Page 39 of Pucking Strong

I grimace, keeping my hands under the hot water. I can’t do it again. I can’t remind her that Petra’s dead. Not when Dad and I just laid Petra’s ashes to rest at the root of her favorite oak tree. I told him we should wait for Mom, but he just smiled and said, “Today is a good day. Let it be good.”

He stayed outside, wanting a moment alone with my sister.

“My son only comes home twice a year,” Mom goes on, switching back to English. “It’s only right that he has dinner with his family before he goes away again.”

As she talks, Teddy gets up from the table and walks over to where I’m standing at the sink. “I really don’t mind,” he says under his breath. “I brought a bag just in case. I mean, if you wanna stay …”

I turn off the water and reach around him for the hand towel. “There’s not a lot of room here is the problem. They don’t even have a couch anymore. And my old bedroom in the attic is hardly big enough for Karolina.”

“Where do you usually sleep when you stay here?”

“The boat shed.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ve stayed in worse places.”

I raise a brow, fighting a smile. “You haven’t seen the boat shed.”

His own smile falls as he leans in closer and whispers, “I don’t think she knows your sister is dead.”

Christ, I didn’t tell him. I had the whole car ride down from Stockholm to tell him about her memory issues, but I was too busy worrying about whathewas thinking. And I’m protective of my mother. I don’t want others judging her or pitying her. But each time I visit, I’m confronted with the bitter truth: she’s only getting worse. Piece by piece, she’s slipping away.

As if he can read my thoughts, Teddy’s fingers brush lightly down my arm. “Let’s give her this. We can do one meal, right? Karolina’s safe at the hospital. And I mean … how many good days does your mom have left?”

Covering his hand with my own, I nod, relieved that he’s making the decision for us.

“Good news,” he calls out. “I worked my magic on old cranky pants, and we’re gonna stay for dinner.”

Mom glances between us. “What are crank pants?”

Teddy laughs as he retakes his seat, and I step in behind him. “That’s just my fond little nickname for Henrik,” he teases. “Hey, do you have any photo albums, Mrs. K? I’d love to see a picture of Henrik in lederhosen.”

I lean over him, stealing a cube of carrot from the bowl. “Lederhosen are German.”

Mom turns in her chair. “Oh, but we have that fine picture of you and your sister from Midsummer, Henrik. Fetch it for me. He’s wearing the jolliest little hat with blue and yellow ribbons.”

Teddy laughs. “God, is there anything better than a jolly hat?”

I step away, taking a moment to watch them. He’s so good with her. After watching him with Karolina this week, did I really have any doubt? His chair is turned towards her, and he’s listening with his whole body. His face is expressive, laughing as she tells jokes, always nodding along. He’s giving her his full attention, something she’s been starved of for so long.

“The picture, Henrik,” she directs over her shoulder in Swedish.

I smile, a soft warmth glowing in my chest. “I’ll get it. I just have to make a call first.”

Leaving them in the kitchen, I walk through the front room and out onto the porch.

So much about the last week has felt impossible. There was even a dark moment when I thought my grief at losing Petra might overtake me. As I drove to the airport that first night, the idea entered my mind to jerk the wheel into the wall and end it all. There’s no pain when you’re dead. No grief.

But then I thought of Karolina alone in a hospital, needing me. I thought of my parents, mourning the loss of both their children. And I thought of Teddy, waiting for me on the tarmac. He thinks this can work. He’s stressed and worried, but he’shere. He’s fighting for Karolina. He’s fighting for me. Even now, he’s inside, comforting my mother as her fragile mind fights to protect her from the truth that her daughter is gone.

I’m going to fight forhim. I’m going to protect him from any backlash this might bring. In a few short days, we have to return to Jacksonville. God willing, we’ll return with Karolina at our side. And then the truth will come out. Teddy’s right—we need a plan.

There’s only one person I trust to help me keep Karolina and Teddy safe. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I pull up my contacts and scroll until I reach her name. Taking a deep breath, I sink down onto my Dad’s favorite rocking chair and tap the little green circle. It takes a few calls before she picks up. But the moment she does, I hear her voice, and I know everything will be okay.

“This is Poppy St. James.”

Letting out my held breath, I rock back in the chair. “Hello, Poppy. This is Henrik Karlsson, calling from Sweden.”

Teddy disappears shortly after dinner while I help Dad clear the dishes away. Once everything is set to dry, I leave my parents to their nightly ritual. Mom always makes them each a cup of chamomile tea, then they play a game of skitgubbe at the kitchen table before bed.

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