The Map of Longing

Chapter 41

Will

One look at them hugging tells me that Greta and Henry are united by much more than blood. She closes her eyes, her face radiates calm, and I can even see how his familiar scent relaxes her. He smiles and pretends to push her away, but you can tell he’s loving it.

“What are you doing here?”

“It was getting to be time to come back and it seems this was just the moment to do it, even if, I’m sad to say, nobody invited me to dinner,” he jokes, then points at his suitcase, which is propped against the wall in the entrance. “I just got in from the airport.”

“I see you’ve met Will.”

“Yeah. I’ve been giving him the third degree.”

“He only brought out the Taser, not the big guns,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I haven’t suffered any irreversible damage.”

“For now,” her grandfather says.

“Grandpa!”

Looking at Greta, I try to communicate to her how relaxed I feel, how nice our conversation has been. We talked about her grandfather’s trip to Florida and his workshop, the box he designed for Lucy’s game, the days I spent with his older granddaughter by the coffee machine at the hospital.

The calm disappears when Mrs. Peterson enters. She says hi to her father, then glares at me. I know right away that she’s recognized me. Her face is filled with confusion.

“You’re Will?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“We’ve seen each other before.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Peterson looks at Greta. “What’s going on here?”

Henry sighs and looks at his granddaughter with doubt, but also calmly, knowing that it’s time to tell the whole story and that there can be no turning back.

“You didn’t tell her yet, Greta?”

“No,” she replies softly.

“What? What are you supposed to tell me?”

That’s enough for Henry and me to get up and leave them alone. We go to the kitchen where Jacob, switching off the oven, gives us a curious look.

“Something up?” he asks.

“Rosie’s about to learn about the existence of the Map of Longing,” Henry says. “And I need a glass of wine to deal with my triumphant arrival.”

“I was just about to open a bottle,” Jacob says. He pulls the cork, serves two glasses, and looks at me. “How about yourself?”

“No thanks. I’ll just have water,” I say.

“Good boy,” Henry says.

The mood in the kitchen is tense. Jacob and Henry must be afraid that Rosie will be upset about the game, even if she’s better now, according to Greta.

I feel out of place. It’s been forever since I’ve been at a family gathering, and that includes my own family.

Last year, I decided to spend Christmas here in Ink Lake.

My parents gave up on trying to convince me otherwise and went off to Canada to celebrate with my aunt and uncle and everyone else.

But I couldn’t say no when Greta invited me tonight, even if it meant convincing Paul to run the bar on his own for a night.

I don’t know what the Petersons expect of me, and the idea that I have to live up to some notion of what I should be like paralyzes me, because it reminds me of the faker, the person I used to be.

“Greta told me you studied law,” Jacob says, to break the uncomfortable silence and talk about something, at least.

“Yeah.” I take a sip of water.

“You don’t practice, though.”

“No.”

Jacob looks at the meat, makes sure it’s up to temperature, and cleans his hands on his apron. “Have you thought about it? Because if you know anything about real estate law, I think our company needs someone…”

“I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I see. Sabbatical year, huh? I did that when I finished school. What a time. I don’t regret any of it.

” Jacob starts crushing almonds and Henry keeps sipping his wine.

He can tell, I think, that Jacob and I aren’t talking about the same thing, but he doesn’t pipe up.

It’s probably not the best idea, admitting in front of them that I have no idea what to do with my life and that I freeze when I think I’ll have to commit to doing something one day because I’m so scared of being wrong again.

We wait another fifteen minutes, talking about nothing. Really, it’s just Jacob and me making the effort. Henry looks completely unbothered, calm, pensive, with his glass of wine. When Greta comes in, her eyes are gleaming and her face is pale.

“How was it?” I ask.

“Good, really good. She’s sitting at the table waiting for dinner to be served.”

Greta bypasses her grandfather to grab the napkins and silver. I help her with the glasses and plates. I don’t know why she looks so upset if everything supposedly went so well. And judging from her mother’s face in the dining room, it did. Nothing I see hints at any kind of conflict.

When we settle in, Mrs. Peterson looks at me.

“Thank you for all the time you spent with Lucy in the hospital. She didn’t tell me much about the guy she was playing games with, but it was enough for me to realize you were important to her. Your friendship meant a lot to her.”

“And hers did to me,” I tell her.

“Good. Let’s toast, then.” She raises the glass Jacob has just filled for her and smiles. “To Lucy. A toast to Lucy.”

The soft clink of the glasses fills the room.

Then our dinner begins. The food is delicious, or maybe I just think so because it’s been eons since I’ve eaten a home-cooked meal.

The meat melts in my mouth, and the side dishes are perfect.

As we finish, Rosie tries to get her father to talk about his trip and Jacob refills his glass one too many times.

I worry about Greta, who’s hardly uttered a word.

“Aren’t you going to tell us anything about your trip to Florida? We thought you were so reserved on the phone because you were waiting to tell us everything in person.”

“Mm,” Henry murmurs. “The mosquitoes were a real pain.”

“That’s it?” Mrs. Peterson raises an eyebrow. “That can be your contribution if the tourist board ever interviews you. Lots of mosquitoes.”

“Rosie, what do you want to know? All I did was wake up, fish, get lunch, take walks, and sleep. It was a real vacation, the kind people used to take, where you didn’t have to try and see everything under the sun in the least amount of time possible.”

“It sounds relaxing,” Jacob says.

I can’t believe Greta still hasn’t said anything. I look at her, see her pushing the grilled vegetables around her plate. She notices me, smiles, and sticks her fork in a carrot.

I start to worry this will keep getting worse, but as the meal finishes, we’re having a pleasant time.

Jacob tries to make me comfortable, even if he ends up asking me too many questions.

Rosie’s nice. Henry’s silences don’t bother me; they’re actually pleasant.

I tell everyone how I was born here and how we later moved to Lincoln.

Nobody remembers a Tucker family with a farm outside of town.

They ask again about my studies and I say as much as I can without going into detail.

When dessert’s over, the tension is gone.

Now everyone’s just tired. And though I didn’t see it coming, what I feel is nostalgia, because being there with Greta’s family reminds me of my own, when Mom used to make those huge plates of food and we’d gather around the table and catch up.

I remember how proud Dad would look when I told them what I was up to, what my plans were, but even before the accident, that started to fall apart, because they knew the boy they had raised no longer existed.

When the evening’s over, Henry says goodbye and goes home to rest. Greta’s parents say they’ll take care of the washing up, and I lean over and tell her I’d love to see her room.

It’s true, I’m dying to set eyes on that place so full of her thoughts and feelings.

But also, I want a little bit of privacy.

I follow her upstairs.

She closes the door behind us. There it is, more or less as I imagined it.

The bed with its violet comforter, the lamp with the hand-carved wooden base, probably a gift from her grandfather, the chaotic desk covered in junk, the piles of books, the clothes on the chair, the wall packed with little slips of paper, postcards, images of artworks, and a charming, mysterious corner dominated by a piece of paper with the word WHY?

written in capital letters. Everything here is like a signpost guiding me toward Greta’s soul.

I see Klimt’s The Kiss, that kiss that sleeps in Vienna, and next to some rings and cough drops, the book she’s reading.

I pick it up and flash it to her. “Atonement,” I say.

“You should read it, Will.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

She smiles slowly. “Perhaps?”

“For your information, I have read it.” I put it back where it lay. “It wasn’t bad, but I found it a little bit pretentious. And boring.”

“No! How can you say that? It’s one of my favorite novels. This is actually the second time I’ve read it. There’s something so vulnerable in its pages…”

“If that’s what you say.”

Greta lets me snoop around in her world and doesn’t try to stop me. I notice all the insignificant details the way you do when a person dazzles you and every single thing about them strikes you as profoundly important.

“This was weird, right? Having you over for dinner. I’ve never done it before. I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy in my room, either.”

“Are you serious?” I walk over to her.

“Does that really surprise you?”

“Because you’ve got a rebellious side. I figured you for the type to sneak a guy up here and then make him crawl out the window to keep your parents from finding out.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“Guilty as charged.” I smile and touch her cheek.

“I have been on the other end before, though.”

“You mean you were the one to jump out the window?” I ask in surprise.

“Yeah. In my underwear. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, trust me, I do.” And I really do.

“It’ll have to be another day. This is my kingdom, Will. And it’s hard for me to let anyone onto my territory. I told you that.”

“I’m not just anyone, though.”

“Sure. Still, be careful not to break anything.”

“I won’t. I’ll walk on eggshells.”

Greta grins and I savor that smile like a slow, soft kiss, but I know behind it lies the same turmoil she’s been feeling all night. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know…” She turns around and opens a window. “I don’t even understand myself sometimes, so you can’t expect that you will.”

“You could let me try.”

One foot on the window ledge, she looks back at me over her shoulder. It’s a dark night, but the air now entering the room is warm. “You coming?”

“Of course.” I follow her. I’d follow her anywhere.

There’s a gap between the ledge and the shingles where we hang our legs, sitting close, without an inch to spare.

I take her right hand and stroke her fingers, look at her smooth, short nails, look at the ring with the purple stone on her finger, look at the fragile bones in her wrist. I’ve never felt the need to study someone like this.

I think we’re both doing it. Seen from outside, we must look like the first people ever to inhabit the planet Earth, that staring at each other and recognizing who we are for the first time.

“Were there problems with your mom?”

“No. Not at all. She was great. My Lucy, she said, she shined right to the very end. She hugged me. She didn’t even ask if there was a letter for her the way Dad did.”

“So…?”

“I told her there were only two more moves.”

“Yeah.” I draw a breath.

“I don’t want it to end.” She sighs the words.

“I know, Greta.”

“Because when it does…” She trails off.

“She’ll be gone. I mean, in some ways, maybe she’ll still be here. But not in this one,” I say.

“Lucy was right. I need her. What am I going to do when she’s no longer guiding my steps?”

“Just keep going. She’s shown you the way,” I say with more certainty than I feel.

“Yeah.”

“You know how to walk now…”

“Maybe. But I just wish the Map of Longing could last forever, until my own life’s over. For life never to finish, for it to be a game where I could just start over at the end. I’ve told you before how much I hate endings, right?” She sighs again.

“I don’t think so?”

“They’re the worst, at least when something matters to me. When it doesn’t, then I don’t care. I barely even realize it was there to begin with. This is who I am, Will: a giant contradiction.”

“Come here.” I hug her and press my cheek into hers. “Everything’s going to be fine, Greta. I know it.”

I’m sure of my words, and it’s ironic that I can tell her more about her than I can about myself. But I believe in her, more than I ever have in anything, and I see her future bright before her.

As for contradictions—who isn’t one?