Free You Disappear: A Novel by Christian Jungersen Page B

went up to our room and made love, still taken with each other and how lovely life could be.
    Yet even more important than the marvelous days I enjoyed with Frederik, again and again, was the fact that Frederik began to cultivate a relationship with Niklas. During the bad years, we’d had a recurring quarrel about him not spending enough time with our son. It was one thing that he’d quit being with me, but he’d damn well better not quit on Niklas.
    That all stopped. Occasionally the two of them would sit in the living room until late at night, listening to Frederik’s large collection of old classical LPs. Perhaps they had deep discussions those nights, though probably not—that’s no doubt just my own fantasy of how it must be to hang out with a dad you’ve seen all too little of. For them I suppose it sufficed merely to be in the living room together, listening to music.
    At times I even felt that Frederik went over the top in his enthusiasm for Niklas—like the time a consultant from the Ministry of Education visited Saxtorph and happened to mention that down in his car he had a professional-quality camera with extra lenses, and that he was going to sell it all on the web.
    The present that Frederik brought ecstatically home for Niklas was worth more than several years of Christmas and birthday gifts put together. We argued about it. Yet now I can see that, as usual, Frederik was right. Niklas had started to become interested in photography, it was a gift that might change his life, and it was a good deal from a seller whom Frederik could trust.
    • • •
    It’s after eleven, and I’m beat after the long evening with the support group and, before that, a long day at my school. But I’m glad to have met these people, for now I feel there’s someone I can talk to who understands. And that changes everything.
    I park in front of our house, and even before I’ve turned off the ignition,I notice an orange glare from the lawn. I rush over and find the remains of a campfire still glowing a few yards from the house. I stamp out the largest of the embers close to the house, then storm in the front door.
    “Niklas!”
    He comes out of the living room, a confused look on his face. “Yes?”
    “Who lit the fire on our lawn?”
    “Mathias and I found some branches on the sidewalk. I asked Dad, and he said we could.”
    “But you can’t just light a fire in the yard! What were you thinking? The entire house could have gone up in flames, and now the lawn is ruined!”
    My hand passes close to his face as I hang my coat on the hook behind him.
    “And you know very well that it doesn’t matter what Dad says you can do!”
    “Yes, but I wanted to take some pictures, and he said as long as we were careful.”
    I proceed to the living room. “Why did you say Niklas could burn up the yard?”
    There’s an auto race on TV. Frederik lies on the sofa watching it with the sound cranked up way too high. On the rug there is a clump of pillows where Niklas must have been lying and watching with him.
    Frederik knits his brows, trying to think of what to tell me. But I only ask him from force of habit. It means absolutely nothing anymore.
    Rather than wait for an answer, I turn back to the narrow entry to change into my slippers, squeezing past Niklas on the way.
    “You
knew
that wasn’t okay,” I say.
    No response. I take a few deep breaths, and I consider that it ended all right after all. The house hasn’t burned down, and in a little while I’ll go out and extinguish the last embers. But now I see that my boots have toppled over, and when I pick them up, one seems oddly heavy. I turn it upside down, and a large salad onion tumbles out.
    Back to the living room. “Why’s there an onion in my boot?”
    Niklas is lying back down on the rug, his eyes glued to the set as he answers. “We had an onion fight.”
    “An onion fight? You mean that you and Dad ran around after each other throwing