want.”
David tugged at my sleeve and signaled that we should be quiet. Carefully, we tiptoed into the middle of the room, where David leaned closer to whisper, “You can’t sleep in the car. Even I can’t do it. It’s bitterly cold.”
I held my breath and whispered back, “But there’s only one bed. I don’t know if that’s really a good idea.”
David paused, and I got the impression that he was starting to blush.
“What else can we do?” he said. “We’re adults. We can behave ourselves. Or do you have doubts about that?”
“No,” I quickly replied. “We’re two mature people and no longer seventeen. There’s no risk that we’ll—” I didn’t finish my sentence, but David completed my thought with a somewhat too-forceful nod.
He pointed nervously toward the bathroom. “You can go first if you want.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s nice of you.”
“I’ll just sit here,” he said, pointing to one of the chairs. “I’ll sit here and . . .”—a look of helplessness came over his face—“and I’ll wait.”
This was embarrassing! So extremely embarrassing!
Before also turning completely red, I got one of my suitcases and disappeared into the bathroom.
I closed the door, leaned against it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then a thought began simmering in my head. What should I even wear? The negligees I’d bought for my nights with Valentin all had something of—how should I put it?—an erotic flair. They revealed more than they concealed. Much more, to be completely honest.
I couldn’t possibly come out wearing such lingerie.
Hastily, I rummaged through my things until I came upon the track suit I’d packed for my Pilates exercises. It was also quite sexy and emphasized my figure, but it was a thousand times better than Belgian silk and lace.
The blood was shooting to my head again.
I tippy-toed into the shower—God only knows who’d been in there before—made lavish use of the shower gel, shampoo, and special hair conditioner. I carefully used lotion from head to toe and brushed my teeth before slipping into the track suit.
My hair looked rather boring, so I blow-dried it until it showed some life.
A touch of perfume wouldn’t hurt either . . .
Michelle, what are you getting ready for? Your wedding night? said a little voice in my head. I immediately zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin and opened the door.
David was still sitting in the same spot, trying to look as relaxed as possible. His eyes flickered at the sight of me, and then he cleared his throat.
Total wedding night feeling, I silently agreed with that little voice. Aloud, I asked, “Did I make you wait too long?” Was that casual
enough?
“No,” David said as he stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair.
“Well, it’s all yours.”
David considered what I’d said with a friendly smile. “What?”
“The bathroom,” I added quickly. “You can go to the bathroom now.”
“Oh, right, of course,” he said, sitting up straight. “Sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
“That happens to me, too, sometimes,” I said, which didn’t make the situation any better.
He got up awkwardly and tried to get past me. I rested a hand on his arm. He stared at me, dumbfounded.
“You need your bag,” I said.
“My what?”
“Your toiletries.”
He put his hand on his head. “How could I have forgotten? I thought . . .” Pointing to the bathroom door and then Emma and then me, he said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” He turned around, grabbed his duffel bag, and disappeared into the wet, windowless cell.
I’d only just sat down on the same chair he’d used when I heard the water running. I made sure Emma was sleeping, and waited, just like David had, a few minutes ago.
Hearing him step into the shower, I thought about how he’d look without any clothes on. The hard jet of the spray leaving pearls of water on his skin. How he’d lather up thoroughly without missing the tiniest spot . . .
All of a sudden it hit me that David had listened to the same shower sounds while I was in the bathroom. He’d probably played out a similar scene in his head, but with me in the leading role. That would account for his odd, self-conscious behavior when I suddenly emerged from the bathroom.
This was promising to be a great night.
11
His damp hair was combed back. His skin had a fresh glow to it. He wore jogging pants, and his T-shirt revealed that he was more muscular than I’d thought. As I said, he was quite good-looking, in his own way.
“How was the shower?” I tried to loosen things up between us.
“Wet,” he said. “Nice bathroom. Good water temperature. Everything works.”
“I’m not at all tired,” I lied.
“Me neither. But I have an idea.” He went back into the bathroom and came out with two toothbrush cups. “I saw a bottle before.” He pointed to the night table. And right there, as if on cue, stood a bottle of complimentary wine.
I got up to inspect the label. Just as I thought: cheap stuff, probably purchased from the bargain store. But anything was better than going to bed with this stranger. No, not “going to bed with,” it’s “getting between the sheets with.” No, I mean, “sleeping with” the stranger—ugh, that’s even worse! What had I gotten myself into?
We sat on the chairs across from each other. David unscrewed the top. He poured the wine into the glasses, and we toasted.
I’d prepared myself for a vinegary taste. But to my surprise—although it was a simple wine—it was mild and pleasant on the tongue.
“Emma’s already sleeping,” I said.
“She was tired.”
“Very tired. It must have been a very long day for her.”
“Normally she goes to bed much earlier.”
“That’s probably better.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I took another sip. Once I’d emptied my glass, David refilled it without my asking.
Slowly, a pleasant warmth spread over me, and it suppressed my anxiety.
“When do you need to be in Berlin?” David asked.
“The earlier the better. I need to clear something up there.”
He nodded as though he understood. “I have an important meeting ahead of me, too. On the twenty-third of December at eleven o’clock.”
“Aha,” I said without asking further questions. I assumed he needed to report to the unemployment office. It was more difficult to find a job in the winter, especially if one wasn’t skilled, as I’d surmised was the case with David.
“We’ll drive through Nancy. I have something urgent to take care of over there,” David said. “Despite the detour, we’ll still make good time.”
“Yes. The car . . .” I made a vague gesture with my already empty wineglass. “It drives quite well.”
“A real classic.”
“Right. A classic.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Oh, a Z4,” I said. It just slipped out of my mouth, and I wanted to slap myself for it. I was making the unbridgeable gap between us very clear to him. He had so little money compared to me. Why, he and Emma could have lived for two years on the cost of my car.
But it didn’t seem to bother him. “A BMW?” he said.
I nodded.
“Nice car.” He refilled both of our glasses.
“When one has money, one can afford beautiful things,” I philosophized.
“That’s true.”
“It makes everything easier. One doesn’t need to worry about anything. Problems seem to solve themselves.” I snapped my fingers to reinforce the point.
“Really?”
“Of course! Rich men, for instance, have no problems at all. They get everything they want.”
For a moment, David looked into his glass as if it contained a deeper wisdom.
“But—” he began.
I stopped him by wagging my index finger in front of his nose. I suddenly felt quite confident and energized. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you simply can’t understand. You’re, well . . .” I wanted to say poor, but stopped myself and continued with “ . . . not particularly wealthy.”
David acknowledged my comment with an indulgent smile. “Nevertheless, I can at least try to put myself in the shoes of a rich guy.”
I leaned back and urged him to go on by emphatically waving my hand. All traces of false modesty had disappeared.
“So, I’m imagining,” David said, “that when somebody’s rich . . . so incredibly rich . . .” He hesitated.
“Keep going! It’s a good start.”
“So, if a very rich man meets a woman . . . let’s say a young woman who’s good-looking and very congenial . . .”
I smiled and nodded.
“How can someone that rich be sure that she loves him for who he is—and not for his money?”
I stared at him, totally perplexed. “And you call that a problem?”
“I think so. A rich man can never know for sure.”
“Ha!” I said. “It’s obvious that you have no experience. The rich guy simply needs to do the following: He needs to act poor—convincingly, though, and paying attention to every detail. Completely poor. Like a church mouse. And then . . .” I tried to snap my fingers again, but this time I failed. After the third attempt, I gave up. “And then in no time at all,” I continued, “he’ll be able to tell if the woman truly loves him.”
“But that’s no basis for a partnership. That would be a deception.”
“Deception—what a horrible word! A little illusion, a trick. Just think how happy the woman will be once it comes out that her great love is also rich. I don’t think she’ll complain! In the inverse scenario . . .” I banged my knuckles on the table. “Wow! In the opposite scenario, the guy has a problem. That would be a real deception!”
David studied my face for a moment.
Our bottle was empty. We had no further excuse to postpone the inevitable. But now it no longer seemed so terrible to me.
I stood up abruptly. “I’ll sleep on the right side.”
“That’s fine,” David said. He still seemed deep in thought. Naturally, I’d impressed him with my logic and experience.
“Go to bed,” I said.
My words brought him back to reality. “You want to sleep on the right?”
Without saying a word, I went to the large marital bed, slipped under
the covers, and closed my eyes tightly. After awhile, I heard the mattress squeak next to me.
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night, Michelle Krämer. Sleep well.”
I giggled softly. “Since we’re already sleeping together, we could at least drop some of the formalities.”
“Okay. You can call me David.”
I giggled again. “I know.”
“So, I’ll try again: sleep well, Michelle.”
Shortly, I heard him breathing deeply and steadily next to me.
At least he doesn’t snore, I thought. And maybe I was even a little disappointed. Maybe it would have been cute if we both . . . no. I immediately banished the frightening thought from my mind. He was a good-looking man, polite, and, as far as I could tell, a caring father, too. But we were not at all suited for one another. And sex with a complete stranger? With Emma in the room? No, that just wouldn’t work.
I pictured Valentin, but his face was fuzzy. Unfamiliar. And his expression arrogant.
The stress of the day had taken its toll on me. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.
12
For breakfast we had rolls with butter and honey. There was also plenty of coffee for David and me and hot cocoa for Emma. Soon after, we were back in the car and continuing our journey.
We couldn’t get much of a sense of our surroundings. Our car was like a cocoon—a warm, cozy pocket amid the severe cold and another seemingly impenetrable snowstorm.
David had managed to get the second windshield wiper to work. Evidently, he was very skilled at repairing old cars. Perhaps he should have been looking for a job as an auto mechanic.
The Citroën battled bravely against the wall of white. David also drove very cautiously. Obligatory holiday music played on the radio. Just now Chris Rea was singing “Driving Home for Christmas,” and I caught myself quietly humming along.
“Michelle,” Emma called. For a long while she’d been playing with the McDonald’s figurines in the backseat. Now she sounded bored.
“What’s up?”
“You promised me a story. You said you’d tell it to me during the drive today.”
