August 15, 2004
Willem
THE STORM WAS moving away, the thunder only a distant rumble, the rain diminished to a patter. Most nights, Willem conked out as soon as he crawled into bed. But not tonight.
In less than a day, Louisa had ruined the holiday and maybe ruined the rest of his life. If he reneged on the apartment, Bas might never speak to him again.
He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had talked it over with Katja. Maybe together they could devise a plan to change Louisa’s mind. He had promised not to sneak into her room while Louisa was at the summerhouse, but everyone was asleep by now, and it was an emergency.
He groped under the bed for his flashlight and crossed the room barefooted, skirting the loose floorboard that creaked. He opened the door, peered into the dark, and listened.
The coast was clear. He crept along the hall to Katja’s bedroom, slipped inside, and shut the door, his heart hammering as if he had sprinted the length of a hockey field.
“Katja,” he called softly.
When she didn’t reply, he switched on the flashlight. Although hers was the smallest bedroom, it was lavishly furnished with antiques and smelly old tapestries. She made a soft whistling noise each time she inhaled.
He aimed the beam at the little hollow in the front of her neck. In the reflected light, he could see the freckles on her eyelids. She hated her freckles, but he loved them; he loved everything about her—her coppery hair, her soft breasts, her scent.
Katja’s eyelids fluttered open. “Willem?”
The bedsprings whined, and the lamp on the night table blinked on, casting a yellow glow. He snapped off the flashlight.
Scowling, she sat up. “What are you doing here? You promised.”
“I’m sorry.”
An angry flush spread over her face. “What if Louisa catches you? What good will sorry be then?” Her eyes darted toward the door. A huge hint, which he ignored.
“Don’t worry. Mom’s zonked out on her pills. I have to tell you what happened.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “What?
He sat on the edge of the mattress and told her Louisa had decreed he was to live at home his freshman year. “Bas will hate me. He’s already signed the lease.”
“He’ll be angry, but he’ll get over it.”
She brushed his cheek with her fingers, and despite the circumstances, desire made his gut somersault.
“Now you have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Sadness flitted across her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just go.” She waited until he reached the door, to turn off the lamp.
He stepped into the hall, conscious of each sound he made: the click of the doorknob, the soft pad of his feet, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
Straight ahead was the landing and a window overlooking the trees behind the house—dark now. Rain smeared down the glass. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Before he could decide whether to duck back into Katja’s room or dash to his, the overhead light flicked on, blinding him. Was this how a fox felt when it was caught in headlights? Trapped. Frozen in place. An adrenalin rush. Let it be Dad. But it was Louisa who materialized on the landing, in a long white nightgown and carrying a glass, her blonde hair snaking around her shoulders.
“Willem, you startled me.”
He thanked his lucky stars she wasn’t a half minute earlier.
She glided toward him. “Why do you need a flashlight?”
“I didn’t want to turn on the hall light.”
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
She regarded him with a suspicion that was uncalled for, since a nocturnal visit to the toilet was perfectly plausible. He felt her eyes on his back as he staggered to the bathroom, imitating to the best of his ability someone half asleep. He locked the door, leaned against it, heart pounding. After counting to sixty, he flushed the toilet, and when he emerged, she had vanished. The hall was dark except for the glow in the transom window above Katja’s door. Maybe she had turned on the lamp to read. As he passed her room, the rumble of angry voices stopped him in his tracks. He detected Katja’s soft voice and his mother’s deeper one. Had Louisa seen through his lie? He should have stayed in bed. Jeetje, this was his fault. He needed to fix it, and he reached for the doorknob.
On second thought, he might make matters worse if he butted in. They weren’t necessarily arguing about him. He wasn’t actually the center of the universe. Whatever the subject of the argument was, Katja wouldn’t appreciate his interference. She would want to handle it herself.
So he slunk to his room, his legs heavy with dread.