Chapter 26
Almost everyone at school had read or heard about Inger Nilsson’s article and what had happened during the Advent service out in Skavboke.
The piece used astonishingly thoughtless language to describe the drama that played out in the center aisle as Karl-Henrik Soderstrom stood up on shaky legs and, after flinging accusations, was led out of the chapel by the two police officers.
No names were given, and certain details were left out, but everyone knew who it was. All of Skavboke was ashamed, as though they had not previously realized that the world could stare right in at them when they were at their most vulnerable.
Lundstrom, the Swedish teacher, was the only one who appeared to ignore it all. He and Sander had first met late last summer. That day, Lundstrom stood at the lectern he had just inherited and introduced himself to the class in a businesslike manner, as though it were a formality and nothing more.
The first assignment he gave them was to write a poem.
They were encouraged to take their time and think carefully about what they wanted to say.
Sander, true to form, forgot all about the assignment and composed his poem on the bus from Oskarstrom the morning it was due.
He titled it “Autumn Comes to Skavboke, Halland.”
When he dropped it on the desk, Lundstrom was at the chalkboard, writing out the day’s lesson plan.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the sloppily torn-out paper land on top of the pile.
He cast a hasty glance at it and turned back to the board.
One more glance, and he picked up the poem. He read it slowly.
“Did you write this?” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’re…Sander, right?”
“Yes.”
Lundstrom nodded. There was a sparkle of curiosity in his eyes.
That autumn, something happened with Sander, and not even Killian understood what it was, at first. Sander began to hang around school a little longer, often reading stuff he didn’t have to read, and he appeared to be trying harder to prepare for tests and essays.
Now it was almost Christmas vacation. The teachers were putting in their last bursts of effort for the year; maybe the students were too.
Everyone wanted to go home. The radio in the cafeteria was playing Christmas music.
After break, while the others were stashing last period’s books in their lockers and taking out new ones, Lundstrom waited for Sander in the doorway of his office and nervously clicked a ballpoint pen.
“Hi. How are you doing? You look pale.”
“I had trouble sleeping this weekend.”
“I can imagine. Us teachers found out this morning. We’d heard about the incident itself, of course, and we read the newspaper too. But we just learned that it was Mikael.”
Away, Sander thought again. That was the word burning inside him. Because…it wasn’t escape, was it?
“I want to do it. I’m going to apply.”
Lundstrom smiled and tucked the pen into his breast pocket. “That’s great.”
“You’re from ?led originally, right? Why did you come back? From Stockholm, I mean. Like, back to us farmers?”
“There’s nothing wrong with farmers.” Then Lundstrom paused, as though the answer wasn’t obvious. “I fell in love.”
“In love?”
“Yes.” He smiled, looking chagrined. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
—
That same day, Sander saw Felicia.
Her locker was in the same hallway as his, but it was close to one of the big windows.
Outside, a heavy snow was falling. She stood alone by the window, her hands thrust into the deep pockets of her down coat, as though she were trying to get a look at something down in the schoolyard.
A large leather bag, its gold color flaking, sat on a chair next to her.
“Hi,” Sander said, as casually as he could, heading for his locker. “You’re still here?”
“I’m about to head home, just waiting for the snow to let up. I forgot to grab my umbrella this morning.”
“I don’t think I even own an umbrella,” Sander said.
“So you just get wet when it’s like this?”
“Why not, I’m waterproof.”
She laughed. Felicia had a unique laugh. It was loud and shrill and it made her nose crinkle irresistibly, almost like an invitation to join in.
“You know,” he said, as if she had asked him a question, “I’m going to leave here. I’m moving away after this summer.”
“Where to?”
“Stockholm.”
“What are you going to do there?”
“Go to school.” He smiled. “Live. Live my life. Maybe I’ll even get an umbrella.”
“What are you going to study?”
“Law. At Stockholm University. Juridicum, it’s called. Then I want to travel. Like, as a corporate lawyer, probably. For a big company.”
“What, like IKEA?”
“Oh hell no. Not IKEA.”
Walking across the schoolyard, through the falling snow, they saw Filip. He had big headphones on. In his hands he held a notebook, and he was scribbling frantically in it even as he tried to protect it from the moisture.
“It’s so awful,” Felicia said softly. “Did you see the paper today?”
“Yeah. Did they come talk to you all? The police, I mean?”
“For hours, both yesterday and on Saturday. It was our car, after all.”
Sander felt he should say something, but no words would come out—all he could think about was touching her. Her straight brown hair fell over her shoulders. It looked so soft.
One day, long after he left Skavboke and became a different person, years after he met someone and had a kid or two, maybe they would meet again in town, during one of his visits to Halland, and he would think: it could have been the two of us.
A little sentimental and, what was the word, bittersweet.
Things would work out for him, and all of this, stuff that meant so much right now, would seem childish and silly.
At last, the question fell from his lips: “How were things between you and Mikael?”
“Between us? Oh, fine, I guess. What do you mean?”
He opened his mouth and wished an answer would come as easily as the question had. But nothing happened.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was just thinking.”
Felicia looked at him intently. “What were you thinking?”
“I had the idea that he liked you. I mean, like-liked you.”
“Did he?” A furrow appeared in the smooth, soft skin between Felicia’s eyebrows. “If he did, I never knew it.”
“Maybe it was only a rumor.”
“Was it a good party?” she said, a weird question in this context, but he understood what she meant.
“Yeah, it was good. We had a fun time; too bad it ended the way it did.”
That sounded weird too. All the words were strange now, as though what had happened over the weekend had twisted them, making it hard to speak without slipping and falling.
“I wanted to go, but I had to stay home with Mom.”
“Yeah, I heard. Lucky you did, in the end.”
“By the way, I’m sorry.”
Her gaze was sincere, as though she expected him to know what she was referring to.
“For what?”
“Well, maybe it’s no big deal, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I mean, last summer. When we…” She giggled nervously. “I mean, I was so fucking drunk.”
“Oh, right.” Red spots bloomed on Sander’s cheeks, and he began to dig through his locker in the hopes that Felicia wouldn’t notice. “It’s totally fine. I wasn’t exactly sober myself.”
He tried to laugh, too, but it sounded fake even to his ears.
“I’m heading out now,” Sander said. “Want to come?”
She looked out the window again. Filip was gone, as though the snow had devoured him.
“I think I’ll wait a bit and see if it stops snowing.”
“Do you like the movies?”
Felicia looked nonplussed. “The movies?”
“Like, going to the movie theater. To watch a movie.”
“I know what movies are.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure, I guess so.”
“Maybe you’d like to go. Sometime. With me, I mean.”
“I guess you should ask me.”
“Maybe I will, then.”
She went back to watching the snow fall. Felicia was like money: only too much of her was good enough. Sander slowly locked his locker. He felt confused and his temples were throbbing, but somehow he felt oddly hopeful.