Rain Girl by Gabi Kreslehner Page B

something to do with his daughter’s death, it was gone now. He was the opposite of what Franza had expected: a small, almost frail man wearing a dark suit and a black-and-white striped tie. Sorrow showed in his face.
    Marie’s mother stood silently beside him. She just nodded at Franza, and they didn’t talk on the way to the hospital, either.
    Perhaps, Franza thought, this had been their mistake, not talking enough, keeping silent.
    Borger was expecting them. As always, he wore a tie under his white coat. Today it seemed appropriate.
    Marie was back on the table, silent. As if she’d given all her answers, as if she were awaiting her release, when they would finally leave her in peace.
    But not just yet, Franza thought. I can’t leave you in peace just yet. There are too many secrets you haven’t told me yet. Talk to me, Marie, where is your boyfriend? Talk to me!
    But Marie stayed silent.
    Franza turned away and looked at Marie’s mother. She was calm, but her husband had to sit down, pressing his hand to his mouth.
    “When can we take her home?” she asked, all the blood had drained from her face.
    She’ll pass out in a minute, Franza thought, very soon, I bet.
    She looked at Borger, knowing he was thinking the same thing. He cleared his throat. “I’ve finished my examination,” he said. “Now we’ll have to wait for the results. Two or three days. I’ll make all the arrangements to send her home.”
    “No!” the woman said, shaking her head. “Please don’t. That’s for us to arrange. It’s the only thing we can still do. We’ll take her.”
    For a brief moment she put her hand on Marie’s hair, on her cheek, and then turned away abruptly, probably frightened by the unexpected strangeness and cold, and walked away. All her remaining strength left her and her knees buckled.
    Borger caught her. He’d stayed close to her because he’d seen it happen so many times before. He did the only thing he could do; he caught her.
    A moaning sound came from her lips, a drawn-out, quiet whimper, and Franza thought of the cornfields of Marie’s childhood—the yellow oceans they’d seen along the road to Marie’s home.
    “We never asked her to forgive us,” Marie’s mother whispered. “We should have. But we were too busy feeling sorry for ourselves.”
    “Come on,” her husband said. “Let’s go. It’s over. Let it be over now. Finally.”

29
    After dropping off Marie’s parents at the train station, Franza stopped by an appliance store and headed back to the office, feeling good about herself. As she opened the door, the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her. Surprised, she looked at the small table by the window where the old coffeemaker used to be—and indeed, there was a new one bubbling away, exuding a divine smell.
    “But,” Franza stammered, “how did this get here?”
    “I thought you’d probably need a decent cup of coffee when you got back,” Felix said. “So I sent Arthur to get one. How was it?”
    “Awful!” Franza said. “As always.” And she put the bag with the coffeemaker she’d just bought on Felix’s desk. He looked into the bag, leaned back, and laughed quietly.
    “Sometimes,” she said, “you know, sometimes I feel like it gets harder the older I get.”
    “Yes,” he said, “I know.”

30
    It was a typical school. Old and a little run-down, with long, narrow buildings, crumbling plaster, and lots of posters and pictures on the walls. The corridors were so long you’d get lost in them if you didn’t know your way and small classrooms were filled with students of all ages hollering and fooling around. Ancient couches in corners were supposed to provide recreational areas.
    “I’m glad I’ve got that over and done with,” Felix said. They walked up the stairs to the second floor, where according to the diagram, the teachers’ room was supposed to be.
    “Why over and done with?” Franza asked seriously. “Your children aren’t even all born