“Maybe I was, at that.”
“Maybe you was, at that.”
They almost never made physical contact, and Katrin came to realize that they both purposely avoided it, shifting sideways in doorways so they wouldn’t rub shoulders, and Gabrielle always took the back seat of the car when they went anywhere together, leaving Katrin up front beside José. They never said anything overtly flirtatious or inappropriate to each other. When they did make eye contact during work hours, it was professional and they ended it quickly.
While Katrin was sure that something had happened between them at one point or another, she couldn’t figure out what. Both were about as cagey as mountain cats, skittering away from one another the second she thought things might get interesting.
She dug her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and checked the time. 3:52 p.m. He’ll be here any minute.
Katrin could hear the firehouse band three doors down practicing. There would be a Memorial Day concert in the town park tonight at six. After supper with Erik, Katrin had promised to meet José and Gabrielle for the concert. She still wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable going places by herself, so she’d decided to ask Erik to walk her to the park. Logically, she knew that Wade wasn’t a threat up here, but try telling that to the heart that had been threatened with the word “kill.”
Katrin and Erik had exchanged several texts during the week, all kind and solicitous, but without a hint of the teasing, flirty banter she had enjoyed last Sunday after he drove away. He texted her in the evenings, at bedtime mostly, to touch base, and he always signed off the same: “Söta drömmar,” which meant “Sweet dreams” in Swedish and which made her tummy flutter as she turned off her light before bed. Indeed her dreams had become sweeter and sweeter since moving to Skidoo Bay.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about Erik a lot. Even though Katrin had been an “I do” away from marriage six months ago, she was relatively inexperienced, having only dated Wade Doyle her entire life. But, even when she sifted back through her memories of those first days of dating Wade, she didn’t remember it feeling anywhere near as exciting as the only day she’d ever spent with Erik Lindstrom. She had relived the moments of their recent meeting many times over the course of the week—daydreaming about him calling her “min Älskling” that first amazing time, his body behind hers in her bedroom, his thumb rubbing her palm on the stairs almost hypnotically.
She was asking for trouble in setting her sights on Erik. After all, Ingrid had made it clear Erik was a well-known player and Erik, himself, had been very clear about his lack of interest in anything resembling a healthy, mature adult relationship. She snorted, remembering his words: “I guess that’s okay for some guys, but not me. I’m not one. Romantic. I’m not. I don’t really even, you know, commit.” No, Erik, but if your actions tell me anything, they tell me you wouldn’t mind a little fooling around.
Katrin frowned. She wasn’t a no-strings-attached sort of girl, and she wasn’t the type to fool around without a commitment. It’s not like she was a virgin, of course, but Katrin thought of herself as a “good girl”—the marrying kind—and consummating her relationship with Wade before marriage had always weighed heavy on her heart. She had lost her virginity to Wade the year she lost her father.
In her grief, she had turned to him in pain, and sharing her body with him had seemed like the most comforting thing to do. But, in the end, it hadn’t comforted her; she had been plagued with thoughts of her father’s deep, intense disappointment in her as he watched her from Heaven.
And as what felt like punishment for her loose morals, Katrin had become pregnant, which had resulted in an impromptu marriage proposal that she never should have accepted but felt compelled by shame. She had lost the baby a week later, but the ring, like a shackle, like penance, was already soldered around her finger, and staying with Wade felt like the only way to make cosmic amends for her waywardness.
Her mother and Ing had both called to check up on her this week, and both had mentioned run-ins with Wade. He had banged on her mother’s door on Wednesday night, three days after Katrin left, demanding to know where Katrin was. Her car was in the garage, he screamed, in a drunken rant, she hadn’t been to work in three days. Lisabet Svenson had called the police, and as they were tucking Wade’s head into the cruiser, her mother had confronted him, informing him that if he ever showed up on her doorstep again, she would press charges.
Wade had tried a softer, albeit creepier, approach with Ingrid later in the week, finding her at the community playground on Friday morning and sitting down on a bench beside her, uninvited, as she watched Anna play beside another toddler in the sandbox. Ingrid said he looked like hell, but that she didn’t think he was drunk. He spoke too coherently to be on a bender.
“Where’s Kat?” he had asked, calmly, staring at the children playing in the sand.
“You need help, Wade.”
“You tell me right the fuck now,” he snarled. “Where the hell is Katrin?”
Ingrid had gotten up off the bench, picked up Anna from the sandbox, and stood before the still-seated Wade, with her baby safely on her hip. “She’s gone, Wade. She’s not coming back. So, you let it alone now. Get some help, you’re a mess.”
Ingrid had turned to leave but Wade jumped up, putting his hand on her shoulder roughly. Ingrid said she hadn’t turned to face him, but had demanded he take his hand off her, or
