Chapter 13
I hear Grandma Gerd closing her crooked front door behind us.
Mom has already taken off with long strides in her rubber boots, and I have to jog to keep up. She hardly seems to notice that I’m there as she cuts into the forest with the empty gratin dish under her arm.
“Wait!” I call.
She steps over roots and rocks without slowing down. Her long gray-brown braid swings furiously as she makes her way through the pine trees.
“Mom!” I shout, and am taken aback by the force of my own voice.
She stops but doesn’t turn to face me.
I suddenly realize how cold it is. My toes have already started to go numb. The darkness is dense. The only light is coming from Mom’s flashlight.
“We need to get home,” Mom says without looking in my direction. “Someone has to take Bellman out for his evening walk.”
“What did she mean?”
The rain-soaked branches groan around us.
“What did Grandma mean by ‘someone like you’?” I continue.
This time Mom does turn around, but I still can’t see her face. It’s too dark. All I see are indistinct shadows and lines.
Suddenly, I regret the question. I’m more afraid of the answer than I am curious.
Then I am struck with another, very different feeling.
We aren’t safe out here.
I can clearly hear the hush of the sea now, the crashing sound of waves breaking on rocks beneath us.
“There are some questions it’s best not to ask, Tuva,” Mom says slowly.
She seems so distressed in this moment that any potential further questions die on my tongue.
Mom raises her hand and I stand completely still, unsure of what she’s about to do. She just strokes my cheek gently, tenderly. Her palm feels a little rough against my skin.
Then she sets off again at a rapid pace.
As I follow behind, my legs feel as heavy as lead. I have to concentrate in order to lift my feet, to take one step after another in steady movements that eventually take me home.