Searching for Sylvie Lee (17 page)

“I spent many hours helping out there, while they were still hoping I would take over the restaurant.”

I finally dared to look at him again. He was sitting up now, thank goodness. “Were they disappointed?”

“Very.” His lips flattened. He imitated his mother. “‘What nonsense, following your dreams. Survive. Make a living. Eat.’ Except I think Pa understands. He is just afraid to speak up.” Willem had been a mathematics teacher in China. His was the brilliant mind behind the success of the restaurant, balancing the input and output of goods and staff, knowing exactly when they had to hunker down and when they should diversify. When he had helped me with my homework, we would fly through the problems together, leapfrogging to the answer while Lukas was left to puzzle it out line by line. Still, the debt Willem owed Helena for releasing him from China’s grip was one he would never be able to repay.

There was an awkward pause. I filled it with my senseless humming again, and Lukas said, “You have a nice voice.”

“You should hear my little sister, Amy.” I passed him a Brie sandwich on dark seed-mix bread and took one for myself. “If she hears a song on the radio, she can pick it out on her guitar or keyboard. And her voice, so rich and evocative, I would sometimes lean against the outside of the bathroom door while she was taking a shower, just to listen.”

“She sounds pretty great.” To my surprise, his eyebrows had furrowed into one thick line. Was that sarcasm in his voice?

I said defensively, “She is. There was never enough money or time to train her talent. I was not old enough to help her then.”

He leaned over and laid his large palm over my knee. I could feel the warmth of it through my slacks. “What about you, Sylvie? Who was there for you?”

I shifted so his hand fell from me, then tore off a bit of my bread and pitched it into the water for the ducks. One dove for it, quacking wildly, while the rest fled. “I have always been fine, Lukas. Do not fuss.”

“I think you should take a break, Sylvie. You cannot eat for tomorrow. Enjoy yourself while you are here and maybe find something relaxing to keep yourself occupied. Nothing productive or educational.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

I tossed another piece of bread at the clueless ducks. They had gathered close again. This time, they all scattered. “But I am here for Grandma.”

“You cannot be with her the entire day. Do you know who Estelle and I just had a beer with the other day? You should eat your sandwich.”

Estelle. Of course, that was where he had been. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around my knees, suddenly weary. “I am not hungry.”

“Filip. Do you remember him? He was in our class.”

I cast my mind back and found a vague image of a small, dark-haired kid. “Yes, he always played the violin or something in the Christmas shows?”

Lukas shuffled to sit beside me and took my sandwich from my hands. “That is him. He is a professional cellist now with the Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra. We became good friends after you left. He gives private lessons on his living-boat in Amsterdam. You could try it.” He held the bread up to my lips. “Stop giving to others. Leave something for yourself. Take a bite.”

I obeyed, then took the sandwich and blinked slowly at him as I chewed. He was suddenly very close. I swallowed. “Where on earth would I get a cello?”

His eyes were on my mouth. “I think most of his students rent one.”

Self-conscious, I turned away, brushing my lips. Did I have crumbs on my face? “But I am not musical at all. Amy is the—”

Now he drew back as well and sighed. “I know it, you have said it. But that is precisely the point. Go and try something you have not done before. You never know where it will lead you.”

Chapter 14

Amy

Friday, May 6

A
fter the dispiriting talk with the police and the Tan family, I return to my room in the attic and call home to update my parents. Then I pace. Willem and Helena have left for work at their restaurant. I could lie to myself but the truth is that no one here knows Sylvie the way I do. Sylvie would never willingly disappear like this without a word, despite Helena’s hints that she stole Grandma’s jewelry and ran off, despite Lukas’s conviction that she’s just taking some time for herself. I remove my glasses and rub them against my shirt. I consider my image reflected in the lenses. Who are you going to be, Amy Lee? A useless, shy little sister? Or are you going to step up to the plate for Sylvie? Because, clearly, no one else is going to do it, not even the police.

I stand up straighter, go into the bathroom, and put in my contact lenses. It’s a surprise to see my face without the protective glasses: all that exposed skin, stretched tight over my bones, vulnerable but stronger too. There’s a fierceness to my mouth I’ve never noticed before. I look through my dormer window in time to see Lukas wheel a large black bicycle out of the smaller, garage-like house. That must be where he lives. He’s my best chance at finding out what happened to Sylvie while she was here. He is not getting away from me today.

I hurtle down the stairs and fling open the front door, panting. “Hey, Lukas! Where are you going?”

He stops in surprise. “I am meeting Estelle in the center.”

“Oh, d-do you mind if I come along?” I am pulling on my thin jacket and stick my feet into my shoes while I hold the front door open with my hip.

To my surprise, he waits patiently for me to come outside. “Okay. I should show you around anyway.” Then he leans his bike against the house and leads me back to his cottage. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” I will never understand this man.

“For defending Sylvie.” He peers at me from beneath his long lashes. For the first time, he truly smiles at me. It lights up his entire face and he becomes so handsome, I catch my breath. “I am sorry I was not very friendly. I am extremely worried about Sylvie and Estelle says I tend to act like an angry bear most of the time anyway. You know, Sylvie is always talking about you.”

“Really?”

“‘Amy is so smart, Amy is so kind. Amy can sing the birds from the trees. With her glasses, Amy has this funny habit of—’”

I don’t recognize this version of myself. “Habit of doing what?”

He laughs softly to himself. “Nothing. So this is where I live.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Well, I rent this place from my family and it is easy, because they take care of Couscous and watch the apartment while I am gone. I tend to be abroad more than I am in this country. But I am saving for my own workplace and house. That is my great hope.”

Lukas unlocks his front door. He doesn’t invite me in but I stick my head in anyway. It’s not a living room, like I’d expected, but rather a large photo studio and storage space, filled with reflective umbrellas, tripods, and light stands.

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” I say.

“Sure,” he answers, without any enthusiasm. He pulls on a chain hooked against the wall and an adult-size pink bicycle descends from a pulley on the ceiling.

“That’s surprising,” I say. “I didn’t expect it to be up there.”

“Space is costly here so we have to store a lot of things vertically. Like my washer and dryer.” He gestures at the two machines in the back corner, which are stacked one on top of the other. “Especially because we usually do not have any basements. The ground is too soft and wet. The entire country is below sea level.”

“Nowhere to stash the bodies, huh?” I say, and want to face-palm myself. That came out all wrong. Lukas freezes and I follow with a weak “Ha ha.”

He doesn’t answer. A breeze gusts against my jacket as he steps outside with the bicycle. I squint my eyes against the brilliant, piercing sunlight. The clouds are swirling in unpredictable patterns within a vast Van Gogh sky.

Lukas has brought a few tools with him and starts to lower the bike seat for me. The bicycle is covered with hand-painted white flowers. “Sylvie is taller than you are.”

I realize that I’m supposed to ride on that thing. “Much more athletic too. Is this her bike?”

“Borrowed from Estelle. But Sylvie will not mind. We can reset it for her easily.” A bit of the constant ache in my neck eases to hear his calm certainty that Sylvie will be back.

“What do you think has happened to her?”

His eyes dart away from mine. “I think something upset her and she wants time to consider everything.”

Why is he not looking at me? Was he the one who upset her? “Really? You think she’s okay?”

“Yes, I do.” His voice is so intense I wonder if he truly believes this or if he needs to be certain of Sylvie’s safety so much he’s convinced himself of it. Or maybe he’s a brilliant actor and he’s covering something up.

I try to sound casual. “What could have upset her that much?”

He shrugs and waves one hand at the main house.

“Right,” I say. “Lots of options there.” Maybe Helena had accused Sylvie of stealing the jewelry and Sylvie had left. But why wouldn’t she have come home? In the pit of my stomach, my longing for my sister intensifies.
Sylvie, where are you?

Lukas has fixed the seat with quiet competence and now adjusts the handlebars. I notice that despite his apparent calm, his knuckles are white with tension.

“C-couldn’t we just walk?”

“No, it will be much easier for you on the bicycle.”

Right. A few minutes later, I am wobbling on the treacherous pink bicycle, barely managing to stay upright. Which idiot said you never forget how to ride? Lukas didn’t even give me a helmet. But then I manage to find my balance and follow him into the brick street. I can tell he’s holding back for me because soon an old lady with a walker attached to the back of her bike zooms past us as if we were standing still. My bike sways as I fight the wind that threatens to blow me backward.

“You are doing fine,” Lukas calls over his shoulder. “We are going to make a right at the next corner, and after that, it is straight along the River Vecht. Very easy.”

I grunt, too stressed from concentrating on the bumpy road. There are a surprising number of people on bicycles for a Friday. Doesn’t anyone have to go to work here? A mom and her tiny child weave past me. He’s pedaling away on his own little bicycle without training wheels and is the only one wearing a helmet. She shoots me a sympathetic smile. Then comes a businessman in a charcoal suit, sitting bolt upright, speaking into his headset, elegant leather briefcase strapped to the back.

I manage to make the turn onto the river road and take a moment to lift my head and look around. I can smell the water. The sparkling sky is admiring its own reflection on the surface of the rippling green waves where the rowboats and sailboats are docked, waiting to whisk their passengers away on an adventure. The tree-lined, small brick street merges with the sidewalk, only a different color and stone pattern distinguishing them, and I almost veer onto the walkway. I barely miss a young woman who leaps out of my way, uttering what must be a Dutch curse. I speed past old and new houses with pointed gables, none taller than three stories, which line both our side of the river and the opposite bank. It is completely foreign and almost unbearably charming at the same time.

As we pass a little white church, its high bell tower chimes the hour. With the urgent peal of its bells behind us, we pass a bridge and pull up to a café nestled on the bank of the river. To our right, large rustic barrows filled with pink begonias, and to the left, potted shrubs guard a number of square wooden tables shaded by dark green parasols that read
HEINEKEN
. I spot Estelle sitting in a checkered sage-and-white chair with her eyes closed, sunlight caressing her upturned face. She is wearing some kind of blue blazer and there’s a clunky black bag on her lap. Despite the brisk breeze, a few other customers are seated at the outdoor tables.

My legs almost crumple as I get off the bicycle and leave it at the rack. Give me a nice subway any day. Estelle smiles as we approach and stands to give Lukas another lush smack on the lips. Then she kisses me three times, alternating on each cheek, as everyone else seems to do in this country. “I am so glad you came! Did you remember to lock your bike, Amy?”

Lukas tosses over my bike key and sits down beside her. “I did it for you.”

Estelle pretends to tsk. “This is a very safe country. I have left my handbag with wallet inside in the basket of my bicycle by accident and come back after shopping to find that no one has taken it. Of course, that was a stupid thing to do. But if you leave a bike unlocked, watch out!”

I have settled into the chair across from them. “Why is that?”

Lukas shrugs. “Everyone has had so many bikes stolen themselves that if they see one unlocked, they feel it is fair game.”

Estelle winks. “It turns into the wild west here. One minute and your bicycle will be gone.”

I study them for a moment. The anger Estelle displayed at the airport when she asked Lukas if he had fought with Sylvie is gone. She hasn’t said anything about Sylvie. He must have already talked to her and somehow convinced her that he’s in the clear. Is that true or is Lukas just an incredible manipulator?

When the waitress comes, Estelle suggests I order a
koffie verkeerd,
which she explains means coffee the wrong way around, so it’s more milk than coffee, and an
uitsmijter,
which has something to do with eggs and the Dutch cheese Gouda. She pronounces it like
Houda
.