Some Kind of Peace by Camilla Grebe & Träff Åsa

Author:Camilla Grebe & Träff, Åsa [Grebe, Camilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

The next morning I arrive at the practice earlier than usual. The clump in my stomach has been replaced by nervous energy—I have to find out where Marianne is.

Aina meets me in the corridor with a broad smile.

“I don’t want to know,” I say shaking my head.

“Are you sore?”

Aina looks surprised and hurt.

“Is Marianne here yet?”

“No. It’s really strange—she hasn’t come in and she hasn’t called. It’s not like her to just . just not show up.”

I tell her about yesterday evening, and Aina’s eyes open wide as they do when she is worried or scared. The corner of her eye twitches a little as she slowly takes hold of my arm.

“Have you called the police?”

“No, she’d only been gone half an hour or so.”

“Why didn’t you call Markus, or Christer?”

There is something accusatory in her voice.

“I don’t have Christer’s number. I don’t even know his last name. I called Markus, but I couldn’t get hold of him— or you. ”

“Oh.” Aina blushes slightly and lets go of my arm.

“As I said, I don’t want to know. I’m much too worried about Marianne to hear about your escapades.”

My voice is unnecessarily harsh. I know it’s petty of me, but sometimes I just can’t indulge Aina in the quick adventures she lives for. It’s as if I wanted her to promise me that she will share my solitude.

“At the reception desk,” Aina interrupts my train of thought.

“Reception desk?”

“The binder with emergency contact numbers. Don’t you remember?”

I remember. Marianne, who had attended a class on the role of the secretary in crisis management, had collected names and numbers of our closest relatives “in case something happens.”

I go around the reception desk and start searching among Marianne’s neatly arranged, color-coded binders. Farthest down in a slender binder marked IMPORTANT PAPERS I find the sheet of numbers. By Marianne’s name, Christer and both sons are listed as relatives. I take the phone and dial Christer’s number. He answers at the first ring.

We are sitting in the cafeteria near the large foyer at South Hospital. An unending stream of people come and go around us. Nursing staff dressed in white walk with rapid, self-assured steps toward the counter, serve themselves the daily special, and continue to the cash register. Worried relatives sit in silence with a cup of coffee, looking straight ahead in a daze. Talkative senior citizens seem to have experienced the high point of the week with their hospital visit. An older woman carefully feeds a man who sits shaking in a wheelchair. My guess is that it is her husband who suffers from Parkinson’s.

Christer sits across from me. His eyes are red rimmed and it is apparent that he hasn’t gotten much sleep. He constantly rubs his hands together. I notice that the cuticles on his thumb and index finger are torn apart far down and that an ugly, inflamed red color is starting to spread there.

“A hit-and-run accident?”

I hear doubt in my voice.

“A hit-and-run accident,” Christer confirms. “The police are quite certain.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.