August 16, 2004
Willem
A HALF HOUR after his cringe-worthy trip to the toilet, Willem heard Louisa leave Katja’s room, and then another door shut. After that the only sounds were the creaks and groans of the old house and rain gushing from a downspout. It took all his willpower to stay put, like Katja wanted.
He woke up to pearly morning light seeping through the curtains. A moment later, his worries rolled over him like a stack of logs. There was no point in tossing and turning in bed. Besides, it was eight thirty. He threw back the covers, pulled on his clothes, and went downstairs.
Katja sat at the kitchen table, staring at an untouched cup of coffee, her suitcase parked next to the chair. Jurriaan was spooning porridge into his mouth like a robot. Hendrik was gazing out the window, with the telephone receiver pressed to his ear and the cord stretched taut. His tool chest was open on the counter beneath the sagging cabinet door that he had promised to fix.
Willem looked again at the suitcase, and his heart took off at a gallop. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Louisa knows,” Katja said.
That could mean only one thing. “How?”
“She saw you leave my room last night.”
“But she didn’t, Katja. She was bluffing.”
Katja sighed. “That’s not what she said. Anyway, you know how she is. Sometimes I think she can read minds.”
“I know … but shit.”
Jurriaan pushed back his chair, carried his bowl to the stove, and turned the burner on under the pan of porridge. Willem saw by the set of his shoulders he was listening to their every word.
Willem said, “I’ll talk to her.”
Katja placed her hand on his wrist. Despite the fact that his world was falling apart, her touch sent a thrill through him.
“No, Willem. You’ll make things worse. I’m going back to Amsterdam today and pack my things. I’m moving out.”
“Where will you go?” He glanced at Hendrik for help, but he should have known better. Hendrik looked away, as always. “C’mon, let’s go somewhere private to talk.”
“Sorry, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll miss the bus to the harbor.”
He gripped the back of a chair and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. His head buzzed, his ears buzzed, even his skin buzzed. It was all he could do to keep from hurling the chair across the linoleum.
“We’ll give you a lift,” he said, a desperate note in his voice.
Footsteps came up from behind him. “No, she can take the bus.”
Louisa stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, dressed in running gear: a blue tank top, matching blue shorts, and white trainers. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight in a high ponytail.
Hendrik put down the phone. “The ferry this morning is fully booked,” he said, his voice flat.
Louisa’s gaze burned into Katja for a moment before shifting to Hendrik. She ignored Willem.
“What time is the next one?”
“Three o’clock.”
“So, buy a ticket on the three o’clock,” she snapped.
“But Mom—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Willem. Katja tells me you two are having a fling. How could you do that to me? She’s my stepsister.”
It didn’t surprise him that she wanted to make this about herself, but the word fling hurt. Wasn’t a fling something casual, temporary, meaningless? Just sex. Katja wouldn’t say that.
“We love each other,” he said, and shot a glance at Katja, whose face had flushed tomato red.
Louisa snorted. “Katja doesn’t love you. I offered her money to leave, and she took it.”
“You’re lying.”
“I never said I loved you,” Katja said softly.
The words felt like a kick in the gut. “Did you take money?”
She nodded, her eyes cast down.
Louisa smirked. “Katja’s always been a slut. I put her on the pill when she was fourteen—”
“Shut up!” he shouted.
She smiled the stupid triumphant smile he had seen a million times before, confident she had the upper hand, but he wasn’t a kid anymore. Blood pounded in his ears. Katja tugged on his T-shirt—a warning that he ignored.
“What did I do to make you hate me?” Willem said. “Nothing is ever good enough. My grades, my music, my friends.”
“If you mean Bas Debose, find yourself a better class of friends. I bet his parents have never set foot in the Concert Hall.”
“Jeetje, Mom. Who cares?” She was so close, he could see red flecks in her eyes, the pores in her nose, the ugly necklace with the piano pendant she never took off. “You can’t stand the fact I have a friend. That’s why you won’t let me share an apartment with Bas.”
“It’s your own fault,” she said. “You sneaked out in Hendrik’s car. You got yourself kicked off the hockey team.”
“And the broken arm when I was eight? Was that my fault? The concussion? The bruises?” His list of grievances was a mile long, and he could have gone on, but he stopped, maybe because Katja was listening. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps his pride—or his shame—had made him complicit. He could have gotten help, but hadn’t. “Why don’t you hit Jurriaan when he screws up?” he threw back at her.
Hendrik intervened. “That’s enough, Willem.
Willem glanced guiltily at Jurriaan, who had quit stirring the porridge and was staring down at the pan, his shoulders hunched in misery. Willem whirled around to confront Hendrik, who had never taken his side, had never believed him—or had always pretended not to.
“She treats you like shit too. Why do you take it?”
“Calm down, Willem. You’re upset,” Hendrik said.
“Why do you stay married to her? You’re gutless.”
Hendrik flinched.
“Gutless—the both of you,” Louisa said, repeating the word as though savoring the taste.
The pounding in Willem’s ears intensified: flood water against a dam.
He pushed her.
She stumbled back. Her arm flew up as if to strike him, but she let it fall. She wouldn’t hit him with her bare hands, the hands that were insured for a million dollars. How many times had she said that? She shoved Jurriaan aside, grabbed the pan of porridge by the handle, spun back, and flung the contents at Willem. It was so absurd, so unexpected, that he froze in place. Clumps of scalding porridge spattered his face, his right ear, his bare feet. The pain seemed far away.
His vision dimmed. As he reached into Hendrik’s toolbox, he caught a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye.
His hand closed around the hammer.
And the dam broke.