Page 17 of Pucking Strong

The moment she sees him, Karolina bursts into tears, reaching for her uncle with her unbandaged hand. “Morbror!”

He crosses the room to her bedside, both of them crying as he hugs her. His voice is soft and soothing. “Mitt lilla lamm, inga fler tårar. Jag är här nu.”

She sobs, clinging to him.

“Jag är ledsen,” he cries, brushing back her hair. “Lilla lamm, jag är så ledsen.”

I don’t understand his words, but I feel his grief, his resolve. He’s going to take care of her. Nothing will part them now. I wipe away my own tears, letting the two of them have this moment together. They speak in fast Swedish as he pulls away, his hands everywhere as he inspects her. “She wants water,” he says at me in English, before switching smoothly back to Swedish to speak to her as he adjusts her pillows and helps her sit up.

Making myself useful, I fill a cup with water from the little plastic pitcher on her bedside table. I offer it to her. “Here you go, honey.”

She leans away, eyeing me warily.

Okay, ouch. Why is this hurting my feelings?

Karlsson says a few quick words in Swedish, gesturing to me, and her tension eases a bit.

“Does she speak English?”

“She understands it better than she speaks,” he replies. “American shows and movies are quite popular here. But she’s generally shy around strangers.”

“Well, she comes by that honestly,” I say with a smile. “I have a present for her. Do you think that might help break this ice?”

He raises a brow in surprise. “You have a present for her?”

“Duh.” I hand him the little plastic cup of water and duck down for my backpack. “You don’t visit a kid in the hospital without bringing them a present.”

I spent the last six months working for a rehab hospital where the main clientele were kids with broken arms and legs. Gotta love summer sports and the carefree “my bones are rubber” attitude of overconfident teenage boys. My last patient broke all his arms and legs falling off his roof while trying to land on a trampoline. He showed me the video footage. Honestly, it was pretty epic until he went splat.

“When did you have time to shop for a present?”

“On my way to the airport. It’s not god’s gift to presents,” I quickly add. “But I think it’ll do as a first offering of peace and friendship.” Wheeling the chair closer, I set my backpack on the edge of her bed with a flourish and make a show of unzipping it. “Can you tell me, Karolina, what’s your favorite color?”

She chews her bottom lip, glancing from me to Karlsson.

He says something in Swedish.

“Lila,” she says in her sweet little baby-doll voice.

I’m taking an educated guess here. “Is that like lilac? Purple?”

Karlsson nods.

Oh, thank god. “Well, am I a genius or what? I guessed you’d say purple. And look at this …” Slowly, I reach into my backpack and pull out a plush purple teddy bear.

Her curious look turns to one of excitement as she locks eyes with the silly purple bear.

“See? It’s a teddy bear, like me. I’m Teddy.” I glance at Karlsson. “How do you say ‘teddy bear’ in Swedish?”

“Nalle,” they reply at the same time.

I grin. “Well,thisis Nalle.” I hand her the purple bear. “And I’m Teddy.”

She takes the bear, inspecting it with eager eyes. She doesn’t need to know I have three more in this backpack in three other colors. Thank god for capitalism, right? Why make one when you can make one in every color?

Karlsson says something to her, and she looks up at me, clutching to the little bear. “Thank you,” she murmurs in English.

“Oh hey, no thankyou.” I scoot closer. “I was hoping I’d find a good home for him. You’re gonna take good care of him for me, right?”

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