Page 40 of Pucking Strong

It was a good day, but she’s tired. Every day, her memories pour like sand through her fingers. What she easily recalls in the morning, she forgets by evening. During dinner, she asked me three times to pass the salt when it was right by her hand. By the end of the meal, she was asking Teddy his name. I could tell having to keep repeating it for her was starting to upset him.

I step outside on the front porch and look around. Both the rocking chairs are empty. Where the hell did Teddy go? I grab my bag from the car and make my way down the narrow, winding steps that lead to the lakeshore. The boat shed sits at the end of our dock. Flickering light glows from the shed’s two little windows. I’m sure Dad set a fire in the wood stove to take the bite out of this sudden chill.

I look up as I walk, knowing this path by heart. The stars twinkle over the lake, partially covered by clouds. Crickets chirp, and the last of the summer frogs hum in the mud. This autumn will be a short one. Soon, the lakeshore will turn quiet with winter’s waking.

I’m about to open the door to the shed when I spy movement. I relax when I see who it is. Teddy is sitting in Petra’s favorite cushioned deck chair. He has a sweatshirt on with the hood pulled upagainst the cold. In the glow of the dock light, I see the glint of something in his palm.

“Hej,” I call out.

He jumps, closing his fist tight.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He makes no reply.

Dropping my bag by the door, I sink into the empty chair. “And I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“About my mother. About her dementia. I should have told you.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah … why didn’t you?”

I decide to give him the simplest version of the truth. “It’s hard for me to talk about it. Hard for me to admit how bad it’s getting, even to myself.” I turn to look at him. “But I want to thank you.”

He raises a dark brow. “Thank me?”

“You were kind to her today. You gave her a good day. And, like you said, she has few left.”

He shrugs. “It was no problem. She’s really nice.” Opening his fist again, he looks at the object in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s your mother’s wedding ring.”

I take in the shape of the thin gold ring. “Why do you have it?”

His frown deepens. “She gave it to me. Called it a wedding present. She said it’s been worn by a Karlsson for over a hundred years.”

He offers it to me, and I lean away. “What are you doing?”

“Take it.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Henrik,takeit.”

I shake my head. “She gave it to you. It was a gift.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, for your loving husband, your heart’s fire, mate of your fucking soul. She practically recited an epic poem as she worked it off her finger. This ring sounds magical, Henrik. And our marriage is totally fake. I put this on, and your ancestors will know. They’ll smite me. They’ll drown me in the lake. No fucking thanks.”

“Teddy …”

“No, I’m not putting it on. I am not inviting the bad karma of amagical wedding ring into my life. Find another husband to wear it because it won’t be me.” Leaning over further, he taps my elbow with the ring, silently urging me to relieve him of it.

I relent, plucking it from his fingers. Once it’s in my hand, I mirror his action and place it in my palm. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

He shrugs. “Wear it on a chain? Wait and give it to Karolina? Or just save it for a partner you actually love, cherish, and adore.”

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