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a r e y o u s e e i n g m e?
Leonie leans forward, elbows on her knees. Her hair
blocks her face. It looks like a small gray-streaked curtain
has been lowered down over her eyes. “I thought about
writing or phoning or getting in touch years before I did,
but I never got beyond thinking about it. I couldn’t find
the words. Every sentence seemed like an insult or an
excuse or a sick joke. The more time passed, the more
I felt like there was no way back. And that was fitting.
You guys were better off without me.” She touches the
front of her throat. Perhaps she has some burger stuck
there. “When I met my dad, I realized I was different
from him—I cared. I was a disgrace and unworthy of
forgiveness, but I cared. So I bought a birthday card,
wrote in it and put it in the post before I had a chance
to lose my nerve.”
I push my fists into my ears and jump to my feet. I lift
the seismometer from the bench and place it under my
nose. “Can you hold this for me, please?”
She brings a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun.
“I would like to go on the Crazy Beach Party ride.
My brain is getting packed too tight—no lie, it needs to
loosen up. Can you hold my seismometer for me, please?”
After a four-second delay, she stands.
“No, no! I need to go by myself.” I move the seis-
mometer to the crook of my left elbow and pat her
shoulder with my free hand. “Please sit down.”
