Wait for Me in Vienna Read Free Page A

memory of the woman who had meant so much to Johanna in recent years. How could anyone really understand the indescribable depths of her grief? The memory of her parents overwhelmed her. It was good that she still remembered them; it was terrifying to think that when someone dies all memory of them could fade until there was nothing left. Her brother ripped Johanna away from her thoughts.
    “I know that you don’t want to talk to me, but I need to know what’s going on with you, Johanna. Are you alone? How about coming to Vienna with me?” Martin asked his sister.
    Johanna stared at him, surprised.
    “Come on, it will do you good. You need to leave this town behind, let go of your sadness, and start to live again. What have you been doing all year? Are you happy?” he asked, touching her hand lovingly.
    Johanna remained mute.

3
    The moving van pulled up in front of Martin’s apartment. Johanna’s brother had a beautiful three-room condo with a balcony overlooking a courtyard. He’d gotten lucky—an acquaintance had rented him the 650-square-foot home (750 square feet with the balcony), so he hadn’t had to pay any realtor fees. The bathroom had a tub. Johanna really liked that. She loved to take baths so she could submerge herself under the water. Martin showed Johanna her bedroom.
    “We’ll put you in my old music room. It’s okay. I’ll practice in the living room. Don’t worry, though; I rarely practice these days,” he said as he opened the door.
    He knew that when he practiced it got ear-piercingly loud. He often had problems with the neighbors, especially with Mrs. Sachs, who was supposedly hard of hearing but never missed an opportunity to complain to her neighbors about their real or imagined misdeeds.
    Johanna’s new bedroom was small, with pale-yellow walls adorned with posters of the Rolling Stones. She could easily redecorate to her tastes after she took the posters down. Martin’s drum set stood in the middle of the room, and Johanna remembered when he began his eleven-year drum career and the unbearably loud clang of his cymbals. He’d been inspired to play when he saw a tattooed drummer in a movie who drank a lot of beer and had tons of groupies. He received his first drum set for Christmas in 1989.
    “I’ll get all this stuff out of here right away.” Martin gestured to a laundry basket next to the drums that was filled to the brim with either clean or dirty clothes; Johanna wasn’t sure which. “Then we can bring in your bed and dresser.” He shoved a moving box toward the back corner. “This was the right decision, believe me.”

4
    The next morning, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and croissants filled the apartment. It was filtered coffee, but not made with an expensive machine; Martin was proud of his old Italian stovetop espresso maker. But it was small and barely made enough for Martin. The noise from the kitchen awakened Johanna.
    “Hey, Johanna, good morning,” he called out happily, juggling the hot croissants into the breadbasket. “I hope you’re hungry! I made a huge breakfast.”
    Johanna smiled for the first time in a long time. She was glad to see her brother again. He seldom came back home to visit, and they didn’t talk much on the phone, as Martin didn’t like phones and always kept his calls short. Their sibling bond had weakened over the years, and an unspoken detachment had emerged between them.
    “I just finished with the newspaper if you want it. There are a lot of job listings in it today.”
    Johanna didn’t want to start working again so soon. She had saved a lot of money in the last few years since she hadn’t gone out much, seldom went to the salon, and didn’t buy expensive clothes. She also didn’t go on vacation—except the one time when she’d conjured up a little courage. She bit hungrily into the croissant. It was delicious.

    “Thomas, did you hear that Marion and Michael got engaged?” Clarissa remarked pensively as she ran her