A few weeks later, on a sunny morning, Amina came to our house. For once I was managing to relax—I was in the yard with a coffee and a novel.
“Stella’s not home,” I explained. “She went to Landskrona. I thought you were going too.”
Amina didn’t respond. She stood there in her shorts and tank top, under the cherry tree, gazing at me with a grim expression.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, putting down my book.
She gestured as if to say she wasn’t quite sure.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked.
“Of course!”
Once I’d brought out soda and a cinnamon roll, she began to appear more comfortable.
“I feel like the worst friend in the world right now.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
She squinted across the yard and told me in a restrained voice that she had put this off until the last moment. She really didn’t want to be a bad friend, but fear had taken over. She was worried about Stella.
“Those guys she’s with in Landskrona. They’re not good people. They get up to a bunch of bad stuff. Smoking and drinking.”
“Alcohol? You’re only fourteen.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad you told me, Amina.”
She bent forward.
“You promise not to say anything to Stella, right? If she finds out I … You have to promise me!”
I promised.
I wasn’t really thinking about Stella very much at that moment, however strange that may sound. I was mostly thinking of Amina. I admired her courage, her natural instinct to do the right thing.
“I’m so glad you came to me,” I said.
We stood facing each other for a long time before she leaned forward and hugged me.
During the week that followed, Adam and I had a serious talk with Stella. It was the start of a long, horrible period for us. The more we tried to reason with her, the more Stella lashed out.
“Stop interfering in my life! Living with you is like being in prison!”
Later that fall, when it came to light that Stella was smoking dope, Adam and I realized after a lot of “ifs” and “buts” that we needed professional help.
It was torture to sit through those meetings with principals and teachers, nurses and counselors—not to mention all the social workers and psychologists. I have never felt so vulnerable and violated, so belittled as a person. No failure in the world is comparable to being an inadequate parent.
Michael Blomberg offered a way out, a bit of solace.
99
I turn around to look at Alexandra again. I see my own mother in her. My stomach knots as I think of how ungrateful she has been toward Amina.
Alexandra meets my gaze. So far, she still doesn’t know. I’m sure Amina hasn’t said anything.
Ever since she told me what happened, I’ve taken pains to ensure that as few people as possible find out.
Not even Adam knows. Not even Stella.
In time, they will all understand.
Jenny Jansdotter’s sharp treble rips a hole in the silence of the courtroom.
“So you violated your agreement with Stella and continued to see Christopher Olsen?”
Amina shakes her head.
“That’s not quite what happened.”
The prosecutor makes a baffled expression.
“No? Isn’t that what you just said?”
“I only saw Chris once after Stella’s birthday. He contacted me several times that week, but I told him we couldn’t see each other. He was really persistent. He wrote that he was so curious about me and it would be a waste not to explore what might happen between us. And stuff like that.”
“So you agreed to meet him?”
“I was honestly planning to tell him to go to hell. I didn’t meet up with him because I wanted us to be together or anything. I just wanted to get rid of him. I swear.”
She takes another tissue and blows her nose.
“On Friday he texted me again. I’d made an agreement with Stella. I didn’t want to see Chris again.”
“But you did?”
“He wrote that he had a surprise for me,” she continues. “He was going to pick me up in a limo. I told him my dad would beat him up if he showed up at our house. But anyway … he wouldn’t give up, so we decided he would pick me up at the Ball House after handball.”
“Did he arrive in a limousine?”
“No, he had his own car. Something got messed up with the reservation.”
Stella is watching Amina intently. How much of this does she know?
“And this was on the thirty-first of August, the same night Christopher Olsen was murdered?” Jansdotter asks.