Page 1 of The Forbidden Center

Prologue

Astrid

Six years ago

The first thing he takes is the good suitcase.

Dark gray. Hard shell. Four wheels and a little lock. We bought it after we moved to America, because the handle on the old blue one broke on the flight over and I carried it on my hip through three terminals while Tova held her father’s hand.

He rolled the new one up and down the aisle of the store while Tova chased it, squealing. He said it was time we stopped looking like we’d just gotten off the plane.

It cost way too much. I didn’t say a word. He was so proud of himself.

Now it’s lying open on our bed.

“What are you doing?”

He folds a shirt and puts it in.

“Packing.”

“For what?”

His passport’s on the dresser.

Only his.

He won’t look at me. “I’m going back to Sweden.”

I wait for the reason. His mother’s sick. His brother’s in trouble. Something.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“When did you buy the ticket?”

His hands stop in the suitcase.

“Tuesday.”

“It’s Friday.”

“I know.”

“You’ve known for three days.” I stare at him like I heard him wrong. “Last night I asked what you wanted for dinner. You said whatever’s easiest. So I made whatever’s easiest, and you sat there and ate it.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you just didn’t.”

He glances at Tova’s door.

She’s asleep ten feet away. She’s six. She’s in her moon nightgown, hugging the blanket she dragged all the way from Sweden.

When she wakes up, she’ll come looking for him with that blanket. She’ll check our bed first, because on Saturdays he lets her climb in and pretend she’s still asleep. She’ll think he’s here somewhere until somebody tells her he isn’t.

That somebody’s going to be me.