formalities.”
“Okay. You can call me David.”
I giggled again. “I know.”
“So, I’ll try again: sleep well, Michelle.”
Shortly, I heard him breathing deeply and steadily next to me.
At least he doesn’t snore , I thought. And maybe I was even a little disappointed. Maybe it would have been cute if we bot h . . . no. I immediately banished the frightening thought from my mind. He was a good-looking man, polite, and, as far as I could tell, a caring father, too. But we were not at all suited for one another. And sex with a complete stranger? With Emma in the room? No, that just wouldn’t work.
I pictured Valentin, but his face was fuzzy. Unfamiliar. And his expression arrogant.
The stress of the day had taken its toll on me. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.
12
F or breakfast we had rolls with butter and honey. There was also plenty of coffee for David and me and hot cocoa for Emma. Soon after, we were back in the car and continuing our journey.
We couldn’t get much of a sense of our surroundings. Our car was like a cocoon—a warm, cozy pocket amid the severe cold and another seemingly impenetrable snowstorm.
David had managed to get the second windshield wiper to work. Evidently, he was very skilled at repairing old cars. Perhaps he should have been looking for a job as an auto mechanic.
The Citroën battled bravely against the wall of white. David also drove very cautiously. Obligatory holiday music played on the radio. Just now Chris Rea was singing “Driving Home for Christmas,”and I caught myself quietly humming along.
“Michelle,” Emma called. For a long while she’d been playing with the McDonald’s figurines in the backseat. Now she sounded bored.
“What’s up?”
“You promised me a story. You said you’d tell it to me during the drive today.”
“Did I?”
“You did. I remember it for sure. I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.”
I had to laugh. I unbuckled the worn-out safety belt and knelt on my seat, facing Emma without further ado. “You want a story?”
Emma snuggled up in my ski jacket, which served as a blanket today, too. She beamed at me expectantly.
“Very well,” I said, pretending to be put out. “A long time ago, there was a beautiful princess.” I stopped.
“Aha!” said Emma.
“This princess didn’t have a lot of money, but she looked really good. Tall, slim, great hair, excellent figure. And she was young. One day, when she had to work for the mean witch in order to buy herself something to eat, a very handsome king appeared.”
“A king?” Emma asked.
“And what a king! His name was King Valentin. He was educated, clever, sensitive, and insanely rich.”
“What did he want with the witch?”
“Who?”
“The king. Why didn’t he stay in his castle?”
“He wanted to buy himself another castle. And the witch sold castles.”
Emma opened her eyes wide. “Witches sell castles?”
I laughed again. “You’d be surprised. Some do. The king saw the poor princess—she was copying scrolls for the witch—and he immediately fell in love with her grace and beauty—but mostly with her pure soul, which was just like his.”
“He fell in love with the witch?”
“No. Not with her! He fell in love with the beautiful, poor princess.”
“And then he married her.”
I furrowed my brow. “He wanted to. But wait, let me tell the story properly. The princess had also fallen in love with the king. He was her dream man. The king bought a castle for himself and a small castle high above the clouds for the princess. The witch was so happy about it that she gave the princess even better tasks. And the princess began to earn a lot more money. Also, the king gave the princess clothing, furniture, and a cool carriage as presents. With her new carriage, the princess could flit around as much as she liked.”
Emma clapped her hands. “The princess must have liked that.”
“Boy, did she!” I agreed. “And whenever the king had time, he sent
“Okay. You can call me David.”
I giggled again. “I know.”
“So, I’ll try again: sleep well, Michelle.”
Shortly, I heard him breathing deeply and steadily next to me.
At least he doesn’t snore , I thought. And maybe I was even a little disappointed. Maybe it would have been cute if we bot h . . . no. I immediately banished the frightening thought from my mind. He was a good-looking man, polite, and, as far as I could tell, a caring father, too. But we were not at all suited for one another. And sex with a complete stranger? With Emma in the room? No, that just wouldn’t work.
I pictured Valentin, but his face was fuzzy. Unfamiliar. And his expression arrogant.
The stress of the day had taken its toll on me. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.
12
F or breakfast we had rolls with butter and honey. There was also plenty of coffee for David and me and hot cocoa for Emma. Soon after, we were back in the car and continuing our journey.
We couldn’t get much of a sense of our surroundings. Our car was like a cocoon—a warm, cozy pocket amid the severe cold and another seemingly impenetrable snowstorm.
David had managed to get the second windshield wiper to work. Evidently, he was very skilled at repairing old cars. Perhaps he should have been looking for a job as an auto mechanic.
The Citroën battled bravely against the wall of white. David also drove very cautiously. Obligatory holiday music played on the radio. Just now Chris Rea was singing “Driving Home for Christmas,”and I caught myself quietly humming along.
“Michelle,” Emma called. For a long while she’d been playing with the McDonald’s figurines in the backseat. Now she sounded bored.
“What’s up?”
“You promised me a story. You said you’d tell it to me during the drive today.”
“Did I?”
“You did. I remember it for sure. I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.”
I had to laugh. I unbuckled the worn-out safety belt and knelt on my seat, facing Emma without further ado. “You want a story?”
Emma snuggled up in my ski jacket, which served as a blanket today, too. She beamed at me expectantly.
“Very well,” I said, pretending to be put out. “A long time ago, there was a beautiful princess.” I stopped.
“Aha!” said Emma.
“This princess didn’t have a lot of money, but she looked really good. Tall, slim, great hair, excellent figure. And she was young. One day, when she had to work for the mean witch in order to buy herself something to eat, a very handsome king appeared.”
“A king?” Emma asked.
“And what a king! His name was King Valentin. He was educated, clever, sensitive, and insanely rich.”
“What did he want with the witch?”
“Who?”
“The king. Why didn’t he stay in his castle?”
“He wanted to buy himself another castle. And the witch sold castles.”
Emma opened her eyes wide. “Witches sell castles?”
I laughed again. “You’d be surprised. Some do. The king saw the poor princess—she was copying scrolls for the witch—and he immediately fell in love with her grace and beauty—but mostly with her pure soul, which was just like his.”
“He fell in love with the witch?”
“No. Not with her! He fell in love with the beautiful, poor princess.”
“And then he married her.”
I furrowed my brow. “He wanted to. But wait, let me tell the story properly. The princess had also fallen in love with the king. He was her dream man. The king bought a castle for himself and a small castle high above the clouds for the princess. The witch was so happy about it that she gave the princess even better tasks. And the princess began to earn a lot more money. Also, the king gave the princess clothing, furniture, and a cool carriage as presents. With her new carriage, the princess could flit around as much as she liked.”
Emma clapped her hands. “The princess must have liked that.”
“Boy, did she!” I agreed. “And whenever the king had time, he sent
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