The doorbell surprises me. Leo! I look up and peer out the window. But the person standing outside and raising her hand when our eyes meet through the glass isn’t Leo.
“Hi,” Veronica says when I open the door. “Am I disturbing you?”
Her long honey-colored hair is pulled back as usual, although there’s something different about her. Maybe the fact that she’s not wearing any makeup at all. I shake my head. No, she’s not disturbing me.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but…”
We eye each other for a brief moment.
“Or, well, I do know of course. I wanted to ask how you’re doing.”
My hand flies up to my forehead automatically. The cut still burns and feels tight, but it’s healing. The scar will scarcely be noticeable.
“Plus,” Veronica continues, “I kind of wanted to try to explain myself a little. I feel like I sort of went on and on up there at the cabin, talked as if there was no tomorrow.”
She hesitantly tugs on the collar of her sweater, says that she read somewhere that something dramatic can have that effect, that shock and adrenaline can make people open up to total strangers and say things they never would have said otherwise.
“I was really shaken. One minute I was being pursued by a crazy person, the next minute you were lying on our deck in a pool of blood and raving about how I shouldn’t kill you.”
She quickly makes a face.
“And then there was the alcohol on top of that.”
I clear my throat and pull my cardigan together over my chest.
“I… It did all get a little fraught, all of it.”
“I think you could safely say that.”
She laughs, and in her laugh I hear the echo of Leo’s. Otherwise there’s not much resemblance, at least not in their appearance.
“At any rate,” she continues, “I think we’re going to solve this. Philip was really excited when I came home. Said that only now did he understand how preoccupied he’s been with his own affairs, that for a long time he hadn’t really been noticing me or Leo properly and that he was ashamed of it. He even cried, and it seemed as if—”
Veronica stops.
“There I go, going on and on again,” she says rolling her eyes at herself. “Oversharing.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She flashes me a quick smile.
“Maybe it wasn’t just the shock and the whiskey, after all. Maybe there’s something about you, too, something that makes people… well, that it’s easy to say too much to you, extremely easy. Could it be that whole author thing? That you’re one of those people who sees things? And listens, maybe? That’s what Leo says, that you’re a good listener.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
Veronica scratches her arm, says that the two of them sat down and talked for a long time today as well. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but for the first time in ages, she felt like they’d actually managed to get through to each other.
“As I said, he thinks very highly of you. ‘More grown-ups should be like her.’ I’m pretty sure that’s what he said when you came up.”
“If only more teenagers were like him,” I respond.
Veronica laughs again, and a strange sensation comes over me. A feeling that there’s something that unites us, her and me, something that can’t be seen from the outside. Of course it could be even bigger, bigger than both of us. Maybe more women than you would think have hacked apart bouquets of roses in a fit of rage. Maybe more ought to.
Veronica checks the clock and says she’s got to be getting back home. Then she looks up again and our eyes meet.
“I hope things work out for you and your husband, too,” she adds. “Or at least for you.”
Yet again, I hear Peter’s words ringing in my ears. Don’t you love me anymore? Have you stopped loving me, Elena? Maybe he didn’t understand that the question was phrased wrong. It wasn’t my love that fell short, it was his.
I tell Veronica to say hi to Leo, and we say goodbye. After I close the door behind her, I slowly roam into the living room and over to the bookshelf. I run my hand over the spines of the books and feel the force of all the stories hiding within flow into my body.
Early tomorrow I’ll call the agency and ask for some new editing projects. Or maybe not. Maybe I should take a walk instead and visit a café downtown, or simply sit down at the kitchen table and see what turns up outside my window.
I’m not the same woman as before, nor am I the author I once was. If and when I start writing something new, I’m going to keep an eye on myself, be very attentive to the sometimes-thin, but crucial, dividing line between reality and fiction, be careful not to confuse myself with other people. But, that said, I’m still an observer, and I know that good stories are everywhere, sometimes where you suspect them least of all. All you have to do is keep your eyes open.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU.
Among authors, you sometimes hear talk of the “difficult second book.” Well, I’d like to introduce a new concept: the difficult fourth book.
Compared with my first three books, the process of writing this one felt longer and bumpier. On the other hand, memory can play tricks on you, so maybe (as my husband claims) I’m tossed back and forth like this between hope and despair every time. Maybe that’s part of being an author. At any rate, that certainly makes the support and encouragement I receive from the people around me all the more precious.
Thanks to Bokförlaget Forum, with publisher Adam Dahlin and editor Kerstin Ödeen at the helm, for believing in me and always pushing me to write the best book I can write. Thanks as well to the rest of the gang at Bonnier in sales, marketing, PR, etc., and who have been working hard to get my books out to readers around the country.
I also want to avail myself of this opportunity to thank all the booksellers from north to south. Some of you are very near to my heart. I hope and trust that you know who you are—no one mentioned, no one forgotten.
Since the previous book, The Missing, my stories are also reaching readers beyond Sweden. This is thanks to Elisabet Brännström and Amanda Bértolo Alderin at Bonnier Rights—who, as I write this, have sold the rights to a dizzying twenty-six countries. You’ve also been stable sounding boards during the writing process itself. My warmest thanks for that.
In connection with this, I also want to be sure to thank my foreign publishers for their confidence and for their single-minded efforts in building my authorship in their respective markets.
With gratitude to my translator, Tara F. Chace, and to the entire team at AmazonCrossing, for being supportive and professional through every step of the process.
I am both humbled and amazed to see not one but two of my books now having been translated into English, thus making it possible for me to reach readers across the world.
A very special thank you to my editor, Elizabeth DeNoma, without whose trust, passion, and insistent work this would still be but a dream.
Thank you to my test readers, Maria, Sofia, Alexandra, and Louise, for taking your work seriously, giving your time, and providing constructive feedback.
A special thank-you to all the wonderful readers and listeners (especially podcast listeners!) for the energy and encouragement you provide.
Thank you also to my family, relatives, and wonderful friends inside and outside the world of writing.
Mom and Dad, thank you for your general verve and devotion, and for your wise opinions and warm hugs that one afternoon in March in particular.