One Eye Open, page 6
She checked the trash can. It was unchanged. She went to the closet and looked through the hole again. The linen closet was still empty.
Maybe I have to read the Danish parts.
So she did, struggling with the pronunciation. She read it again, in case she had mangled something, then folded the paper and slipped it back under her mattress. She sat cross-legged on her bed and peeked under the tissue wrapped around her finger. The cut wasn’t bleeding, so she chucked the tissue in the trash can and picked the other tissues up off the floor, tossing them in, too. They barely covered the bottom of the bin, hiding the black stain of burnt worm and paper.
She got into bed and pulled the thin sheet up to her chin and stared at the ceiling, feeling foolish and disappointed. Warm tears ran down her cheeks and along the curve of her throat, making her skin itch. Time passed and she eventually fell asleep.
• 14 •
LAURA WOKE UP to bright sunlight streaming through her window and across her face. She rubbed her eyes and looked around her childhood bedroom at the posters of Kylie Minogue and Betty Blue, the rack of cassette tapes, and the vanity mirror plastered with fading photographs of Thomas Helmig and David Bowie. She had spent hours and days and years in that room, nursing small dramas and big dreams. Coming home after so long, she had expected to feel like a child again, but her mother wasn’t there to wake her up and make her breakfast. Laura felt very old and tired.
She got out of bed and went to the tiny bathroom to brush her teeth. On her way back to her room she checked in on her daughter. Juniper was curled up in the big bed, the duvet wrapped around her head. There was a faint whiff of smoke in the air and Laura wondered which of their faraway neighbors was burning leaves.
She dressed quickly and was leaving her room when she noticed the miniature chest the lawyer had given her, Charlotte’s bequest to them. She hadn’t looked closely at it before, and now she saw the latch was broken. She lifted the lid and looked inside, disappointed to see a haphazard collection of junk, an old woman’s miscellany drawer. She paged through the leather-bound grimoire but saw nothing that would cast light on her mother’s life. At the bottom of the box was an old photograph of her parents, and she took it, slipping it into her pocket before going downstairs to the kitchen.
She was trying to decide between leftover pork and potatoes or pickled fish with crackers when she was startled by a knock at the back door. Anders stood on the stone terrace, leaning on his crutches, a knapsack slung over one shoulder. He grinned at her.
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.
“Come in,” Laura said. “I was just trying to figure out breakfast, but I think I’m gonna have to run into town.”
“How long since you’ve had aebleskiver?”
He clomped past her into the kitchen, propped the crutches against the counter and opened his knapsack, producing a carton of eggs, a quart of milk, a pint of fresh butter, a jar of strawberry jam, and a cotton bag that puffed out a cloud of flour when he plopped it down on the counter.
“Dammit, I forgot the sugar,” he said. “But the eggs are fresh from my farm. And so’s the flour.”
Laura went to the cupboard over the stove and stood on her toes, peering into the shadows. She pushed aside a box of rat poison and found a small bag of sugar at the back of the bottom shelf. She turned around and presented it to Anders like a trophy.
“We’re in luck,” she said. “Actual ingredients are an endangered species around here.”
“I ran into Anna in town last night and she told me you hadn’t bought any groceries yet. Sounded like you had dinner well in hand, but I thought you might be hungry this morning.”
“You’re a life saver. You didn’t bring your boy?”
“Magnus? I imagine he’s out in the field somewhere. He was already gone before I woke up.”
With Anders’s help, Laura found a set of mixing bowls, a spatula, and a stained black aebleskiver pan with individual holes for the little cakes. They were pleasantly surprised to find a spice rack on the back of the pantry door, along with an ancient bottle of vegetable oil that somehow wasn’t rancid. Anders whisked ingredients while Laura heated the oil. Anders limped over with the bowl and dropped dollops of batter into the pan. They stood and watched the cakes brown, then Laura flipped them over. She added the jam and more batter.
“Kind of like old times, right?” Anders said.
“When did we ever cook together?”
“I mean being here, you and me.”
“Anders, I hope you don’t think…”
“I’m being neighborly, that’s all,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who’s been through things.” He leaned back against the counter and flashed her a sad smile. “It’s just nice to see you again, Laura Loaf.”
“Your wife…” Laura said.
“I don’t think you ever knew her. She’s not in the picture, though, if that’s what you…” He trailed off and busied himself wiping the counter.
Laura shook her head, swiping a cloth at a clot of bright red jam that had oozed out over the rim of the pan.
“I don’t think these are supposed to leak,” she said.
“They’ll taste fine.”
“What happened to her—your wife?”
Anders sighed and rinsed out the dishcloth he was using, then draped it over the faucet to dry. “We lost a child a couple years ago,” he said. “It was rough on her. On both of us, but she took it… I mean, she spent all her time in his room, stopped talking to me, and then one morning she was gone. No note or anything. Just packed a bag and left.”
“So it’s just you and Magnus now?”
“You know how it is.”
Laura knew exactly how it was. She put her hand on his arm but was afraid to do more than that. She thought if she hugged him he might misunderstand the gesture, and she worried she might cry.
“Gross,” Juniper said.
She was standing under the arch wearing the same clothes as the previous day, but there was a fresh green streak in her hair. Laura took a step away from Anders, who smiled at Juniper and twirled a spoon at her.
“We’re making a special Danish breakfast,” he said. “Ever had aebleskiver before?”
Juniper shook her head.
“How many you want?”
“Zero,” Juniper said. “You guys can make out if you want. I’m gonna see if there’s anything to do in town. My expectations are pretty low.”
“Junie, honey,” Laura began, but Juniper was already gone, the kitchen door banging shut behind her.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said to Anders. “It’s not you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “They all go through a phase like this.”
Laura shook her head. “Juniper’s different.”
“Well, she’s American. I have no idea how that changes things for her. Or for you.”
Laura frowned at him. “I think the aebleskiver’s burning,” she said.
“Oh, crap.”
Laura got two plates and popped the crispy cakes out of the pan. Slathered with more strawberry jam they tasted fine. The two of them sat at the little table in the kitchen and ate in silence.
Laura finally pushed her plate away and sighed. “I can’t eat them all,” she said.
“You didn’t even try.”
“They’re good, though. I should save the rest for Juniper.”
“I’ll leave the flour and eggs,” Anders said. “You can make more for her.”
“Maybe I won’t burn them.”
Laura remembered the photograph in her pocket and pulled it out, set it on the table where she could see it. “She would have burned them, too,” she said. “She was such a terrible cook. Even her coffee was bad, but she still got up and made a pot every morning.”
“I know,” Anders said. “My stomach hurts just thinking about her coffee.”
“You said you helped her out around here?”
“When I could.”
“Were you there when she…”
“I was on the tractor. I heard her and came running, but it was too late. Tor wasn’t the same after we brought in the corn.” He sighed. “But she loved him, you know.”
“He was still here when you found her?” Laura looked around the kitchen, trying to imagine her mother’s final moments, but the homemade yellow curtains and the cozy round table reminded her of childhood and comfort and safety. It was impossible to picture her parents as they must have been near the end. She shuddered. “Did he fight you?”
“Like a tiger,” Anders said.
“That’s how that happened?” Laura gestured at the plaster cast on Anders’s leg and he rapped on it with his knuckles.
“Lucky all he broke was my leg,” he said.
“Wait,” Laura said. “I wasn’t paying attention. You said this flour was from your farm?”
“Harvest was a few days ago.”
“But what about Magnus?”
Anders shook his head and pointed at the kitchen door. “Magnus didn’t come from my fields, he came from yours.”
• 15 •
JUNIPER WALKED to the tree line and stopped, unable to see a way through the underbrush and unwilling to wade into the dense green. Despite what she had told her mother, she had no real desire to spend time in the village. There were no interesting shops, no movie theaters, no bookstores. Only a handful of small businesses. She couldn’t imagine what people in Godhavn did for fun.
Exploring the woods sounded vaguely appealing, but that looked impossible.
She started walking again and veered to her left, toward the waving fields of wheat and the inevitable path into town. She had forgotten a jacket and the air was chilly, but she didn’t want to return to the house. She didn’t like Anders. She understood that Laura might feel lonely, but you were supposed to feel lonely after your husband died. You were supposed to grieve, and it ought to take a long time. What you were not supposed to do was move halfway around the world, ruin your daughter’s life, and flirt with old boyfriends.
The path to town was not paved, and the dirt was cushioned with dead leaves and wheat chaff, lending her step a spring she didn’t feel. She put out her hand and swept it across the resilient stalks as she walked, relishing the tingle in her fingertips, then stopped and grabbed a handful of them, intending to pull the plants out by the root. But she couldn’t bring herself to damage them. She let go and patted the air in front of the row in an apologetic gesture, worried she had upset the crop.
On a whim, she left the path and walked into the field, letting the wheat close in behind her, willing to get lost and daydreaming that she might never be found. She immediately felt at peace, cocooned in the rustling plants and the soft whisper of the wind. She raised her face to the sun and drifted farther away from the path, deeper into the golden field. She felt buoyant, like a cork on the surface of a vast ocean, the crops drawing her along and lifting her up.
A hissing sound woke her from her reverie, and she turned to see someone watching her from behind the nearest row—a single eye visible through the wheat.
“Hey,” she said.
The eye disappeared and Juniper heard footsteps as the spy scampered away. She pushed through the rows and followed, running now, despite the resistance of the wheat, tripping over ruts, bending and breaking stalks. They sprang back at her, scratching her arms and neck, but she kept her eyes on the tassels above, watching for the telltale quiver of someone moving through the field.
She was concentrating so hard on the person ahead that she didn’t notice the ground sloping upward until she came out in a clearing at the top of a high hill.
Magnus stood waiting, panting softly and grinning at her. There was gauze taped over his left eye.
When she had caught her breath, Juniper pointed at him. “It was you last night! I saw you run away!”
Magnus shrugged.
“How’d you get in my house?”
He shrugged again.
“Does it hurt? Your eye? Did I poke it all the way out?”
Magnus reached up and pulled at the tape, lifting the gauze. Something bulged and rippled in the shadows where his eye should have been. A glossy tendril flicked out at her. She backed away to where the wheat bordered the clearing, and Magnus smoothed the bandage back into place.
“What the fuck was that? What are you?” She was ready to turn and run back into the dense rows, but curiosity rooted her to the spot.
Magnus put a finger to his lips, then pointed at the field below. Juniper looked and saw a man standing far enough away that she had to squint. He was shirtless, and when the wind moved through the wheat, she caught a glimpse of his bare, pink thigh.
“He’s naked,” she said.
Magnus giggled.
Something about the man, his posture (the way he squared his shoulders, his head cocked to one side) or his thin hair (the color of the surrounding wheat, blowing gently in the breeze) reminded her of someone. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her, and she fell backward, scrambling away from the clearing. She rolled over and got her feet under her and ran. She didn’t know where the path was—or the house or the town—and she didn’t care.
The man in the field looked exactly like her dead father.
• 16 •
LAURA WAS WASHING the aebleskiver pan when Juniper burst in through the kitchen door, ran through the arch and scrambled up the stairs. Laura dried her hands and followed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to listen before going up. The door to Juniper’s room was closed and Laura knocked. When there was no answer, she took a deep breath and opened it.
Juniper was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clamped between her knees. She didn’t immediately yell at her mother for invading her privacy, which let Laura know that whatever had happened was serious. She stepped over the crumpled black suit that Juniper still hadn’t put away, sat down next to her and rubbed her back. Juniper leaned against her and put her head on Laura’s shoulder.
“What happened, Junie?”
Juniper shook her head. Laura held her and waited. After a few minutes Juniper sat up straight and wiped her eyes, but she didn’t pull away.
“I think I’m going crazy,” Juniper said. Her voice was soft and punctuated by hiccups. “I saw Dad.”
“Oh, honey,” Laura said.
“I know. I’m so stupid. And it was totally weird.”
“When you miss somebody—”
“I know, I know. But this wasn’t like a dream or something. It was just now, in the daytime, and he was naked, Mom. He was standing in the middle of the wheat and he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Why would I imagine Dad naked?” Juniper finally pulled away. She stood up and grabbed the box of tissues from the table.
“You saw your dad in the field?” Laura said carefully. “In our field?”
“Well, I thought I did. Because my stupid brain is obviously melting.” Juniper tossed a tissue at the trash can and missed. Laura bent and picked it up.
“Your brain isn’t melting,” she said.
She dropped the tissue in the can and a puff of ashes rose up and settled back down.
Laura tipped the can toward her and shook the tissues to one side. There was a shiny black residue at the bottom. “Did you burn something in here?” She watched Juniper glance at the trash can, saw the guarded look return to her daughter’s eyes, and she knew. “Junie?”
“Oh,” Juniper said. “That was just… I don’t know. I was goofing around.”
“Juniper, what did you do?”
“Who cares? Didn’t you hear me? I’m going crazy. So what if I burned some paper?”
Laura’s stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Her face felt hot, and she had a curious sensation of being far away from her own body.
“What did you burn? What paper?”
Juniper’s face went blank and she stared down at the floor, her arms crossed.
“You can tell me,” Laura said. “What was it?”
“It was hardly anything at all, and it burned out right away and I won’t do it again.”
“Was it a picture of your dad?”
“It wasn’t what you think. I wasn’t mad or lashing out or anything like that. I was just bored.”
Laura examined the inside of the trash can and counted to ten in her head. She needed to remain calm. At last she stood and pointed to the suit on the floor. “Pick that up and shake it out. Your dad’s gonna need some clothes.”
“You believe me?”
Laura nodded. “I believe you.”
Juniper surprised her by giving her a hug. Laura squeezed her back, then pulled away and held Juniper at arm’s length, frowning down at her. “Junie?” she said. “Did you cut yourself?”
“What?”
“You must have.”
“Well,” Juniper said. “Yeah, but just my finger. Not like before.”
“What did you use?”
Juniper tipped the table lamp and slid a razor blade from beneath its base. Laura slid it the rest of the way across the table so she could pick it up. She held it carefully between her finger and her thumb and turned it in the light. There was a black smear on one side.
“Let me see it.”
Juniper held out her index finger without protest. There was a nearly invisible cut on the pad, already nearly healed.
“Who told you to do this? Was it Magnus? What else did he say?”
“Nobody told me,” Juniper said. “It was in Grandma’s diary. I’m sorry I cut myself. I know I promised, but—”
“What diary?”
Juniper knelt and slipped her hand under the mattress, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to her mother.
“It was in that box of junk.”
Laura smoothed the paper out and read the familiar instructions in her mother’s unsteady handwriting. She had known the words by heart since childhood.
“You went through with this?” she said. “What was your offering from the field?”
“A worm.”
“A worm?”
