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to develop.
    â€˜Good thing he got the boot, really. Not exactly the best job for a man who doesn’t have the steadiest of hands.’ She winked at Sara. ‘Could so easily end up with him having none.’ She quickly added: ‘But he’s sober now. Been on the wagon for over a month. A good man.’
    Sara forced herself to take a sip of coffee. It was much too weak and had the faintly burnt taste of coffee that has been standing on a hot plate for too long.
    â€˜Why do you call yourself Grace?’
    â€˜My mom’s name was Grace. Her mother’s name was Grace. Her mother’s mother’s name was Grace.’ Sara was worried that this would continue for some time. ‘But me? Madeleine. That’s a name for proper, old-fashioned ladies. The kind of women who faint if you touch them. Women who get married and embroider handkerchiefs with their initials on them. Their married initials, that is. It’s hardly a name for a woman who flips burgers or keeps drunk labourers at a distance with a sawn-off shotgun.’
    â€˜Maybe she was thinking of a different line of work for you?’ Sara suggested. She glanced nervously at Grace over her coffee cup to check whether she had gone too far.
    Grace looked happy enough.
    â€˜It’s not a line of work. It’s a family tradition,’ she said. ‘The women in my family have always been tough, they’ve always served liquor, they’ve always been called Grace.’
    She slapped the hamburger onto the bun with such force that Sara thought it was going to jump right off again. Then she scooped a serving of French fries onto the plate and pushed the whole lot across the counter. It rattled, but made it safely over to Sara.
    â€˜My mom fell in love with a man with a little farm just outside of town,’ Grace continued. ‘And what do you think the stupid woman did?’
    Sara didn’t care to guess, but Grace continued immediately.
    â€˜She got married. I was born a good two years into the relationship. A Grace who wasn’t illegitimate. That set the rumour mill on fire, I can tell you. Grandma was still living then, taking care of the bar, so my mother and her husband were never really accepted. Just as well, if you ask me.’
    Grace lit a cigarette. Sara carefully took a bite of her hamburger.
    â€˜Mom, she tried to get them to accept her. Have you ever tried that?’
    Sara thought for a moment before she answered. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, though she assumed that everyone had faced that problem at some stage.
    â€˜It’s pointless,’ said Grace. ‘If you play by their rules, they’ll beat you every time. It’s like the saying, don’t ever argue with an idiot. They’ll drag you down to their level and then beat you with their experience. The same applies to the way you should live your life.’ She tapped the ash from her cigarette into the already overflowing ashtray. ‘Never live your life according to the idiots’ rules. Because they’ll drag you down to their level, they’ll win, and you’ll have a damned awful time in the process.’
    She looked closely at Sara. ‘Just look at Caroline. She’s even more boring than her mother, and that says a whole lot. Old Mrs Rohde was damned dull, but at least she had some attitude. Cockiness. Caroline’s been bowing to other people’s expectations her entire life and now she spends her time trying to force her own onto everyone else.’
    Sara said nothing. She hadn’t thought of Caroline as being someone who would ever bow to anyone else’s expectations. Aside, perhaps, from the expectations she had of herself.

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    Broken Wheel, Iowa
    January 14, 2010
    Sara Lindqvist
    Kornvägen 7, 1 tr
    136 38 Haninge
    Sweden
    Dear Sara,
    A bookstore! That must be a very nice place to work. We’ve never had a bookstore in Broken Wheel, but we did