Chapter 8

The clock on the dashboard pointed to three o’clock. Erik jumped out of the car and went to buy another parking ticket. Then he sat back in the car and continued scrolling through the contacts on his phone.

Diana Kohler.

This was the sixth call he needed to make this afternoon. And the one he least wanted to make.

“Hi, Diana,” he said to the person on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry, I have some bad news… I thought it would be best to tell you as soon as possible.”

“Erik, is it about the climbing gym? I just got text messages from Nils and Fenni.”

“Yes,” Erik said.

“Really… is there no way at all?”

“No. I’m in Stuttgart today. I just came from the tax advisor and the lawyer.”

He took a deep breath. “We can’t continue operating. We have to sell the building.”

It wasn’t easy to deliver this news. It was easier with others. But Diana had been serving at “Fritz’s House” climbing gym for almost twenty years. She was one of the earliest employees who worked with Fritz to build it, and could be considered half a co-founder. He knew she loved the place as much as he did—a small venue, with no luxurious equipment but everything practical, every corner filled with care and passion.

“How… how did this happen?” The voice on the other end had changed. Diana must have been crying.

“I thought Fritz had arranged everything in his will, leaving it all to you…”

“He did leave it to me. But you know we’re not related by blood, and he never adopted me, so I’m not the legal heir,” he said with difficulty. “The lawyer told me the will can’t override legal inheritance rights*. Fritz has an ex-wife and children in Canada, so if I accept the inheritance, I have to pay half the value of the estate in cash to that family.”

“How much money is needed? Maybe we can think of a way together…” Diana sobbed.

“It’s no use, Diana.” He felt cruel saying this to her, but he had to press on.

“The lawyer has already contacted them… You know Fritz owed his ex-wife a large sum of money when they divorced ten years ago, as part of the property settlement. They agreed to pay half the value of the gym at that time as her share. Diana, you know our finances over the past decade best. We’ve barely paid half of that amount… Now they’re refusing to accept delayed payments. Including the legal inheritance portion, I need to pay the Canadian family almost all the money I can liquidate immediately.”

There was no response from the other side.

“I’m sorry, Diana,” Erik said. “I’ll pay your salary until the end of next month… I hope you find a new job before then.”

He hung up the phone, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. Unconsciously, he raised his arm, resting it on his forehead, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths, just like he had done the day before on the “Wackelstein.”

Wackelstein, rocking stone, rocking, wobbling.

But he couldn’t fall… because there was a cliff below.

He lowered his arm, steadied himself, and caught sight of the red sign of a supermarket across the street.

Erik jumped out of the car, hurried across the road, and entered the supermarket. There, he bought some food and drinks, along with a pack of napkins, a box of coffee creamer, and a sugar jar.

He returned to the car, took out his phone, and set up a playlist on Spotify. The return trip would take over an hour, and he planned to listen to some uplifting music. The album covers and tracks scrolled under his fingers… Suddenly, he thought of Felix.

“I’m heading back now. I’ll be there in an hour,” he typed a voice message.

Almost immediately, the ellipsis of a reply appeared.

—Welcome home.

Erik stared at the last word for a few seconds. He knew it was just a common expression, not meant literally, but he still liked—really liked—seeing it here.

“What are you doing?” he continued to reply.

—I’m baking some honey almond cookies. You can have them when you get back.

A smile crept onto his lips. He sent a licking and smacking emoji in response.

—And I’m using your computer to listen to music. Can I listen to your playlist?

“Stop,” he quickly replied. “Unless you let me listen to yours too.”

—Forget it then (a crying face).

“…Fine, go ahead and listen.”

Then a thought crossed his mind.

“By the way, you said yesterday that you’ve heard Sarah Conner. Which song of hers do you like?”

—I’ve only heard one song by her. A friend sent it to me.

“Tell me the name of the song.”

For a long time, there was no reply. Just as he was about to give up and put the phone aside, it dinged.

—Vincent**.

He searched for it in Spotify’s library. Found it.

He pressed play. He didn’t remember hearing this song before, which was strange because it had an astonishing number of plays on Spotify. Yet, as far as he could recall, he had never heard it on the radio, or at any party, gathering with friends or family. No one (including his friends who seemed to know everything about pop music) had ever mentioned it to him.

…He immediately knew why. It was a song about a boy named Vincent’s first love: he fell in love with another boy. “He could only think of him, from the first day, from the moment he first saw him.”

Erik thought to himself that if this song were played at a small-town party, the atmosphere would undoubtedly be awkward. As for family gatherings, forget it—no one would dare risk such a scandal.

The chorus was done in a soul style. Sarah Conner seemed to like and excel at that. He wasn’t a fan of that style, always feeling it didn’t mesh well with German songs—but he had to admit it was quite moving in this song: Sarah’s sweet, high-pitched, and infectious voice filled the small space in the car, echoing in his ears and mind.

“Mom, I can’t think anymore. I think I’m running a fever. I think I don’t want this.

“Mom, what should I do now? I think I’m going to die. What if my heart breaks?

“No, my child, it won’t be like that. Trust me, baby, you won’t die.

“It’s just love, there’s no cure for it. I know it hurts, but it will pass, and you’ll see….

“You can sue Deutsche Bank, read the Bible, ask Whitney, but for love, they have no solution.

“What you’re feeling now, some people will never feel. It’s just love, there’s no cure for it.”

Erik listened to the entire song. He was somewhat dazed, so he played it again.

Then, as if to fight against the restless feeling rising in his heart, he shook his head vigorously, as if he could shake the melody out of his head.

He tossed the phone aside and started the car.