“It’s my life! You aren’t the boss of me.”
At its worst, we saw no other option than to lock her in her room until she calmed down.
In the late autumn of that year, we exchanged the mustachioed man at the clinic for a mild woman with fiery hair. She gave us tasks to practice at home. Tools, she called them. We needed tools. But when Stella didn’t get her way and turned the whole world upside down, it didn’t matter what tools we whipped out.
During one examination, it was determined that Stella suffered from a lack of impulse control. According to the redhead, this was something that could be improved.
I confided in my colleagues, who were wonderful and supportive. “Teenagers aren’t easy.” Even so, I couldn’t help but suspect that some of them seemed a little too satisfied—relieved, somehow, that even I had cracks in my fa?ade.
However, the results from Stella’s subsequent urine tests came back negative and I was starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
21
That night, Ulrika and I were on opposite sides of the sofa. We were battling against time and the wound that had been laid open in the heart of our little family. The air was stifling, full of everything we didn’t say to each other.
I couldn’t stop thinking about My Sennevall. Her words had poisoned me with dread. She was so sure that it was Stella she had seen on Friday because it wasn’t the first time Stella had been to Christopher Olsen’s home.
Around two, Ulrika fetched another bottle of wine. On her way back she stumbled and had to catch herself against the wall.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have any more to drink,” I said.
“‘We’？”
I shrugged.
I have preached in several of my sermons on how it so frequently takes tragedy or catastrophe for people to come together and be united, for us to truly stop what we’re doing and devote ourselves to one another. In misfortune we rediscover each other and become aware of what it means to be a human among other humans. In sorrow, we need each other more than ever.
“Adam, please, don’t tell me what I’m allowed to do,” Ulrika said. “My daughter is a murder suspect.”
She swayed again, then sat back down on her side of the sofa. I took a deep breath. We were a family—we had to stick together. There was no room for lies or secrets.
“You know what? I think Stella knew that man.”
“Christopher Olsen?”
I nodded as she sipped her wine.
“What makes you think that?”
“I suppose it’s just a feeling I have.”
Ulrika gazed at me, wide-eyed.
Should I tell her everything? Reveal that I had spoken with My Sennevall? I was terrified that Ulrika wouldn’t understand. She would fly into a rage and think I had tried to influence My’s testimony. It’s a matter of honor for her, of course. If she found out, she might even feel duty-bound to report my little stunt to the police.
“What did we do wrong, honey?” I asked. “How could this happen?”
Ulrika’s eyes became shiny.
“I’ve never been enough,” she said, almost whispering. “I’m a bad mother.”
I moved closer.
“You’re a fantastic mother.”
“Oh, Stella’s always been a daddy’s girl. Everyone said so. It was you and Stella.”
“Stop it.” I reached for her, but she turned her back on me and clammed up. “You and Stella have had a wonderful relationship. Recently…”
She shook her head.
“Something has always been missing.”
“Maybe it has to be,” I said, although I wasn’t sure what I meant.
* * *
When sleep finally came to us, there on the sofa, it was fitful and fragmented. I kept waking up, my body aching, wondering where I was and trying to figure out what was real and what were only phantoms from my feverish dreams.
Ulrika was half-reclining beside me, whistling as she breathed, eyelids fluttering. Sometime during the morning I cuddled up close to her so I could feel her presence in my dreams.
The next time I woke up, she was gone. I rushed to the kitchen. The morning light was streaming into the quiet house. I ran up the stairs and flung open the bedroom door. The bed was empty. An instant later, I heard her in Stella’s room.
“The results from the lab are in. There will be another custody hearing today.”
She was standing in the doorway with hunched shoulders and dark circles under her eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“A person can be detained either ‘under reasonable suspicion’ or ‘for probable cause.’ I would say the difference is considerable. It doesn’t take much to detain someone during an investigation if they’re under reasonable suspicion, but the standard of proof is much higher to detain them for probable cause.”