Leslie’s window was dark when Ilka parked the car and got out, but the office and the foyer were still lit, as well as her father’s room upstairs. She found him in the office’s plush leather chair, engrossed in a book. The remains of a sandwich lay on a plate beside him.
“Leslie’s asleep,” he said, and Ilka nodded. “Have you eaten anything?”
He laid down his book and pointed at his plate. “There’s another sandwich if you’re hungry.”
He looked tired. Ilka had the feeling he’d stayed up waiting for her. On her way to the kitchen she asked him if he wanted a cup of tea, but he merely grunted. She realized she didn’t know her father well enough to know what he liked. They had only eaten together a few times, and she’d seen him drinking coffee, but otherwise she had no idea what he usually drank. She dropped a tea bag in the boiling water. Her fingers got smeared with curry mayonnaise when she unwrapped the chicken sandwich and laid it on a plate.
Back in the office she pulled out the desk chair and looked at him expectantly, but he held his tongue. Suddenly she was nervous: Had the hospital informed him of the situation with Artie? Or maybe the insurance company had called him. She squirmed in her chair; she had to say something.
“They’re going to scan him again tomorrow. So the doctors can see if the pool of blood in the back of his head is gone.”
“It’s not easy for Leslie,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard Ilka. “She’s so mad at her mother that she won’t visit her. I tried to tell her that she’d feel better if she talked to her. Both about what happened back then, and also about that day out at the ranch. It would help Leslie understand why Mary Ann broke off contact with Leslie’s biological father without telling him she was expecting his baby.”
He leaned forward and massaged his temples, as if he were squeezing some old sorrow out of his head. “But she won’t listen to me. She won’t even talk about it, she just lies in there on the sofa, and I can’t even tell if she’s listening.”
He stroked his chin and looked up at Ilka in resignation. Clearly, he had no idea what to do. It was as if Leslie’s despair were a tool someone had placed in front of him that he didn’t know how to use.
All her life, Leslie surely must have thought of herself as the daughter of a funeral director. Half Danish, half American. Presumably she had been told more than once that she looked like her father. People always said that; sometimes it wasn’t so much a physical resemblance as a similarity of movement, language, manner. The things that rub off from living in a close-knit family. Everything you absorb and mirror because you’ve seen and heard your parents do it. Inherited traits aren’t only genetic, Ilka thought. She hadn’t had the opportunity to copy her father’s movements and expressions, she hadn’t assimilated his language and favorite expressions, but the look in their eyes was the same. Their height, their slightly angular physique. It had been the opposite for Leslie.
It didn’t surprise her that their father had no idea how to help Leslie. Had he asked Ilka one single time in the past few days about how she’d handled his abandonment, how she felt?
A pair of headlights out in the parking lot swept across the window; then a car door slammed, then another, right outside the back door. It was nine thirty. She glanced up at her father; he was sitting straight in his chair, staring through the window. They heard voices outside.
Ilka rose slowly as her father leaned over and opened a drawer. He brought out a thick wooden bat and rested it in his hands. The trunk of a car slammed shut, and two figures out in the darkness approached, their voices clearer now. Ilka stepped away from the window and over to the door. She froze when she heard a female voice cut through.
She couldn’t believe her ears! She turned to her father, who sat ready for battle, his eyes glued to the hallway door. “It’s Mom. And Jette.”
Slowly he stood up, staring at her in bewilderment. “Your mother?”
Ilka nodded and headed for the hall as they began banging on the back door.
Before Ilka could react, he stepped past her with the bat in his hand and hurried up the stairs.
The banging continued. “This has to be the place,” she heard her mother say. Jette suggested they walk around to the front door.
Ilka didn’t budge when they hammered on the door once more, nor when her phone in her coat pocket began ringing. It was as if signals from her brain had been disconnected from her feet. She couldn’t visualize, couldn’t imagine how she could plunge her mother into the middle of all this chaos. And what if the Rodriguez brothers came back? It would be much too dangerous.
It was quiet upstairs. Her father had closed the door to his room.
Ilka straightened up and pulled back her shoulders, then walked out into the hall and turned on the outside light. She focused on the door a moment before opening it.
Her mother clapped her hands a single time when she saw Ilka in front of her. “What an impressive place!” She glanced up at the white wooden funeral home, illuminated now by the porch light. It was a beautiful old building; it had had the same effect on Ilka the first time she’d seen it. “I just said to Jette, this had to be the right address, I was sure of it. We saw the sign out front too, of course.”
“What are you doing here?” It was the only thing Ilka could think of to say.
Her mother lifted her suitcase and looked at her daughter in puzzlement. “We’re here to help you.”
“Help,” Ilka repeated. “How did you find your way here?”
“We met your friend down at the square when we got off the bus. He drove us the rest of the way. What people say about Americans being friendly and helpful, it’s absolutely true. He carried our suitcases and wouldn’t allow us pay him for his trouble.”
“Friend?”
Ilka peered out at the parking lot; it was empty except for her father’s car, the one she’d parked there minutes ago. But when her mother explained he was an older man, and he’d also been a funeral director, Ilka guessed that they’d been lucky enough to run into Gregg.
“Come in.”
Ilka stepped aside and ushered them in, then quickly shut the door behind them. She remembered Leslie and worried that all the noise might have woken her up, and for a split second she was angry at her father for leaving her alone to handle all this. Yet she knew she absolutely had to keep him and her mother apart. Who could tell what would happen if her mother found out he wasn’t dead after all?
“You two must be exhausted,” she said. Could she get away with taking them to the hotel right now, or did she have to ask them if they’d like something to eat or drink? Suddenly she realized she hadn’t said one single word of welcome. She locked the back door and led them into the foyer. Her mother stopped and gazed at the empty glass cases where the cremation jewelry had been displayed. Ilka grabbed the suitcase out of her hand and offered to take the weekend bag Jette was carrying over her shoulder.
“Is there something I can get you? I could make tea.”
“We ate on the plane, and we had wine too,” her mother said. “And I watched a few wonderful movies.” As if that in itself were a memorable experience. This was the farthest her mother had traveled, her first trip across the Atlantic. She and Jette had flown to Malta and Sardinia, but normally she was a homebody.
Ilka smiled at her.
Jette glanced at her watch. “I can feel it’s five in the morning back home. I did set my watch while we were on the plane. They say it helps with jet lag.” She yawned.
“Did you book a hotel room?” Ilka said, thinking that if she could get them settled and into bed, she would have time to clear her head.
Neither of them reacted.
“I’ll call down to the hotel and rent one for you.” She headed to the office for her phone.
“No, don’t,” her mother called out. “We’ll sleep here, we’ll be fine. We came to be with you.”
Ilka turned to her. “It’ll be a lot comfier for you down at the hotel, it’s right outside the marina, a great view.”
“Nonsense. We’ll find a place to sleep here. We’ve thought about it, there must be lots of space in the room where you hold the services you told me about. All the sofas where the families sit. And we’ve seen it in the photos you’ve sent. We’ll be fine there.”
Her tone of voice at the end settled it. If Ilka made any more of an issue of it, they would think she was throwing them out. “So, what about some tea?”
They both nodded.
Slowly, it was sinking in that her mother really and truly had shown up, that she was standing just a few feet away. Her thick gray hair lay flat against her neck from all the time on the plane and bus. She was wearing her favorite shawl and a colorful blouse, and her eyes were warm and sparkling as she talked and pointed around the high-ceilinged foyer. Ilka felt the warmth in her chest growing, until finally she rushed over and buried her nose in her mother’s hair, and for several moments Ilka hugged her, this woman who had traveled all this way to be with her. When she finally let go, her mother ran her hand through Ilka’s hair and told her everything was going to be fine. Ilka merely nodded, then she smiled at Jette and gave her a big hug too.
“It’s good to see you,” her mother’s partner murmured, and again Ilka felt a surge of warmth.
Ilka showed them the bathroom before putting water on to boil and taking down crackers and teacups from the cupboards. She hadn’t felt this way since arriving in Racine. The mere scent of her mother was enough; even though she was the last person Ilka wanted to drag into this enormous mess, Ilka felt a familiar sense of security.
She led them into the reception and closed the curtains. “You should have told me you two were coming.” She set her steaming teacup down.
“But I did! I wrote to you before we packed, I asked you if it was cold here.”
“Cold?”
Ilka remembered the message she’d received back when she was sitting in the hearse as Lydia walked out of sight on the highway. Back then she thought her mother was asking if she was keeping warm enough. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood you.”
“It’s not easy to get hold of you, you know.” Her mother explained that she’d also called from the airport before leaving Copenhagen, to ask Ilka to find out where the bus left from. “But we managed ourselves. The bus trip wasn’t really so bad.”
Ilka glanced over at Jette, who was obviously exhausted.
The two women were the same age but very different in temperament. Her mother was full of life, sensitive, with an explosive temper. Outgoing and creative. Down-to-earth Jette took care of all the practical details, made sure things went the way they should. Ilka had always felt that nothing could really go wrong when Jette was around. She was compact but strong, energetic, and Ilka loved the woman for being there for her mother and keeping their lives on an even keel. They made a good pair. Her mother tossed up balls and Jette juggled them.
Ilka studied the two of them. That’s how the trip had gone, she surmised: her mother full of enthusiasm, Jette taking care of the tickets, finding out which bus to take after landing in Chicago.
Her mother blew on her tea. “We are so excited to meet Artie and the nun you’ve talked about.” She glanced around the reception. “It’s a nice place to greet people here, but it would help so much if it was more personal. Cozy. Something to make it look inviting. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have some indication of the Danish connection.”
She sounded as if she’d come all this way just to inspect the funeral home. Ilka merely nodded. Her mother was actually right; the place wasn’t all that cozy and appealing after they’d taken away the large mirror and all the lamps, but anyway, what difference did it make now? The funeral home was out of business.
“You can stay over in Sister Eileen’s apartment. She’s away, and it would definitely be more comfortable than the sofas in the memorial room. And you’ll have your own bathroom.”
Her mother nodded. “Perfect.”
“I should warn you, though, Leslie is staying here for the time being. She’s the older of my half sisters.”
Her mother tilted her head. “They treated you so horribly at first. Wasn’t she the worst of them?”
Ilka nodded vaguely.
“Well, it’s wonderful that you’re getting along now.”
Jette hadn’t touched her tea, and had in fact fallen asleep sitting up.
“Come.” Ilka stood up and helped Jette to her feet.
“Why in the world are you so sleepy?” her mother grumbled. “We slept on the bus!”
“You slept,” Jette mumbled. She let Ilka take her suitcase and followed slowly, cautiously, as if she were afraid of dozing off on the way.
Ilka let them in the nun’s apartment and pointed out the drawers Lydia had emptied. “I’ll bring over some comforters.”
They also kept extra bedding in the washroom, and Ilka was on her way to fetch everything when her mother called out after her.
“There’s a rollaway in here behind the wardrobe, and comforters and bedding in the dresser.”
A rollaway. For guests. Lydia had been living a secret life, Ilka knew that, but the notion that she’d had people staying there overnight after Fernanda and Ethan moved out surprised her.
“Do you think she’ll mind us using her bedding?”
“No, not at all. Go ahead, put it on.”
Her mother had opened her suitcase, and the first thing she brought out looked like a black suit, which wasn’t at all what she usually wore. Her mother loved deep colors such as green, purple, Bordeaux, rust, but Ilka had seldom seen her in black. Or anything that resembled a suit, for that matter. She knitted most of her clothes herself.
“What do you think?” She waved the black skirt around and said it was the type of thing she wore back when she was struggling to keep the funeral home on Brønshøj Square afloat. “We found it in a Red Cross shop. Jette has one too.”
Ilka stared at her. “You’re going to wear that?”
Her mother hung the skirt up. “Only here at the funeral home. It’s just a uniform. An undertaker’s uniform.”
“But the funeral home is closed. I tried to sell it, but I couldn’t, and we had to close it down. Everything went exactly as you said it would. I ended up with an enormous debt.”
Her mother had advised her not to go to Racine, fearing that even after his death Ilka’s father would pull her down into a bottomless pit. And she’d been right. It hadn’t been easy for Ilka to call and tell her mother that she was coming home with a debt of several million kroner, if they even let her out of the country.
She looked away. Now that her father wasn’t dead after all, she assumed his will would be nullified and the worst of her financial problems would disappear, but right then she couldn’t start explaining everything to her mother. Once again, Lydia and the bag with all that money crossed her mind. The money could easily have covered what her father owed the IRS, but instead she’d let Artie use his entire savings to buy Ilka some time. Now Artie was in a situation where he desperately needed his money. Her anger with Lydia flared up again.
Suddenly she was aware of her mother speaking to her. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I just said that we’ll get this business on its feet so we can sell it for a reasonable price. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Even though I swore I was through with carrying coffins.”
Her mother sounded enthusiastic as she stuffed the comforter into its cover. It seemed as if thinking about the project ahead of them was energizing her.
“I thought you hated the funeral home business,” Ilka said.
Her mother nodded. “But we’re always here to help you, you know that. And I won’t have your father ruining your life like he did mine.”
Oh boy, Ilka thought. “I don’t think it’s going to be so easy,” she mumbled.
“My idea is to give the business a Danish feel, make it cozy, emphasize Danish history. Because that’s what we can do that others can’t. And anyway, Danish hygge is so popular nowadays. You have to stand out in some way to attract customers. Our driver agreed with me.”
“Gregg.” Ilka nodded.
“Yes, Gregg. He knew Paul, and he also offered to help if we needed an extra hand. In fact, it sounded as if he wouldn’t mind having something to do again. I think he needs to be around people and feel useful.”
Ilka wondered how they possibly could have covered all that during the relatively short drive from the square downtown to the funeral home, but that was typical of her mother. People opened up the minute they met her.
“But Mom, the funeral home is closed.”
Her mother had finished hanging all her clothes up, and she turned to Ilka now. “It never pays to sell a business that’s been shut down. When we get it up and going, it will be a much more attractive investment, and we’ll get a good price for it. I’ve googled the other funeral homes in town, and honestly, they all look depressing. Just wait, we’ll get those customers back.”
Ilka gave up.
Her mother pushed her own suitcase under the bed and started unpacking Jette’s things. “It was so lucky for us that Gregg came by just as the bus left. Getting a taxi in this town isn’t easy, it seems. And we don’t have that Uber thing installed on our phones, but Jette says it’s probably a good idea to figure out how it works.”
Ilka could hear that her mother was running out of gas, and she took the opportunity to say good night when Jette came out of the bathroom in her nightgown.
Jette nodded at Ilka then climbed into bed and rolled over to the side close to the wall. She pulled the comforter up and covered her head.
“We’ll have to find something to liven up the walls in the reception,” her mother continued.
Ilka stepped over and gave her a kiss. “We’ll look at it in the morning. Call me when you wake up, I’ll come down and let you in.”
“You can just leave the door unlocked, so we don’t need to disturb you.”
“This is America,” Ilka said, trying not to sound harsh. “We lock the doors, and you need to over here too.”
Her mother nodded and followed Ilka to the door. She was clearly exhausted now; it was six in the morning in Denmark, and she wasn’t used to traveling.
“I hope you both get a good, long night’s sleep.” Suddenly Ilka wished she was staying there with them. She shut the door behind her and waited until she heard the door lock click. Moments later the light in the small living room vanished.
She walked across the parking lot and let herself in. Her mother showing up had brought out that old familiar feeling in Ilka of being safe and warm, but it also terrified her. As if she somehow was more vulnerable simply because her mother and Jette were there. She trudged up to the second floor, stopping for a moment outside her father’s room to put her ear to the door, but it was quiet inside. She would have to smuggle him out before her mother and Jette got up.