Sea Air (28 page)

“And what happened after Ms. Katthaus left?”

“Mr. Schlüter stammered something about recommending the proposal’s approval and proceeding with signatures, and as soon as the minutes were recorded he was out of there. He probably went out and drank himself into a coma. That’s what I would have done, if I were him.”

“All right, I’ll see you at the office, Marco, and I’m bringing a bottle of champagne so we can toast to our success. See you soon!”

I couldn’t believe how well that had turned out. I guessed it would be a while before Mr. Schlüter got up to his old tricks again. He’d probably claim to be ‘sick’ for a while.

It was unbelievable how much we’d accomplished lately. All that was left to do was start our new project. I whistled happily as I left my apartment.
How beautiful life can be!
I thought.

I
was still feeling the champagne a little when I got home that afternoon with Paula. Just as I unlocked the front door, the phone started ringing like crazy.

“That’s Grandma. I can tell that from the ring!” Paula ran off to answer it. I heard her say “Yes” and “No” a few times before she brought the phone to me.

“Tell Grandma I’m putting something in the laundry and I’ll call her back.”

“It’s not Grandma. It’s Sandra. She’s crying.”

“Then tell Sandra I’ll . . . what? She’s crying?” I grabbed the phone. “What’s going on, Sandra?”

“Can I come over for a little while, Nele?”

“I’ll come to you. You can send Anneke over here to play with Paula—that way we can talk in peace. I’ll be right there.”

“Did someone die?” Paula asked.

“I hope not.”

“Then why is Sandra crying?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m going over there right now. Anneke’s coming over here, but no messing around when I’m gone, okay. If something happens, just come over to Sandra’s.”

“I know, Momma. We’re not babies anymore!”

On the way over to Sandra’s, I felt consumed by guilt. I had hardly seen Sandra in weeks, and I hadn’t even asked how things were going since Christoph nearly lost his job.
What a great friend
, I thought. As Sandra opened the door, Anneke shot past me toward my apartment. As she darted by, I noticed she had at least a dozen barrettes in her hair. Sandra looked miserable: her eyes were swollen, her nose red, and her face soaked with tears. I took her arm and stroked her hair.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I asked.

“Oh, I just can’t stand it, Nele!” She blew her nose noisily into a tissue. “Ever since they almost took Christoph’s life’s work away from him, it’s been awful. I can’t reach him anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He just sits in the corner moping or stares at the TV. He hardly notices Anneke, and it’s been awful for her, too. He stopped by the house this afternoon for a little bit, and she wanted to show him something she’d made in school. He totally ignored her, and she looked so disappointed! So I freaked out and yelled at him, saying none of this is our fault and it’s not fair for him to take out his frustrations on us. And you know what he said? He said I might be happier if I didn’t have to see him for a while, and tomorrow he’s flying to Latvia—to Riga—with Mathis. He’s going to Riga tomorrow—and he says that to me today! He must have known about this trip for forever. When did Mathis tell you about it?”

“He didn’t.” I felt stricken. Had our men plotted against us?

“You didn’t know either?” Sandra was so shocked she stopped sobbing for a minute.

“I had no idea.”

We sat there as Sandra recovered from her surprise, then she finally shouted,
“What’s gotten into these guys?”
I’d never heard her yell so loudly. I was grateful that the girls were over at my apartment. “It’s like they think they’re the kings and we’re their subjects. But my dear husband is making a very big mistake if he goes through with this, I’ll tell you that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something. He’s just getting back at me. For weeks, he’s been sitting around feeling sorry for himself and ignoring his family. And like an idiot, I’ve been babying him and encouraging him, when I should have been kicking him in the butt and telling him to get back out there. Oh! I could just . . .”

Sandra was beginning to work herself into a rage, and I let her, hoping she’d feel better afterward. While she was kicking her furniture, I tried to figure out why Mathis hadn’t told me about this Riga trip. Sandra was right: it seemed unlikely that a trip like that could be planned on such short notice. I went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and found a warm, sweet-smelling apple pie in the oven that Sandra had probably made to comfort Christoph. I rummaged in the fridge for whipping cream and beat it until it formed peaks. When I came back into the living room, Sandra was sitting on the sofa, staring straight ahead of her. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Look what I found. I don’t suppose it was for anyone in particular?”

“No, definitely not for anyone in particular—except maybe us.” Sandra’s broad grin returned.

“All right—let’s have at it!”

We stuffed ourselves with coffee and pie and enjoyed dreaming up revenge plans against our men. When I went home later, though, the doubts and questions still weighed on me. Why hadn’t Mathis said anything?

“Nele, my love, guess where I’m flying tomorrow,” said Mathis soon after he’d walked into my apartment and planted a kiss on me.

“To Riga,” I said.

Mathis appeared quite puzzled. “How did you know that?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to know?” I gave him a challenging look.

“No. I mean . . . there’s no reason for you not to, it’s just—”

“Just what?”

“I only found out about it today, myself.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mathis.” I felt anger rising within me. The least he could do was come clean about his reason for not telling me, either because he’d forgotten or because Christoph had confided in Mathis about his anger toward Sandra and Mathis had been pretending not to know anything.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why would I play games with you? I really did just find out about this today!”

I swallowed hard. He almost sounded like he was telling the truth.

“Why the sudden urgency to visit the Baltic states?” I asked.

“That part was a surprise, too.” Mathis rummaged in the fridge, pulled out a salami, and took a hearty bite. “Mmm. I’m hungry. Should we order a pizza?”

“Fine. Now tell me about Riga, already!”

“At work today, I was given a message from someone who’d called from Riga, wanting urgently to speak with me. It turned out to be someone I met at the conference in Stockholm. He said he had some problem and had remembered that I have experience related to employment histories in the construction sector. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in this area, myself, and he was very thankful for the counsel. We were able to arrange a trip out there at the last minute.”

“So why is Christoph going?”

“You know about that, too? Wow, you girls are really on top of things. Well, it sounded like this might be Christoph’s area of expertise, so I asked him whether he’d be interested in going.”

“You know you’ve triggered a huge marital crisis at the Wiegandts’ with this.”

“Really? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. This was a little sudden, but sometimes a person has be flexible.”

“Do me a favor, Mathis?”

“Anything, my love.”

“Call Sandra and explain the whole story to her. If you don’t, Christoph may be in no condition to fly with you tomorrow.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Whoops! Okay then, I’ll call her—under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“While I’m calling her, you call in the pizza. If I don’t eat soon, I’ll be in no condition to fly tomorrow with Christoph!”

As we set off to do our tasks, I felt a great sense of relief. Thank God, there was no new crisis after all!

Less than a week later, I found myself sitting opposite my old friend Mr. Schlüter, who was looking very much like he’d been through the wringer. From what I’d heard, he was having a little trouble on the home front. Not surprisingly, since there had been six people present at the meeting about the day care center, his comments about women had not stayed behind closed doors.

I noticed the director’s dismal expression as soon as I walked in the room. I suppressed an urge to grin and looked in Mathis’s direction. He looked uncharacteristically serious, making me wonder whether something had happened.

Soon after Marco and Christoph arrived, the mayor kicked off the meeting. “Today we’ll address the issue of funding from the EU, which, ladies and gentlemen”—he paused and looked at us, one by one—“has been pledged for your project. For your
very
interesting project.”

I winked at Mathis, but he was watching the mayor with a look of mistrust. What was going on? Marco and Christoph sat listening with their arms folded. They both returned my look with a smile, and I smiled back gratefully.

“We—that is, all responsible committees—have been busy thoroughly reviewing the project, and everyone is in agreement that this could very well be an . . . uh . . . exciting and, well, logical plan. Although before the European Union’s involvement it really wasn’t viable. Isn’t that true?” He grinned weakly at us. I was about to smile back when Mathis’s voice cut across the room.

“Please get to the point, Mr. Küsterer,” he said, and the mayor’s grin froze on his face.

I cringed. What was going on? We’d just gotten a nice bit of praise for our work, and now Mathis was snapping at the mayor. Plus, he’d forgotten to say “Mr. Mayor,” which wasn’t like Mathis. Marco and Christoph, too, looked crestfallen by Mathis’s behavior.

I tried to mediate. “But Mathis, let Mr. Mayor—”

“No, Nele. I will not let him do anything. And if he would hurry up and say what he has to say, you’ll understand why. So, again, Mr. Küsterer, please get to the point!”

I stared at the mayor in horror as I slowly realized what was coming. Marco and Christoph sat as stiff as boards.

“So . . . as I said, it’s an exciting project, but . . .” The mayor couldn’t figure out where to look, so he stared out the window.

“But?” Marco’s voice was razor-sharp now, too.

“But I’m afraid the project is just out of our league.”

Out of our league . . .
The words echoed in my mind for several long, silent minutes. Marco sat with his mouth open, while Christoph turned pale and stared at the floor. Mathis betrayed no emotion as the mayor flipped through his paperwork and the director of the building department—unbelievably—sat and grinned.

Christoph was the first to break the silence. “I’m out of here.” He got up and walked right out the door, and no one tried to stop him.

“Reason?” Marco asked. Christoph’s departure seemed to have brought him back to life.

“Uh . . . reason?” The mayor looked extremely uncomfortable.

“That’s right. I want to know what’s behind this farce!” Marco was unusually loud and looked hopping mad. “Just a couple of weeks ago, you were saying how great this project would be for the city, and you were bragging about how great it would make our government look. But why am I saying all this? You know better than anybody what you said. So, yes, under the circumstances, I think you owe us an explanation at the very least.”

“Well—”

“Mr. Mayor, if you could allow me to jump in for a moment.” Schlüter was still grinning. “It’s true that we found your project to be very interesting, Mr. Gerlach. But surely you can see that it’s too much for a small town like ours to implement. Now, if we were in Berlin or Munich or—”

“Do you really expect me to buy this feeble excuse?” Marco’s voice dripped with anger. “Why don’t you just say what’s really going on here, Mr. Schlüter? Which is that you hate this brilliant project because it wasn’t your idea, and now you’re trying to ruin it.”

I gasped. Typically, Marco was very gentle, but once he started to let go like this, there was a good chance he might lose control and knock the director senseless.

“Marco . . .” I said.

“No, Nele. This guy has gone way over the line. This isn’t about the project anymore.” Marco turned toward the others. “I can’t even tell you how much this whole thing pisses me off!” Marco let the door slam loudly behind him.

“Now that the meeting is breaking up, I’ll say my good-byes as well,” Mathis said in a cold-sounding voice. “Have a pleasant evening.”

I followed him without saying a word.

Mathis and I went to the city park and sat on a bench at the duck pond.

“You knew it,” I said. The day was cool and dense fog hung over the landscape. I poked around in the gravel with a stick, too shocked to feel anything. Mathis picked up a handful of small pebbles and threw them one at a time into the water, each one making a clunk as it hit the water and causing ripples to form and then dissipate. A few curious ducks and coots swam toward us in the hope of getting food. Once they realized we had nothing for them, they swam away again.

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“One of Küsterer’s consultants told me right before the meeting.” Mathis seemed to have dismissed the word
mayor
from his vocabulary. I could tell that his respect for Mayor Küsterer had been lost forever.

“Were you expecting something like this?”

“Honestly, I had no idea that anyone could block this project—not even Schlüter.”

“Well, it looks like he did it. I assume the mayor wasn’t the one who blocked it.”

“No, but he backed down—like always. That’s just as bad, if not worse.”

“Why doesn’t anyone else get what’s going on? The proposal went through all the necessary committees, so it’s not as though—”

“They didn’t read it. They just rubber-stamped Schlüter’s recommendation.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t the mayor at least have said—”

“Politicians back up other politicians based on longstanding relationships with each other. That’s how it works: mutual backslapping.” Mathis threw his last pebble in the water and watched until the ripples disappeared, then he leaned back against the bench. “It’s like a satire,” he said, “but it’s real life.”

“You spoke well,” I said. “Do you think after Marco’s outburst that’ll be the last time we deal with the city?”

“They don’t have the guts to cut ties with us. I guarantee those two are sweating bullets in their offices right now and praying for a disaster to strike the papers tonight.”

“You mean—”

“If the press gets wind of this . . . well, then God have mercy on them.”

“Won’t they get wind of it anyway?”

“They’ll find out the project got rejected, yes. But the dirty details? What we had planned, who would have benefited from it—”

“And how much money’s being thrown away.”

“Exactly. What city can afford to give six million euros back to Brussels? And don’t think for one second that the EU will ever send a single, lousy euro to this city again. That ship sailed the minute those guys made their decision. This city will be persona non grata to Brussels from now on.”