No, I’m not on time.
“Do you know what? I’m sick of that dealership, and I’m trying my best here. I’m sorry if it’s not good enough for you.” Her smirk disappears.
Finally.
“I want to work and go home.”
“Bad weekend?” she asks.
I sigh. Of course, you’ve heard about me spending the night with William. This town has more spying eyes and twitters more than a flock of birds. “No. Good weekend,” I say. I’m not sharing my personal life with you. It’s more than enough you see me struggle with Mom all week long. “Is Mom here?”
Mom enters, so we both split up and set tables for dinner when a message appears on my phone. I don’t recognize the number, so I go to the bathroom to read it in private.
The text reads: “Hi Amalie. Saw the ad. William should emphasize the potential for the investors more. Text me, and I’ll help you out. *Erica*.”
CONNECTING THE DOTS
On August thirtieth, the city tourists have all gone home. Our little town is empty once again and the restaurant without customers. Mom has decided to interview all the staff, to decide who she wants to keep for the winter season and who’s welcome back next summer. The evaluation sheets have scared us all. We’ve overheard Mr. Jensen objecting to her methods, but she came prepared. “I evoke my right as a partner to make sure our staff is up to par.”
Knowing how frail she is when stressed, Mr. Jensen lets her have her way and calls us all into a separate meeting.
“I am sorry for this,” he says.
But we support him.
“I’ll be first on her list to go,” I say. Nobody disagrees, they only stare at me with sympathetic eyes. “At least I have Skar’s, right?”
After hearing me complain about Skar’s all summer, everyone laughs.
The following morning, we wait inside the restaurant for Mom to collect us one by one.
Josefine is cleaning wine glasses behind the bar when Mom walks in. But she doesn’t look like my mother anymore. She has become Ms. Vogt. Her blonde hair is gone, cut short, and colored white. Seeing the transformation, the glass Josefine is cleaning shoots from her hands and crashes to the floor.
Ms. Vogt snaps her fingers at her, her finger wagging at the broken glass. In her whispering voice, she says, “Is it too much to ask that a waiter won’t break every glass she touches? Hardly. We’ll discuss you later.”
Mom would have bent down to pick up the broken glass and helped Josefine with the technique to avoid a repeat mistake, but this isn’t Mom anymore. My chin quivers at the thought, so I inhale briskly to force the tears away.
I can’t begin my evaluation crying.
She turns to the rest of us. “We strive for excellence here, so two of you will not be invited to continue working.”
Will I be re-fired today? Hopefully, I’ll be in Portugal in twenty days at my first class at DAP. I just need to get rid of Skar’s and for the police to incarcerate Dad. She can’t fire me. I desperately need the money if I’m not able to sell off Skar’s. My palms get sweaty.
Ms. Vogt walks out, calling for me to follow her, thankfully. I’d hate to have too much time to reflect on what she might say.
I hate that it’s now natural for me to refer to Mom as Ms. Vogt. I’d expected the hardest part would be hiding that I know her, but that isn’t hard at all anymore, because I don’t. The worst part is knowing my mother is inside Ms. Vogt, and that she resists every effort I make to help free her.
Mrs. Skar might like this change, but I haven’t heard from my grandparents since Dad’s attack.
Ms. Vogt waits for me at a table at the far end of the garden. The sun hasn’t evaporated the moisture from the chairs yet, so she calls inside. “Is it too much to expect for us to keep dry when seated? I don’t think so.” Inside, the sound of feet running around makes her smirk, showing off her lipstick-stained teeth.
We stand there in awkward silence. Searching for topics to comment on, I remember Mom’s visit to Nana’s and figure Nana will be interesting to ask about. “How is your mother?”
Ms. Vogt doesn’t respond until Josefine rushes out with pillows for us to sit on.
Mom sips her espresso. “My mother is sick, and none of your business.”
Sick? She’s not sick.
I want to hit her but stay calm. She has no idea what she’s saying.
Nana isn’t sick.
Ms. Vogt takes another sip and orders Josefine to bring her a second coffee. I’ve read in one of Nana’s books that coffee makes people anxious and jumpy, and Ms. Vogt certainly proves that theory for me.
She seems reluctant to talk more but continues. “It seems she expects me to care for her. As if her cancer is my fault.”
Goosebumps cover my body. “Cancer?”
“People make such a fuss over it, as if the world should stop because one more person has cancer. She received the news the day the ambulance brought me to the hospital.”
I gasp. I was with Nana that day. She shocked me by having tea in the garden, then the phone rang. Her reaction when I said I’d get it, screaming at me to let her pick it up.
Oh no.
That must have been the doctor. That’s why she talked about Porto. It all adds up.
I open my mouth to ask more when a bee flies in front of Mom, and with both hands, she claps it dead. “If you get it from each side, it can’t sting you.”
Who cares about a bee right now?
Ms. Vogt drinks three more cups of espresso during my interview. She slurps each sip with a lifted little finger making the resemblance to Mrs. Skar even more evident.
I can barely get a word in. All I think about is Nana as Ms. Vogt rants on about what will happen if I make mistakes. “I don’t care about your personal life, so don’t force me to. Keep it away from The Bluebird.” She holds her head high when she speaks, her mouth in a tight line as she looks down at me. She isn’t afraid to repeat several times, “Here with us, at The Bluebird, we only provide the best service, Amalie. More than what the customer expects.” I’ve overheard her say it to the others, as well. It sounds rehearsed, and I imagine her practicing it in front of her mirror.
Yes, yes, now please let me leave. You’ve been dying to fire me all summer, so get on with it. I have to talk to Nana.
“It seems Mr. Jensen thinks highly of you. So, you may continue to work here.”
What? I can stay?
A glimmer of hope rises in me. This must mean she doesn’t hate me after all.
Woohooo!
“Thank you so much.”
I seize my opportunity.
I run out.
BREAT CANCER
“Nana?”
I slam the door behind me, running through the house, into the garden. Nana sits in her rattan chair, looking up at the clouds floating by.
“Do you have cancer?”
She jumps at my question, looks at me with open eyes, then takes a deep breath. “Yes, I do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” A deep need to yell at her brews within me, but how can I?
This isn’t fair. After years of taking care of Grandpa, it’s finally her turn to follow her dreams. “I’m sorry you’re sick.” I bend down and hug her. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to begin.
“Me too, Amalie. Me too. I have my treatment plan ready, and surgery scheduled for next week.”
I gasp. “Next week? You’re going in for surgery next week and didn’t think to tell me about this?”
“You have had enough on your plate. Besides, I am well taken care of at the hospital. Mr. Jensen will drive me.”
“The hell he will. I’m taking you.” I try to withhold my frustration, but can’t. This is all my fault. I should have known, connected the dots. All the signs have been here, I’ve just ignored them. I told her I couldn’t take anymore. “You should have told me.”
Nana responds in her strong, monotone voice. “You see, I am old enough to make my own decisions
about these things. I am also strong enough to take care of myself. Let us focus on our travels instead of disease. It is more pleasant.” She leans back in her seat, closes her eyes and smiles. “We leave in only a month, and we need tickets for the airplane. Did you know Porto has a park where peacocks roam free?”
You can’t have surgery now and go to Porto.
I sigh. Questions about the severity, chemotherapy, and Nana’s well-being rummage around in my head. Still, she’s right. It’s her decision. She’s considered my feelings for months; it’s my turn to return the favor. “No, but I can’t wait to see them.”
Picturing Nana and me on a park bench with peacocks strutting around us is a good escape. I can practically hear their steps in the grass and their long feathers dragging along the ground. But I can’t leave her knowing she’s sick.
“What about the money from the land at Skar’s Auto?” Nana winks and strokes my cheek. “Perhaps Porto is a good investment?”
I laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
I’ve promised Nana I won’t let it interfere, but if I don’t sell the cars and pay the bills at Skar’s, I’ll go personally bankrupt. And, I don’t want to leave William. Which I’ll never share with her when she’s so thrilled for me being the first of us to take the suitcase to another country.
And one thing is sure. I have to fulfill Nana’s dream.
I’m in a gray zone of betraying William by thinking of Erica to ask about Porto, but she did contact me. I don’t want to worry him.
I text her: “Hi Erica, you told me to contact you, so…Do you know anything about renting an apartment in Porto? Kind regards, Amalie.”
NEWS
The following morning, Nana’s reading in her library when I come down. “How are you, my dear?”
I sit next to her, overlooking the road passing her house. “Lost. No matter what decision I make, it’s wrong.”
“Well, my darling. Let us research your options to see if you are correct. If you decide to stay, how do you see your life?” Nana puts a bookmark into her book and closes it.
I think about it. “I can continue to work at The Bluebird with Mom. Hopefully, I sell Skar’s Auto, continue my relationship with William, and I’ll get to take care of you through your treatment.”
“Well, remove me from that equation, because I would rather travel with you to Portugal. Which leads us to your second opportunity. What will your life look like if you go?”
A hot spark swells through my body, settling in a grin across my face. “I get to design again and learn from the best in the business. I get to live out my dream. And yours if you come with me.” But it means leaving Mom.
Will William wait for me?
“Well, we can always travel as a vacation, so remove me from that equation as well, please. Instead, tell me what living out your dream looks like.”
I frown. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it like that. I just want to design, create. Especially now that I haven’t had a chance to do either.” Nana doesn’t answer. She takes my hand, waiting for me to explain.
“I don’t know anyone in Porto or the language, so I have to start from nothing.”
“Mhmm.” Nana stares at me. “So, if you stay, it is safe because you know what to expect. If you travel to Portugal, all is unknown.”
Why does she have to frame it like that?
It makes me sound like a chicken not to go. My voice is hoarse when I respond. “Yes.” I clear my throat. “I wish I was free to choose, like before.”
“In Africa…” Nana puts her other hand on top of mine. “…the natives have a trick to capture baboons. You see, they make sure a monkey watches them as they drill a hole in an ant heap. Then they push wild melon seeds inside, so they drop into a hollow. When the man saunters off, the baboon reaches in and grabs a fistful of seeds, making his hand too big to come out. Sometimes, my darling. When you want freedom, you must let go.”
Back in my room, my mind is racing. It’s not that easy. If it were, Nana would have let go and left years ago, but she’s still here. So is Mom.
Shit.
I still have an hour before I have to be at The Bluebird, so in a desperate attempt to calm down, I change into my yoga outfit, bring my phone out in the garden, and press play.
Ten minutes in, the soft voice of the yoga instructor tells me to stand in the tree pose, the position I fall from every time.
Why is it always that position, huh?
Standing on one foot, balancing is too hard. I turn to shut her off when I realize that so far, I haven’t finished one single practice.
I take a deep breath and focus on one spot on the tree in front of me, leaning my weight on my right leg and raising the sole of my left foot to my inner thigh. I zip my stomach in, bring my hands together at the center of my chest and inhale deeply. I exhale. I inhale and exhale until the woman tells me to “release the left leg back to Tadasana.”
I did it, I kept my balance, and I didn’t fall.
I look around me hoping Nana’s seen it, but she’s not here. It doesn’t matter. I did it, and from now on, I refuse to give up so easily.
After I finish the practice, I’m calmer than I’ve been in days. “It will be all right,” I tell myself. “It will all work itself out. I know it.”
At The Bluebird, the early onset of fall arrives at our little town, and the few remaining city tourists cling to summer, refusing to sit inside. Instead, they cover themselves in wool blankets under electric heat lamps. I love this time of year when the air is crisp, lanterns light up every table, and once again our town becomes quiet.
Josefine’s cleaning wine glasses and yawning behind the counter when I go inside to end my shift. “Late night,” she says.
She’s probably referring to some sexual thing I don’t want to know anything about.
I can’t believe she still doesn’t understand that I don’t care. “If Mom sees you like this, she won’t be pleased.”
She shrugs as if not caring, but she would if Mom was standing next to me.
Silly girl.
“I can’t help it,” she says, pulling out a new wine glass to dry off. “By the way, doesn’t your school start soon? What are you still doing here?”
Good question.
“Yeah. In twenty days.”
I hope she won’t wait for me to explain, but her eyebrows raise and with no control over it, my mind takes off in search of an excuse.
Come on, think of something.
“I’m going, I just haven’t found a place to stay yet.”
Shit, I’m such an idiot. That’s the excuse I come up with?
Josefine hangs the glass up above the counter and stares at me. “No place? Come on! You can’t let this opportunity pass. Every school has a residential option of some kind. It’s once in a lifetime.”
Oh, shut up! I know!
“I can’t choose. Okay? I can’t choose. I want Mom to remember again before I leave, I want William to come with me, Dad should be in jail, I want Nana to be cancer free, and I can’t leave knowing everything here’s all messed up. And there’s Skar’s.”
“Don’t you dare blame your fears on your Dad’s stupid dealership. I’m sorry, Amalie, but I’ve known you all my life, and you have to come up with a better excuse than that. Your mother would have hated you blaming her and told you to go, same with Nana. William is a jerk, so I’m not so sure about him, but who cares.”
“He’s not a jerk.”
I haven’t known you all my life. I don’t even want to be connected to you now.
“So, what’s your excuse? It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay here.”
A customer comes in and orders a glass of wine from Josefine, so I seize the opportunity to grab my coat and leave for the night. I don’t want to think about Porto. Three months ago, my only dream in this world was to attend that school. Then Dad ruined everything.
Today, no matter what direction I look towards, something or
someone will be missing.
When I get to Nana’s, she’s already asleep, and I’m too annoyed with my indecisiveness to even think about sleep, so I leave my phone and bag in my room and go out to get some fresh air and clear my head. Down by the water, I throw a few pebbles in and watch them jump into the darkness leaving circles on the surface. I walk up from the shore without any conscious decision on the path, and I find myself outside my old home.
I sneak up to the house and lean into the glass. Mom, unrecognizable with her short white hair, sits in her newly decorated living room. Gone is the yellow paint, replaced with luxurious beige wallpaper. With red wine in hand, she’s talking to someone, but I can’t see the other person.
Maybe it’s Mr. Jensen?
He wasn’t at the restaurant when I left.
I lean to the right to try to get a closer look. Shivers run through my body at the sight of the man standing before her. Two days’ old beard, hair as black as night.
It’s Dad.
FALL
I stick my hand in my pocket to get my phone.
Shit, I left it at Nana’s.
Of all days, why did I leave it? Not able to take my eyes off Dad, adrenaline pumps through me like waves against rocks. He smiles at Mom, and she smiles back. He’s charming her, like he’s captivated so many women before her, and after.
What is he doing here this late?
She won’t remember him or what he’s done to her, though. Does he know, or is he convinced she’s forgiven him? This is insane.
Run, Mom!
Is this why he’s come back? To rekindle a relationship with Mom? He’s crazier than I could imagine.
Not as long as I live.
I sprint around the house towards the front door prepared to bust in and save Mom, but stop.
What am I doing?
Mom won’t trust me. Dad’s stronger than me. I can’t do this alone. I turn around and run towards the forest. I have to get help.
Let Go Page 21
