25. Viggo
VIGGO
Doctor appointments had become part of my monthly routine. Freya insisted on my presence, and Dexter didn’t mind. We told anyone who’d listen that it was a matter of carpooling convenience, though it hardly mattered if anyone saw us together anymore. The town readily accepted our friendship.
We were free to drive the winding roads leading out of the Four Forest area without worrying the wrong person would get the right idea.
Maybe the subterfuge was pointless. No one would care if they knew we were more than friends.
But there was no “us” in our future, and that was the part that was going to be difficult—for me, anyway.
There was a baby coming, and that child, this new family Dexter was building, was his dream. I wouldn’t stand in his way or insinuate myself and make unnecessary complications. No chance.
In the meantime, we enjoyed our newfound freedom.
Sometimes we had coffee at Rise and Grind, ice cream at Swenson’s, or pancakes or lunch at Log Cabin Diner.
Dex stopped by my flag football practices, and I ate donuts more often than I should have.
We were drawn into conversations with his employees, my coworkers, and everyday busybodies about the heat in July, the influx of tourists, or what color Dex should paint the nursery.
Everyone had big opinions regarding the nursery, by the way.
“My sister did my nephew’s nursery in cream with deep-brown accents—perfect for either sex,” Davey had pronounced from behind the counter at Rise and Grind this morning.
“Brown? For a baby? Oh, dear. Wait till the baby is born, Dexter, and paint accordingly, pink for a girl, blue for a boy,” Mrs. Galbraith had primly advised. “Davey, the muffins look stale. Are you sure they’re fresh?”
Layla had shared a sympathetic look with Davey over the older woman’s shoulder and whispered, “Don’t listen to her.
Pinks and blues are passé…unless you use a light touch and add a hint of gold or seafoam or a soft gray.
Lush! Go shopping in Pinecrest. They have the cutest baby store, Bassinettes and Blueberries. You’ll love it.”
Dex had just nodded along in his usual agreeable manner until I’d eventually leaned in and added,
“This is why you should never talk to people.”
He’d burst out laughing and everyone had turned as if hoping we’d let them in on the joke. Not likely.
I had the oddest sensation of being part of a “we” for the first time…
ever. Our connection was based on a shared secret, but it had evolved somehow.
I knew Dex’s schedule, and he knew mine.
He knew the security code to my workshop, I knew the code to his garage and had a designated parking spot for my motorcycle next to his SUV.
Dex said that I snored, and I assured him that he did, too.
Except his came in little puffs of breath that sounded kind of adorable.
He knew I liked to sleep on the right side of the bed, and I knew that he ran hot and at some point in the night would kick the covers off and a hang a foot off the mattress.
Maybe none of that was important, but it was more than I’d ever had with a lover. And sometimes it scared me. I didn’t want to get used to this. I didn’t want to miss our drives to Burlington, debating song lyrics or our favorite bands from every era.
Today’s conversation was all about sweets.
“I’ve always had a sweet tooth,” Dex commented from the passenger seat. “I actually toyed with the idea of opening a candy emporium and selling nostalgic things like Abba-Zabas and Sour Strips.”
“What’s Abba-Zaba?”
“What’s Abba-Zaba?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re Swedish! And Abba is in the name. How can you not know?”
“I’m not sure what we’re talking about, but I might as well break the news and tell you that not everyone in Sweden loves ABBA.”
Dex gasped. “Pull over. Now. This is an ABBA-loving SUV and if you don’t like it, you can walk to Burlington.”
I chuckled. “I’m not pulling over. This is my vehicle and for the record, I like ABBA just fine. But you can’t assume every Swede loves them. And what do they have to do with candy?”
“Nothing at all. I got sidetracked.” Dex queued “Dancing Queen” on his cell and blasted the volume.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, adjusting it to more manageable decibels.
Dex cackled with delight and proceeded to give a small speech about the joys of candy, particularly the kind with sentimental value. “Abba-Zaba is basically just taffy, but childhood memories of sneaking contraband treats with my teammates in the summer stick with you.”
“Why did you have to sneak?”
“No sweets were allowed in our house. None. My mom might not have been home much, but she still ruled the roost. She policed our diet and exercise through nannies and babysitters who were too afraid of her to disobey. Sneaking was the key to fun. No wonder I own a donut shop now.” He snorted.
I gripped the wheel tightly and furrowed my brow, annoyed at his mother all over again, but Dex moved on quickly.
“What kind of sweet treats did you like growing up in Sweden?”
“Uh…I liked salty licorice—Salmiak Twists. I still do. And Ahlgrens Bilar. They’re these little chocolate cars…very Swedish, very delicious. Gummies are big too…fruit flavors, sweet and sour.”
“I’d like to go there someday,” he commented wistfully as “Dancing Queen” morphed into “Winner Takes it All.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “I’ll take you. I’ll show you everything—Gamla Stan, the Skansen open-air museum, the archipelagos, the ice hotel in Jukkasj?rvi.” But I stopped myself. There’d be no trips to Sweden together.
Instead, I went with, “Did you know there’s an ABBA museum in Stockholm?”
Dexter beamed. “It’s on my bucket list, baby!”
And with that, he cranked the volume and sang the chorus at the top of his lungs while I pretended to be annoyed. I glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes and was hit with a vision of Annika, laughing in the back seat of a car, her eyes sparkling with her unique brand of mischief.
The wave of sorrow hit the same as always, but it was hard to hold on to hurt with Dexter howling like a wounded animal beside me. I smiled and checked my mirror again. Anni was gone.
A couple of hours later, we were in a tiny office, hovering near Freya as a nurse swiped a gelled wand over her belly.
“Ten perfect fingers and toes, healthy organs, a nice-sized cranium, and…oh, we have a thumb sucker.” The nurse tapped the monitor. “I’m gonna have you look away if you’re not interested in finding out the sex, ’cause all modesty is out the window.”
I squinted at the screen while Dex covered his eyes. Not that it helped. I really couldn’t tell what I was seeing. And then…I could.
I brushed a tear from Freya’s cheek and squeezed her hand. “Det kommer bli bra.” It’s going to be okay.
She nodded and if Dex noticed that Freya was more emotional than usual, he didn’t comment.
We took her out to lunch and shopped for maternity clothes at Dex’s insistence.
Freya had a cute baby bump and seemed happy enough to show it off in cropped tops and oversized shorts or sweats, but she humored Dex.
Afterward, we visited her workshop and admired the half-finished pottery for her new client.
If shopping for pregnancy items was for Dex, the glimpse into her professional and personal state of mind was for me.
Det kommer bli bra. It’s going to be okay.
On our way home, dusk settled over the forest like a thin blanket as we wound our way through the twisting roads.
Dexter had gone quiet somewhere near Rutland.
I couldn’t tell if he was dozing, but his eyes were closed.
He missed the panorama of steepled churches and the rolling hills of Elmwood, and the grand canopy of hollowed trees on Belvedere.
In fact, he didn’t stir until I pulled into my driveway.
His Tahoe was in my garage, out of sight of prying eyes. Dex could stay if he wanted…or go.
He wordlessly followed me inside, shedding shoes and socks, and curling beside me on the sofa.
There was a baseball game on—Yankees versus White Sox.
I wasn’t interested, but I didn’t mind having it on.
The sound of baseball commentary was oddly soothing.
I brushed fingers through Dex’s hair and melted into the cushions with the comforting feel of his weight on me, my thoughts drifting pleasantly.
“Do you think your sister would come here for Freya?”
My eyes shot open. “What?”
Dex shifted toward me. “For the birth. I think she could use a friend—especially since I’ve pretty much stolen her Vermont connection for my own nefarious purposes.
I know it’s an expensive flight, but I’m happy to take care of it and get her a hotel room, or whatever she needs. It might be a nice surprise for Freya.”
Surprise. That was one way of putting it.
I stilled my hand in his hair, and I might have even held my breath. Just as well. My mouth was suddenly dry as dust, and my eyes were burning.
Dex glanced up at me, head tilted quizzically, patiently waiting for a reply.
“I don’t—she’s not—”
“What’s wrong?”
Silence.
More silence.
I swallowed hard and uttered words I hadn’t said aloud in years. “Anni’s dead, Dex.”
He just stared, dumbfounded. “I—oh, fuck. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I know.” I sat up, feeling very much at a loss. This wasn’t something I discussed with anyone. I didn’t know how to do it.
“Can I ask…when?”
I scratched my nape. “Eight years ago.”
“She was young,” he said softly. “Twenty-one?”
“Ja.”
Dex probably expected or hoped that I’d fill in the blanks, though the lingering silence indicated otherwise. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What happened? Can I ask? If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I understand.”
At any other time and with anyone else, I would have changed the subject and established a clear boundary. Some topics weren’t up for discussion, and Anni was one of them.