Each time, I recoiled too. I usually defended Adam by pointing out that he wasn’t at all like a pastor. Not a real one.
“But he believes in God and the Bible and all that?”
I couldn’t deny that.
“But it’s not like you think,” I said sometimes, though I wasn’t able to express how it actually was.
It was perfectly natural for our relationship to continue. Now, almost twenty-five years later, it might sound trivial and boring, but my and Adam’s relationship was first and foremost based on security, solidarity, and the strong sense of having found our proper places in life. And that was exactly what I needed.
The future was never particularly present in our everyday lives. We were too busy with everything that was going on. In that sense I don’t think we were all that different from other people our age. It wasn’t that we refused to consider what lay ahead of us, decisions we would have to make about family and careers and so forth. It was just that we couldn’t see over the horizon.
That line on the pregnancy test a week or so before Christmas changed everything in one fell swoop. At first I went around in a captivated state that most closely resembled being newly in love, but once that state of dizziness passed it didn’t take long before I was beset by anxiety the proportions of which I had never before come close to. It began with doubt about our decision to have a family—wouldn’t it be better to wait a few years?—and ended in hopeless frustration about a deteriorating world imbued with violence and misery. I was aghast and found myself in tears over the future that seemed inevitable for my unborn child.
It’s horrid to think of now. As if I knew, even back then. A terrifying premonition deep inside me, warning me about bringing Stella into the world. The guilt twists and tears at my insides.
I was far too young. I allowed myself to be persuaded.
86
The presiding judge turns to Stella.
“Would you like to speak about these events and what, if anything, you have witnessed?”
Stella glances at Michael, who nods at her. I am so grateful that he’s the one sitting there.
When he called that Saturday night in the beginning of September to tell us that Stella had been taken into police custody, I knew I would be able to make him listen to reason. He owed me that much, after everything that had happened. It was, of course, a torment to sit in his office with Adam, it was a constant balancing act to keep from giving anything away, but none of this would have been possible without Michael.
“Where should I begin?” Stella asks, looking at the judge.
The whole court is staring at her. G?ran Leijon’s eyes may be warm and kind, but I see Stella’s hand trembling on the edge of the table. I wish I could sit beside her and hold her. The tunnel is closing in around me, and I gasp for air. The bearded journalist looks at me.
Stella knows exactly what she must and must not say. Michael has run through it with her several times. The important thing now is that she—for once—does as she’s been told. Please, my darling Stella!
This part of the proceedings is so tremendously important. The defendant’s first and likely only chance to make an impression on the court. I know Michael’s technique inside and out. Most of what I’ve learned has come from him. It’s crucial for the defendant to create trust, to present herself as both strong and vulnerable. It is best to agree with the prosecutor’s narrative to the greatest extent possible, and only depart from it on the points that are absolutely necessary in order to object to that version of the crime. It is important to appear cooperative. Stella must show that she is human; no more, no less.
“Are you acquainted with Christopher Olsen?” the presiding judge asks. “I suppose we can start there.”
Stella takes a deep breath and looks at Michael. He nods at her as if giving her the green light, then twists his body to the side, away from the audience, away from me.
I feel a stabbing sensation in my belly. A flash of doubt. I can trust Michael, can’t I?
“We met him at Tegnérs,” Stella says in a subdued voice. “Me and Amina.”
I don’t dare move a millimeter; I hardly dare to breathe.
“It was sometime in June. I thought Chris was charming, and … you know, exciting. He was so much older. He was thirty-two and I was seventeen.”
The female lay judges glance at each other.
“He told me he traveled a ton,” Stella continues. “He had been, like, everywhere. And you could tell he had money. He seemed to have a super-eventful life. Kind of like I dream of having.”