The Missing

35

It begins and ends with Mother. To understand me and my story, you first have to understand that. In the beginning, Mother was my everything, and I was hers. I was the light of her life, that’s what she always said. Her voice was as soft as a caress on my face. She used to hold me in her arms, pressing me close to her warm flesh, making me understand that with her I would always be safe. A faint lavender scent rose from her skin when she stroked my hair. She got up with me in the morning and made breakfast, she was there when I came home from school, she tucked me in at night. Every day, every night. She never let work, or her women friends, or any other distractions take her away from my side. I can’t remember a single instance when she wasn’t there when I needed her. Everything she did was for me. Never in my life has anyone loved me like she did.

When the hospital called to say she’d been in a car accident, I was home alone with Smilla. Alex had gone to Marhem on his own to finish a big project. At least, that’s what he told me.

“It’s serious,” said the nurse who called.

At that moment, a chasm opened up under my feet, another inside my chest. Those first years after I’d moved away from home and left Mother’s safe nest, I was a lost wanderer. I discovered that the world was an unpleasant and frightening place. I trained to be a psychologist, thinking that would help me to figure out why I felt like a cat adored in the summertime and then abandoned in the fall. But it was only after Smilla was born that the pieces fell back into place. I had a mission. Motherhood became my calling. And Mother became more than my safe haven. She became my role model, my guiding light.

I gripped the phone, afraid to ask.

“How serious?”

“Come as soon as you can.”

Smilla didn’t want to go anywhere without Tirith and her toys, so I got out the cat carrier and our biggest suitcase and let her pack whatever she liked. The August evening slipped into night, closing its darkening walls around us as we headed for Marhem. I drove much too fast the whole way. I could hardly see because of the tears streaming down my face. Mother’s footprints were about to be washed from the surface of the earth. Her example, which I had unsuccessfully tried to emulate, was about to fade. Who would I be without her? How would I be able to go on or bear what had become of my life?

The car parked in front of the cabin belonged to another woman. I realized that at once. Though I’d previously looked the other way, I couldn’t do it anymore. I hadn’t warned Alex of our arrival. I didn’t call his cell phone until we were already standing in the road outside. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to take him by surprise. When he came out, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Screamed as if I was on the verge of losing my mind. Or as if that had already happened. That’s what Alex would say, of course. It wasn’t like me to behave that way. Not at all like the wife he had molded. The one who knows to yield, accept, look the other way. I don’t remember what I screamed; maybe there were no real words or phrases. Maybe it was just one long primal scream, emanating from my fear that Mother was about to be taken from me. The other woman—you? You really weren’t important. Not then.

The hatred crept in later, at the hospital. For two days and two nights, I kept watch at Mother’s bedside, holding her hand, bargaining with the higher powers. If only she was allowed to live, I would… what? I had nothing to offer in return. I wondered what Mother would want me to do, what sacrifice she would have found appropriate. But the only thing I could think of was Smilla. The only thing that meant anything, that Mother would have considered meaningful, was that I look after my daughter. It was for Smilla’s sake that I had to be willing to sacrifice everything. I thought back to that moment when we arrived in Marhem, when Smilla dashed out of the car and threw herself into Alex’s arms. How she buried her face in his chest as he lifted her up. As if she was seeking shelter, as if he was the one who could offer her that. Alex and the woman waiting inside the cabin. Our cabin.

Hatred took over my body, filling me completely, seething and surging under my skin. I didn’t know what to do with all the darkness and violence, didn’t know where or toward whom to direct all those feelings. Then Mother died. There are moments—moments of terrible torment—when I think it wasn’t from her injuries. It was the hatred that killed her. The hatred spreading through my body like a poison. It must have radiated out of me, must have seeped out of my skin as I held her hand in mine.

When I got home from the hospital, Smilla and Alex were there. We spoke very little to each other. I have no real memory of anything we said. Everything was blurry and clamorous, both inside me and all around, as if all boundaries were about to dissolve. I stayed in the bedroom, with the blinds down. Mother had left me. She had never taught me how to cope with a life where she no longer existed. Day and night, light and darkness, everything flowed together. I simply lay there, as if anesthetized.

Alex left me alone. At some point, I dozed off and dreamed that he came in, bringing me a tray of sandwiches and tea, that he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his arms around me. Consoling me. But when I woke up, the room was empty.

When my vision cleared, I noticed an object on Alex’s nightstand. His cell phone. For a long time, I lay there, motionless, staring at it. Then I sat up and reached out my hand. I searched through the list of recent calls, found what I assumed had to be your name and number. And I called you. When you picked up, I ended the call. I did that several times. Secretly, whenever Alex wouldn’t notice, I called. I didn’t say a word, just listened to your voice on the other end. I closed my eyes and pictured you in my mind, tried to figure out who you could be and what your intentions were. But then something unexpected happened. You started screaming, swearing at me. I put the phone back and fell asleep. When I woke up, I was alone in the bedroom, and Alex’s phone was gone. That’s when I decided I’d had enough. I got up, took off my bathrobe, and put on my clothes. Then I went into my daughter’s room.

We were sitting on the floor of her bedroom when I felt his eyes on my back. My hand tensed slightly, but I kept stroking Smilla’s hair. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was there or what his expression would be.

He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed.

“So, have you pulled yourself together?” he said. “Can we go on now?”

I knew he wasn’t talking about Mother. He’d never been particularly fond of her. So I slowly nodded.

“I’ve been through this before,” I told him.

Because I had. I spoke quietly, compliantly. The way he wanted me to. But I didn’t look him in the eye, and I kept my back turned. It might have seemed like a silent protest—if I’d been that kind of woman. I clenched my jaw. He came back. That’s what I tried to tell myself. This time too. He left Marhem, and here he is. That must mean something. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to come undone, fall apart.

Smilla was sitting on my lap holding the tablet. She was immersed in some sort of princess game. She was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t even notice Alex there. Otherwise, she probably would have jumped up to throw herself into his arms. I felt a pang of jealousy. You have to get through this, I told myself, for her sake. You have to do everything for your daughter, that’s your commitment. The only thing of importance.

“Children,” I said out loud. “When there are children in the picture, you have to carry on. Nothing else matters.”

I don’t know what made me suspicious. Was it a sudden movement behind me? Did Alex shift position as he stood there in the doorway? Was he sending out signals of restlessness or disapproval? Maybe it was simply his silence that finally made me turn around. Alex, who was never without a reply.

We looked at each other, and what I saw in his eyes made me carefully let go of Smilla and stand up. When there are children in the picture… An icy cold washed over me. I took a couple of steps closer and leaned forward, entreating him.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” I whispered. “Tell me she isn’t pregnant.”

For some reason, I noticed that Alex was holding his phone. I stared at it. A few minutes ago, before I felt his presence behind me in Smilla’s room, I’d heard the door to the study open. Hadn’t the door been shut for a long time? What had Alex been doing in there? Talking on the phone? Who was he talking to? The answer was obvious, but I refused to acknowledge it. Slowly, I turned my gaze back to the face belonging to the man I had once promised to love, in sickness and in health.

He was smiling at me. One of his eyelids started twitching. An outsider might interpret these tiny, rapid movements as nervousness. But I knew it was something else entirely. Excitement.

“I need to know,” he said softly, “how far you’re willing to go for my sake. For the sake of our family.”

When I married Alex, I was forced to move far away from Mother. When Smilla arrived, I cut my hours to part-time. Gradually, I stopped working altogether. I didn’t see any of my former colleagues; I made no new friends. And I never, ever challenged him anymore. I’d learned not to do that after several experiences during those first years with Alex had cost me dearly. My social life, my work, my independence—that’s what I’d already given up. What did I have left? What remained? Nothing. Even my mother was no longer in my life. And yet Alex asked me that question, hinting there was more I could do. While he… once again… with some woman… And in Marhem, in our cabin.

I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly I was heading for the hall and the front door. Alex followed. When I paused to get the car keys off the dresser, he grabbed my arm. He swung me around, pulling my body close to his. His chest pressed against me, his eyes locked on my lips. As if he were going to kiss me.

“Without me, you are nothing.”

Those words… How many times had he flung them in my face? I’d lost count. I felt the same way I always did when he said that. The same, and yet somehow different.

I pulled away and ran out the door. I didn’t ask permission. I didn’t say where I was going or when I planned to come back. Even I didn’t know. My mind had stopped thinking. Time ceased to exist. The car drove itself. Only when I saw the sign for the exit to Marhem did I realize that was where I’d been heading all along.

There was a car parked outside the cabin, the same one as before. Your car. I parked behind it, got out, and stood next to the arborvitae for a while. Over the course of only a few days, everything had been taken from me. Not just Mother, but also my family, my orderly life. Shivering, I stared at the log-cabin walls visible through the hedge, thinking that you were inside. The person who refused to allow me to have my little corner of the world in peace. The person who had broken into my life and without hesitation had shattered it completely. The feeling that something was about to come undone returned. Back in the car again, I called home. Smilla answered.

“Mama, where are you? When are you coming home?”

I could hear in her voice that she missed me. She needed me, longed for me. For her mother. What Smilla had been forced to endure over the past few days, everything I hadn’t been able to protect her from… I needed to compensate for all that.

I don’t know how or why. I only know that I suddenly felt as if I were standing several feet above the ground. As if I’d risen from the ruins and shaken off the dust, stronger than ever before. Much had been lost, but not everything. I was going to fight for what remained, fight for what I had left. For what was mine.

I told Smilla I loved her, that she was the light of my life. I explained that Mama had to take care of something, but when that was done, I’d come home. Then she and Papa and I would live happily ever after. Then I asked to speak to Alex. As soon as I heard his voice on the phone, I told him where I was.

“The answer to your question,” I added, “is that I’m prepared to do whatever it takes, to go as far as necessary.”

I listened to my own voice, heard myself speaking with a composure I didn’t feel. Then I waited. It took a moment before Alex said anything. I heard a crackling and scraping, as if he were silently deliberating as he ran his fingertips over the phone.

“The cabin is insured,” he said at last. “If anything should happen, if it should, for instance… burn down. Then we’d get a lot of money. That might be something to keep in mind.”

My neck felt stiff as I turned my head to look back at the cabin. I was suddenly aware of it again, the chasm that my chest had become when Mother died. It opened once more, and hatred poured out. Finally, I knew where to direct that hatred. Toward whom.

“That project you went to Marhem to finish,” I then said. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

“Is that what you want?”

“If you do.”

“You would do that for me?”

“For us.”

I end the conversation and get out of the car again. I walk up to the cabin and try the door. It’s locked. I look under the steps, but the key isn’t there. There’s no turning back. I can’t lose my courage now. Without Alex and Smilla, I don’t exist. Without them, I’m nothing, have nothing. My eyes are stinging. Maybe with tears. But I pull myself together. Crying is not what I want to do. What I really want is to break your neck.

I never thought I had it in me. Until now. No, I really didn’t. But now… Nothing is the same. Not even me. Especially me. Who knows what I do or don’t have in me? To kill someone. I didn’t think I was capable of that. But maybe I was wrong. Behind the shed is an old oar. I go over and get it. Then I knock on the door.