11. Newark Airport, Terminal C #2
Greta got her phone and connected to the airport Wi-Fi. “Oh my,” she said, “Lucy wrote to me. In German.”
“I didn’t know she speaks German,” Otto said.
Greta could barely make it through the first sentence. “She doesn’t.”
“What does she say?” Otto asked.
“I have no idea,” said Greta. Lucy had made an effort of sorts, but a painful one. “She hopes everything goes well with the livestock.”
“What is ‘livestock’?” said Otto.
“Cattle,” said Greta.
Otto turned to her and smiled. “There are cows?”
“Liver…?” said Greta, starting over and trying to parse Lucy’s incomprehensible sentences. “She’s bringing onions to our apartment.”
“Why?” said Otto.
“How should I know? Something about a cleaning lady and sex and a naked bear?” She handed Otto her phone, her stomach starting to hurt again.
It seemed all too fitting that Bettina had steered her into a mess of some kind.
“I am not taking care of cows,” said Greta pointedly.
“Or goats or any other kind of farm animal.”
“I have Allergien ,” said Otto, putting on his reading glasses, “to most animals. I hope this is a misunderstanding.”
Greta was furious with herself for committing so hastily, and after a night of drinking!
Why hadn’t she asked more questions? It was not like her to rush into a big decision.
“I should have packed away all the china,” she said, hating the thought of this woman swooping in to take over her things.
“I should have replaced every plate in the kitchen with melamine from Ikea. I don’t want this woman driving our car or using my new cooktop.
Unlike her, I don’t have a cleaning lady, and she’ll ruin all of my—”
“Greta,” said Otto calmly, handing back her phone, “you go too far. Send to me this message, and I will be the one to respond with a few Regeln .”
“Fine,” she said, forwarding the message to him, “but be polite. I don’t care if she likes us, but the fate of our apartment is in her hands.”
“ Naturlich ,” he said. “I will be friendly, just like a Texan.”
“And tell her to ring Adam’s bell to get the keys. He’s expecting her.”
Greta put her phone down when she noticed, not far from her feet, a stuffed bunny rabbit; she picked it up off the floor and brushed some lint off its fur.
It was well worn and floppy, like the stuffed dog Emmi had as a child.
Greta adjusted the bunny’s ears and looked around the gate area, in case the owner of the rabbit was nearby.
Then she propped him up on the arm of her chair.
Flipping through the pages of Time magazine, she landed on an article about a town in the southern part of Texas called Marfa, which was some kind of contemporary art hub, attracting visitors from all over the country.
Greta dog-eared the page. Then she skimmed a profile on an attractive doctor who’d moved to the United States from Istanbul to work for NASA; Ya?mur, the article said, missed Turkish food and her mother.
Greta looked out the window to where their plane was parked and waiting.
Behind it, the storm still raged, rain pelting the runway.
It felt like a bad omen. In the distance she could see the Manhattan skyline, just out of reach.
Otto was focused on his phone as he typed out his response to Lucy Holt.
His mood—despite his stained pants and lost luggage, accusations of intellectual fraud and endless travel delays—seemed to be improving the longer they were away from home. She could not say the same about hers.
And then something happened to brighten the day. A little girl, maybe seven years old, ran to her with her hands outstretched.
Greta smiled and held up the rabbit. “Is this yours?”
The girl nodded.
“What’s her name?”
“ His name,” the girl said. “That’s Fred.”
Greta smiled and held the rabbit up to her ear.
“Fred says he’s very happy to see you. He’s been worried.
” She looked Fred in the eye and shook his paw.
“It was nice to meet you, Fred. I wish you a very nice voyage.” And she handed him to the girl, who was beaming. “Where’s your mommy?” Greta asked.
The girl turned to look as a woman rushed over, breathless and harried. She was petite, wearing cropped jeans and sneakers. She squatted down and hugged her daughter. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said with a slight southern drawl. “Never ever run off like that again.”
“Sorry,” the girl said, holding up the rabbit. “She found Fred.”
The woman exhaled with relief. “Oh my goodness,” she said, “thank you so much. You saved the day.”
“It was nothing,” said Greta.
The woman nodded her head at Greta and took the girl’s hand before the two of them walked away.
It did not seem all that long ago that Greta would clasp Emmi’s hand as they made their way through a crowd, afraid of losing her. She watched now as the mother leaned over, whispered something, and kissed the top of the little girl’s head. The girl looked back at Greta and waved.
Greta sat back, pleased to have played a part. “Did you see that, Otto?” she said.
“See what?”
“A happy ending.” She reached across their bags and put a hand on Otto’s shoulder, half hoping that more problems could be so pleasantly resolved as that one had.