Broken Glass Park by Alina Bronsky Page B

sitting in his chair. He looks at me fearfully. I sit back down. Felix fidgets in his seat like Anton.
    I try to imagine what Anton is doing right now.
    “I have to make a quick call,” Felix says, getting up.
    I nod, lost in my thoughts, trying to picture the scene at home.
    A few minutes later I grab the John Irving book out of the guest room, lean it up against the juice bottle and read while finishing my breakfast.
    That’s how Volker Trebur finds me.
    He really scares me. I don’t hear him come in. He’s carrying a big box of groceries, puts them down on the table with a sigh, and bends to see what book I’m reading.
    I jump.
    “Did I startle you?” he says, smiling. “Enviable concentration power.”
    “Hello. No, not startled.”
    “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
    “Yes, very well.”
    He sits down opposite me and shakes his hands. “Heavy box,” he says. “I’m Volker.”
    “Sascha.” I close the book, suddenly thinking it’s rude to have it open with him there. I start to load the dishes into the dishwasher.
    “Sascha,” he repeats pensively. “I don’t want to pry, but what was wrong at home?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You needed to get away so badly. Does that happen a lot?”
    I gather the dirty forks and knives. I try to shrug my shoulders.
    “There was unpleasantness,” I finally say, but it doesn’t sound very convincing.
    “Are you eighteen already?”
    “Almost. Seventeen and two months.”
    “Does your guardian know where you are staying?”
    “My guardian,” I say, “doesn’t know a thing, unfortunately. Not a thing. I can go where I want. I said I was going to a friend’s place. They can reach me on my mobile if there’s a problem at home.”
    “So,” says Volker, reaching out and breaking off a piece of a croissant that’s in the bread basket, “you think it’s all right for you to be here?”
    “I don’t think it,” I say. “I know it. Family services are never going to try to charge you with kidnapping.”
    “Uh-huh. Very comforting.”
    “I can leave if you don’t want me here.”
    “That’s ridiculous.” And then, after a pause: “You’ve already met Felix.”
    “Yes. Last night.”
    “Yes, I heard. Thank goodness I sleep with earplugs in. Though I think I still felt the vibration.”
    “What vibration?”
    “From the TV when you stepped on the remote.”
    “Oh, yeah, that,” I say. What did I think he meant?
    “Monday is a holiday,” says Volker Trebur.
    “Yeah?” I say indifferently. “Which one is it now?”
    “May Day—first of May.”
    “Aha.”
    “But Tuesday you have to be back at school.”
    “Let me worry about that.”
    “Are you going to skip?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “Do you want to get a doctor’s note?”
    I sigh.
    His eyes are laughing. “Am I getting on your nerves?” he asks.
    “No,” I say and lose myself in his gaze. “But I must be getting on yours.”
    “Not in the slightest,” he says seriously. “And I think Felix is pleased.”
    “Not anymore,” I say. “I gave him the whole tragic family history over breakfast. He’s still in shock.”
    Volker Trebur’s face tightens. “He didn’t . . . ”
    “He didn’t ask a thing, no. I told him on my own. I just assumed he already knew.”
    “Yeah,” Volker says slowly, “it’s hard for him to deal with things like that.”
    “He’ll manage,” I say a bit bitterly. “After all, I managed.”
    “Please excuse me,” he says. “For god’s sake, I’m sorry.”
    “No problem.”
    I pick up the book again. I’m not sure what to do. Stay here or go back to bed or out into the garden? The magic of the morning has dissipated. Not sure when or why.
    “I knew your mother,” Volker says as I’m deciding what to do.
    “How?” I look at him.
    “I was introduced to her once. She received an award, for . . . ” He squints and snaps his fingers. “It was an oddlyphrased citation. Something like ‘aiding successful integration.’