“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Licia is back. I will not let you just stand and watch happiness slip from your grasp.”
“All right,” I said.
“You have a duty now to be happy,” she said. “A duty. To your daughters, to your son, and to your wife.”
She locked her eyes on to mine, smiled the most beautiful smile, and her wolf eyes glowed blue-white and gold. I felt in my heart that she was right.
We tipped Licia’s possessions into a black plastic sack, which we placed in the hallway. Vee wrangled the mattress from the bed and stood on the narrow deck at the front of the apartment, beating out the dust for all she was worth. Elsa and I filled buckets with Pine-Sol and hot water and washed down the walls. When Vee had finished with the mattress she fetched a bucket, began to wash down the frame of her sister’s bed.
We worked wordlessly, methodically, smiling all the while. And all the while Licia slept. Or so we thought. I was scrubbing at a mark on the skirting when I felt eyes on me. I stopped, looked up.
There she was, framed in the doorway.
“Hey,” I said.
Licia frowned.
Elsa got to her feet, walked to the door.
Vee was smiling up at her sister. “We’re cleaning up.”
Again Licia frowned.
Vee’s smile froze. I tried to catch her eye, to let her know that things were okay, but she swallowed hard and looked away.
Licia turned toward her mother, who was trying to embrace her.
“Please don’t feel you have to, Mum.”
Elsa laughed an uncertain laugh. “Have to what? Hug you, or tidy up your room?”
Licia gave Elsa a stiff little hug. “I tidy my own room, Mum. Please.”
“You know what’s weird?” said Vee pleasantly.
“What’s weird?”
“We’re all so happy to see you home. Like, really unbelievably happy. And you aren’t. You aren’t at all happy to see us.”
“Vee,” I said.
Licia was frowning at her sister.
“Well, she isn’t, Dad.” She turned toward Licia. “Are you?”
“Of course.”
“Licia,” said Elsa, “I don’t think there’s anything in your wardrobe that will fit you any longer.”
“Are you really happy to see us?” said Vee.
Elsa put an arm on Licia’s shoulder and began to turn her. “What say you come with me and pick out a couple of dresses from my wardrobe?”
Licia nodded. They walked from the room.
I looked at Vee. Vee looked at me. “What?” she said.
“It’s early days, and your sister has experienced something unbelievably traumatic, Vee.”
“Like, people dying? Or weird kidnap sex stuff?”
“I can’t say for certain. But could you please lay off the direct questions?”
She looked at me, doubtful. “When are you going to take her to the police, Dad?”
“I’ll go and talk to your mum.”
No one spoke much at lunch. Elsa and I smiled throughout, glad to have our family together, hoping that our happiness might spread to our daughters. But now that happiness felt strained, more a display than a spontaneous expression of emotion.
Only Franklin seemed truly happy. He waved his tiny fists, saying “Llll . . . Llll . . .” over and over. Impossible to believe he could remember his sister. Licia smiled warmly at him, but when I caught her eye there was an emptiness behind the smile that troubled me. She looked away, sat frowning at the food on her plate, then forced herself to smile and look up.
Vee stared at her sister. I could see she was on the verge of tears, though she would not let herself cry.
“May I go clean my room?” said Licia.
I looked at Elsa. Elsa nodded. “Of course, love,” I said.
“Thank you.” She got up, carried her plate to the dishwasher, knelt down, loaded it into the bottom drawer, the glass into the top, put her knife and fork into the cutlery basket. She closed the dishwasher and walked from the room. Still Vee was watching her sister, shaking her head as if trying to erase a thought.
I pulled my chair next to Vee’s, put my arm around her. She leaned into me, sobbed silently for a time. “This will pass, Vee,” I said.
“Llll,” said Franklin.
“I promise you this will pass.”
“It better.”
“Your father’s right, honey.” Elsa was on her feet by Franklin, reaching down to pull him from his high chair.
Vee was staring sullenly up at her mother. “Did you even call the police?”
The smile froze on Elsa’s face.
Vee looked from her mother to me. “Seriously? Neither of you called the police yet?”
Elsa sat down. “It’s Saturday,” she said.
“So? This is an active case.”
“Vee,” I said. “Vee, listen to me. Of course we are going to call the police. But in practical terms there’s very little difference between us calling now, and us calling on Monday. We decided it would be good to have a bit more time. There’s so much we don’t yet know about what’s happened.”
“And, what? You’re going to know that by Monday?”
“I mean—”
“Because you know what it looks like? It looks like you’re trying to get a story straight.” She was on her feet, heading toward the living room. “Thanks for the food.”
“Vee,” said Elsa.
“What?”
Elsa nodded toward Vee’s plate.
Vee walked to the table, picked up her plate, loaded it noisily into the dishwasher.
I heard shouting from the girls’ rooms: Vee’s voice raised, Licia’s speaking calmly.
Elsa and I looked at each other. I got to my feet, was at the doorway to Vee’s bedroom in four steps.
Licia moved quickly away from Vee’s desk. She turned to me. “You shouldn’t allow it,” she said, her voice low and calm.
“It’s rated fifteen,” said Vee, “you cretinous freak.”
“Vee,” I said, “please.”
“She ripped the controller out of my hand, Dad.”
I looked across at Licia.
“It’s inappropriate,” said Licia in the same calm, measured voice. “Surely you can see that?”
“I’m am trying so fucking hard with her, Dad,” said Vee. “Really I am.”
“We allow this game, Licia,” I said. “I’d expect you to remember that.”
“You shouldn’t. She just shotgunned a girl in the face.”
“Well, we do.”
Vee turned her arm over, thrust it in front of my face. Red welts where Licia had gripped her wrist, the nail marks still visible.
How quickly that old pattern was reasserting itself: Licia judgmentally pulling rank and Vee—always so quick to anger—punching low, insulting her sister’s intelligence. Even now, even as Licia floated beautifully from room to room like a traveler returned from a strange land, wearing strange new clothes and speaking in strange new words: changed in ways we could not hope to understand.
Here was Elsa now, watching from the doorway. She sent me a questioning glance.
“Licia,” I said, watching Elsa all the while, “do I really have to explain to you the difference between real and imagined violence?”
Elsa gave an approving little nod. I turned back toward Licia.
“Damn right,” said Vee.
Licia looked at me. “You don’t have to explain that difference to me. I’m not stupid.”
I heard a telephone. An unfamiliar ringtone, tinny and small.
Licia stiffened. She looked down at the little gray canvas bag that she wore at her waist. She looked at her mother, then looked at me.
“Do you need to get that?” I said.
She stood there, paralyzed, as if she didn’t dare lift the phone from its bag. I looked at Elsa, who was staring at Licia, eyes flashing white.
“Why don’t you take the call, hone
y?” she said.
Licia opened the bag, took from it the simple gray phone, holding it in two fingers as if it were a foreign object. She turned it over and checked the screen. She looked at Elsa, then at me. She walked across Vee’s room and opened the door into her own.
I said, “Should we—”
I heard Vee say, “Yeah, just use my room as a corridor, Licia!”
I heard Licia’s door slam shut.
“We should . . .” said Elsa. She stepped into Vee’s room.
We stood, the three of us, looking toward Licia’s bedroom.
“What is this, Mum?” said Vee quietly. But Elsa simply shook her head.
We could hear Licia’s voice through her door, though we could not make out her words.
“You need to make her tell you,” said Vee.
“Vee,” said Elsa, “do you see how fragile your sister is?”
“This is what you call fragile?” Vee held up her arm. Dark bruises were beginning to appear.
“I’d call that evidence of a fragile mental state. Wouldn’t you, Cal?”
“I would,” I said.
Vee made a scoffing noise.
I turned to Vee. “She doesn’t have your strength, love.”
Footsteps moved toward Licia’s door. The door opened. “Viktoria,” said Licia, “I want to apologize to you with all my heart.”
“Who was that?” said Vee.
“I’m so sorry, Vee, I should never have gripped your arm like that. I don’t know what made me do it.”
“Why won’t you tell us what happened?”
But Licia just smiled blankly.
Thirty-Seven
Elsa insisted we take the boat out. And when Licia said she would wait for us at home, Elsa continued quietly to insist. We were a family, she said, and we must behave like a family. Eventually Licia gave in. And so we walked to the marina, set off down the fjord in our little red speedboat. The day was hot, the water flat. No one spoke much, but Vee and Licia did not argue.
When we reached Håøya we moored in the same natural harbor as we had a year ago, took the same path across the island. Heavy clouds were rolling in across the fjord.
As we passed Quisling’s cabin, Licia stiffened. A group of goth kids were sitting on the porch by the carved wooden door, smoking a large joint. Licia stared at them as we passed. They seemed to recognize her, then us.
“We really should burn this cabin to the ground,” said Vee, loud enough to hear. “It’s like a magnet for assholes.” The goth kids spoke words among themselves that we did not hear, stared defiantly at us.
We walked on in silence till we came to the willow tree. Elsa gathered the branches, opening them as if they were a curtain, and we stepped inside. The tree had grown more than we could have imagined, though we had to stoop. Only Vee and Franklin could stand upright. Elsa knelt and undid the cane-and-wire enclosure that Henrik had made, and we hunkered down in a circle, smiling at each other.
Elsa spoke. “Licia, we wanted to fix in our minds the image of you sleeping on your grassy bank at Garden Island.”
Licia swallowed hard, looked at the ground.
Elsa said, “We imagined you lying there in your kingfisher dress, and we imagined that you were happy, before the knowledge of those men and the terrible things they did. We didn’t know then, and we still don’t know, what that must have been like for you. All we knew was that it must have been truly awful. And we chose this island because we wanted a happier place to come if we wanted to feel close to you.”
How pale Licia looked here in the shade of the tree, as if she rarely saw daylight.
I looked at Elsa. I could see the cleverness in her bringing us here. Perhaps it would spur Licia to speak.
“So, here comes the weird part,” said Vee. “We communicated with you through this tree, Licia.”
Licia laughed. “You did not.”
Vee was laughing too. “You didn’t hear us?”
“No.”
“We said some pretty great things,” said Vee, eyes shining. “Mum was going to listen to you more. I was going to stop being a shitty sister, which I still kind of intend to do—I’m sorry too, by the way—and Dad talked about how much he missed your breakfast times together. It was super-spiritual. Pretty amazing, when you think the rest of us really don’t do God.”
“You could ‘do God,’ you know, Vee. It’s not like you need any special skills.”
“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up,” said Vee. “I’m kind of an empiricist.”
“I don’t know what that means.” But Licia was smiling happily at Vee.
“You don’t have to know, Licia,” said Vee. She slid an arm around her sister.
I could hear Franklin cooing to himself just beyond the canopy. He must have slipped out. “I’ll go get him,” I said.
“Stay,” said Elsa.” She parted the canopy and stepped out. Vee and Licia stood, arms around each other, eyes shining, saying nothing.
I crouched down. The trunk of the willow had grown around the little band. Only the word home was visible now. “I planned to take this with us,” I said, “only I don’t think we can. And look . . .”
Someone had hung a handwoven woolen band around the trunk, a few centimeters lower down. On one side, black on white, the word CHERISH. On the other side, PROTECT.
Licia smiled. “Someone watching over our tree.”
“Okay, that’s it,” said Vee. “I’m getting out before I cry.”
Then Licia was kneeling beside me. She looked at the band, ran her thumb along its edges.
“I didn’t know, Dad,” she said, her voice like breath.
“What didn’t you know, love?” I whispered.
“No one told me you would miss me so much.”
“Licia,” I said, “what did you expect?” I kept my voice as level as I could. “We’ve been out of our minds with worry and grief. I thought it was going to end us. I thought your mother was losing her mind.”
“No,” said Licia. “That wasn’t supposed—”
“I was losing my mind too, Licia. It’s been something very like Hell.”
Licia began to cry, a terrifying deluge of tears, full of rage and fear and fury. I tried to take her in my arms, but she shook me roughly away. “I didn’t know,” she kept saying. “How was I supposed to know?”
She wrapped her arms around herself, began rocking backward and forward on the dark earth, her body racked by sobs that felt like the end of the world.
After a while I tried again. She didn’t shake me off. I held her very tightly until she was all cried out.
I could see Vee’s form on the outside of the canopy, could see her peering in through gaps in the branches.
“You go on, Vee,” I called. “We’ll follow.”
“Did you ask her who was on the phone yet?”
“Please, Vee.”
“Okay, fine, but you should ask her.”
I looked at Licia.
“I promise I will tell you,” she whispered. “I just need more time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
We set off down the path to the harbor. The air tasted electric. Smoke wisped from the chimney of Quisling’s cabin. It began to rain in huge drops, heavy, rhythmic, and slow. I thought the storm must be close, but the raindrops continued to fall in their strange even rhythm and the storm did not come.
Elsa captained the boat, while Franklin slept in my arms. And when I looked back at our daughters, they were reclining in the seats by the motor, arms around each other, talking easily, smiling and laughing.
At eleven that evening I opened the door from Vee’s room into Licia’s. The slatted metal blind was closed, the light blazing. Licia had dragged the bare mattress into the middle of her room, had lain down on her side, fully clothed, was sleeping silently.
I pulled the door closed behind me. I crouched down beside Licia. How like her mother she looked in sleep.
“Licia,” I said gently. “
Licia.”
She stirred, but would not wake. I took the phone from its cloth bag, but could find no way to unlock it, so I put it back into the bag.
When I came out, Vee was brushing her teeth. Elsa was lying on the living room sofa watching television. I lay down beside my wife, was asleep in seconds.
“Dad. Dad, wake up.”
I looked around, confused.
I sat up. There was Vee, cross-legged on the floor, my laptop between her thighs.
“Where’s your mum?”
“Out, I guess. Once you know what you’re looking for, it’s obvious.”
The footage from Garden Island. There was Paul Andersen waiting on the yellowed grass for the man in the T-shirt. He looked like an avatar, like a graphic drawn on a map.
“How did you get into my laptop?”
“You were asleep,” she said, as if that explained it.
I rolled on to the floor, put my arm around Vee, who leaned toward me, tilting the laptop screen upward.
“Watch.”
A flickering around the bottom left of the frame. Vee stopped the footage, spooled back, ran it again. And there—I couldn’t believe we had missed it—something passed through the frame. A gray sworl. Now there; now gone.
Vee rewound and ran it again. There was Paul Andersen, waiting on the grass, the camera looking calmly down at him. And there was the man in the torn T-shirt, running toward Paul Andersen. Andersen raised his weapon. The man stopped. You saw the pistol kick in Andersen’s hand. You saw the man sway. Then came that horrible moment when you knew Paul Andersen would fire a second time, when you knew the man would fall. All silent. All filmed from directly above, so it looked almost like nothing.
That dark disturbance on the bottom left. That gray sworl. Vee looked at me, checking that I had seen it. She ran the cursor back along the timeline, found the first frame of it.
The image was softer in the corners; the contrasts were less clear. But once you saw that shape there was no doubting it. A man dressed in gray, crossing quickly through the bottom edge of the picture.
There.
Gone.
“Jesus Christ,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Jesus Christ.”
Love and Other Lies Page 27
