36. Dallas #2
But before Greta could process what was happening, how her life was changing before her very eyes, she heard a sound directly behind her, a throat clearing followed by a deep voice saying “Excuse me.”
The dogs were barking as Greta turned around and saw a man in a jumpsuit who was looking around the dining room in complete and utter bewilderment. She recognized him at once: the inventor, the biosphere inhabitant, the accidental exercise guru. The Sexiest Man Alive.
How does one explain to a person—who has, for all intents and purposes, been living on Mars—why his family is gone and his house is filled with strangers?
Greta did her best. While Otto was saying goodbye to his dinner guests, Greta sat down with Mason at the kitchen island and introduced herself, telling him about the Instagram post that led to the house swap and reassuring him that his family was alive and well.
“Are you sure?” he said, patting his dogs absently and looking around as though Lucy would surely walk in at any moment. “I don’t understand why they would go to Germany. And for so long.”
“You’ll have to ask them,” Greta said, feeling that Lucy should be the one to catch Mason up on all that he’d missed. “Can I get you a glass of wine? We have leftovers if you’re hungry—”
“No thank you,” he said. “Is Lucy okay? And the kids?”
“Oh yes, I just saw them, and they’re doing well. Maybe… you’ll fly to Berlin tomorrow and see for yourself?”
“Yes,” he said, snapping to attention. “Yes, I’ll do that.”
Mason was indeed handsome, although Greta was not sure that “sexy” was the word she would use to describe him. But even in this moment of discombobulation, he seemed polite and thoughtful.
He glanced toward the back window and then he got up. “I should go say hello to my in-laws.”
“Oh dear,” said Greta. “I’m afraid Rex and Irene aren’t here either. They went to Germany as well actually.”
“They…?” He sat back down again, clearly overwhelmed. “My phone,” he said, touching imaginary breast pockets. “My wallet. Do you happen to know where they are?”
Greta did not.
“I need to find them. My closet maybe,” he said, standing up again. “I’m sure Lucy put them there.” He looked at her, his brow furrowed, his tortoiseshell glasses sliding down his nose. “I mean, may I?”
“Please,” Greta said, sweeping her arm to indicate the whole house, “do whatever you need to do. Otto and I will sleep upstairs so you can have your room.”
“Right,” he said. “I hadn’t considered… I guess I’m putting you out?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m really sorry for the confusion.”
Otto walked into the kitchen and shook Mason’s hand again. “ Willkommen , Mr. Holt,” he said so jovially that Greta wondered whether he’d had too much wine. “We are giving you quite a shock to be here, or?”
“Yes,” Mason said. “I can’t understand why my family would decide to go to Germany.”
“Mason wants to go meet them in Berlin,” Greta said quickly, “but he needs his wallet and phone. Have you seen them anywhere?”
“I haven’t,” Otto said.
“I’ll go check in my room,” Mason said. “Excuse me.” And he walked away.
“What a night,” Otto said happily. He seemed oblivious to Mason’s distress and to the awkwardness of the situation, while Greta was feeling painfully aware.
“ Wie peinlich ,” she said.
“I’m not embarrassed,” Otto said. “It is not our fault.” And to Greta’s surprise, he started scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. “It seems my new colleagues like me very much. I can’t describe how good I am feeling.”
Greta had been so consumed with Mason’s unexpected arrival, she’d forgotten about the job offer. “Otto, do you actually want to move here?” she said.
“ Selbstverst?ndlich ,” he said. “I’ll need to know more, salary and retirement und so weiter , but yes.
When I think of returning to Berlin”—he stopped rinsing the glass in his hand and looked up, as if trying to imagine it—“I feel depressed. All I do there is settle for less. Our apartment is small, the weather is gray, my colleagues are not nice.”
“But Moritz retracted his opinion,” Greta said, willing Otto to come to his senses, dreading that he wouldn’t. “Doesn’t that change things?”
“Moritz never should have doubted my ethics to begin with.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “Are you going to ask me how I feel about it?”
He turned off the faucet and dried his hands on a dish towel. “Of course. But what is in Berlin for us? Emmi is no longer there.”
“But— But my mother and sister— And our apartment,” she said. “Berlin is our home.”
“Is it?” he said, and he looked genuinely skeptical.
“Of course.” She did not know how he could ask such a question. “Our family and friends, the culture, the parks. I love our life there.” And as she said these words, she realized how out of place she’d been feeling ever since they arrived in Dallas.
He nodded and put his hand on her shoulder. “Then we’ll go back.”
She looked at him then, seeing the melancholy in his eyes. “But I want you to be happy,” she said.
“We get to spend a year here,” he said, “and that will be enough for me.”
But no, Greta thought, it was not enough for him. She would have to be the one to give in.
She couldn’t sleep. As Otto snored, she found the pack of cigarettes Adam had given her and went outside to sit by the pool.
She kicked off her slippers and leaned back on a lounge chair, hoping to clear her head but finding herself more and more troubled.
Happy for Otto, yes, but heartbroken for herself.
Bitter even and deeply homesick. She put her feet up and lit her cigarette, listening to the cicadas screeching overhead.
Her phone rang and her mother’s name appeared on the screen.
“Hello from the airport,” she said. “We’re delayed.”
“How are you feeling?” Greta said, relieved to hear Lillian’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“Much better. I don’t ever want to step foot on a boat again,” she said. “Your friends Bryn and Harper took excellent care of me.”
“They’re Lucy’s friends actually,” Greta said, watching the cigarette burn between her fingers. “I’m glad they were able to help.”
“You know, I got a call earlier from my Realtor,” she said.
Greta tamped out the cigarette, bracing herself for the news of a buyer.
“It seems that someone broke into my beach house,” Lillian said wryly. “At least two of the beds were slept in, but the intruder had the very good manners to close all the curtains, cover the furniture, and lock the door behind her when she left.”
Greta felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “I should have told you,” she said. “I’m really sorry that Emmi—”
“Stole my key right out of my purse? Went to my cottage without permission? Brought friends along?”
“She was upset,” Greta said, “not that that excuses her behavior, but she needed to say goodbye. I’ll have her call you to apologize.”
“Don’t even tell her I know,” her mother said with a laugh. “I’d rather my only granddaughter enjoy her time in New York. But you can tell her I’ve decided to take the house off the market.”
“Oh, Mom,” Greta said, letting her breath out in a rush, “that’s wonderful news. What made you change your mind?”
“Tobias,” she said. “He reminded me that even if I want to see the world, I’ll need a home where my family can gather. So tell Emmi I said not to worry. And if she wants, we can spend Christmas there, even though I detest winter on the Baltic.”
“Thank you, really,” Lucy said, “I’m so happy to hear it.”
“ Ich liebe dich ,” her mom said, and hung up.
Greta stared at her phone, blinking at this unusual expression of love.
She immediately texted Emmi:
I miss and love you. Good news: your grandmother is keeping the cottage, so rest easy, Schatz.
She was considering going back inside when she heard a door open, and the dogs came running outside. Mason was right behind them, still in his NASA jumpsuit.
“Hi again,” he said.
Greta turned and sat up, adjusting her pajama top. “Hello, Mason.”
He sat across from her. “Do you think I could borrow your phone to call Lucy?”
“Of course,” she said. “No luck finding yours?”
“I found my passport,” he said. “But no. I’m desperate to hear her voice.”
Greta opened her contacts and called Lucy, handing him the phone.
He put it to his ear. “Straight to voicemail,” he said, his shoulders sagging.
Bunny climbed up on Greta’s lounge chair, and she scooched over to make room.
“I don’t suppose you have Irene’s number?” Mason said. “Or Rex’s?”
“I don’t,” said Greta. “They stop by pretty much every day, so…”
“Right,” he said. “This is awful. I can’t even buy a plane ticket.”
“Do you need a credit card? You can use mine.”
“Could I?” he said, looking hopeful and slightly embarrassed. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I—”
“It’s the least I can do,” she said. She opened Google and began searching for flights. “There’s no nonstop to Berlin,” she said, “but it looks like you can fly to London tomorrow night.”
“No,” he said, clasping and unclasping his hands, “I can’t wait that long.”
It took some searching, but Greta found Mason a seat on a morning flight to Atlanta and an overnight to Amsterdam. From there he could take a shuttle that would get him to Berlin.
“Thank you,” he said as she clicked to pay for the ticket.
Greta was happy to imagine a reunion of the Holt family, but when she looked up from her phone, Mason was still wringing his hands.
“They’re really okay?” he said. “I have reason to be worried, especially about Jack.”
Was this father’s intuition or had some bit of news seeped into the biosphere?
“They’re fine,” she said. “Yesterday…” Greta paused to think.
Had that really been only yesterday that they’d all been in Rostock?
“My daughter was teaching Jack how to say a German tongue twister about Fischers Fritze fischt frische Fische —the fisherman fishing fish—and Jack was trying to repeat it, but he couldn’t stop laughing. He seemed happy.”
Mason did not look convinced. “And Lucy?”
Greta smiled. “She’s eine mitrei?ende Frau , we say in German. Captivating. I’m glad our families crossed paths.”
“Lucy is the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “I— I don’t know how I survived Mars without her.”
Greta pursed her lips together as she heard these words, facing the sad truth that she and Otto had not felt that kind of attachment, that kind of adoration for each other, in years.
“May I ask why you left the biosphere?” she said.
“Because I finally got a message,” he said, “for the first time since I arrived. It was a months-old message from my daughter Zoe, and it said ‘HELP, Daddy! Jack is going to jail, and Mommy is crying. This is BAD! We need you to come home right this minute.’ So I did. Zoe isn’t normally one to be dramatic unless there’s a good reason, and I knew I couldn’t stay there.
I need to lay eyes on them for myself,” he said, and then he stood up.
“I guess I should try to get some sleep. I’ll Venmo you for the plane ticket as soon as I get there. ”
“Good night, Mason. See you in the morning.”
He gave a little wave, and the dogs followed him into the house.
Greta considered going inside too, but she needed to think. She put her feet up again and leaned back, watching the trees reflect on the surface of the pool.
Her phone pinged, and she saw that Vanessa Schultz had emailed. She steeled herself for the first angry tirade from the Schultz family.
Greta! Du Gottin! My grandfather told me about your call to him—I knew you were fabulous, but it turns out you are a bold, ball-busting woman! A secret apprentice? An art scandal? A battle against the patriarchy? I love everything about this.
I made a call, and the director of the National Gallery has agreed to give us a private viewing of the Vermeer—Johannes or Maria?
?!—out of its frame. He will not be happy when he discovers why we’re there!
But if you can convince me, I will work to win him and my grandfather over to your and Maria’s side.
Let’s set a date for as soon as possible.
You must be here for all that unfolds!
Mit freundliche Grü?e
Vanessa
PS when can we start working on my collection?
Greta spent the rest of the night on the lounge chair, feeling excitement and sadness in turns.
She imagined walking up the steps of the museum, smelling the bread at her corner bakery, sitting on her balcony.
Knocking on Adam’s door. And as the sun came up, she became aware of the birds singing and the fountain splashing, and she knew what she had to do.
She stood up and turned to the house where—in a window upstairs—she spotted Otto, kind, good-hearted Otto, his hands on his hips, smiling at the wide Texas sky.