The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(63)

Christine made one of her rare executive decisions and declared she was taking him home. Erik was grateful to regress into a childish state, let her take charge and pull him out of school.

It wasn’t as dire as it sounded. Only five weeks remained in the semester but the vice-chancellor of student affairs made a blanket ruling: anyone affected by the shooting could take an incomplete on their spring semester coursework and pick it up in the fall, with no loss of tuition dollars.

Even though Will was taking the incomplete and going home, Lucky decided to stay and finish her finals. David chose to stay as well, although he was crushed by the loss of his senior project. With a heavy heart he watched his treasured sets for Who Cares? dismantled and put into the storage room. Leo declared the project complete and David could graduate. But David was unfinished and unsatisfied with a sympathy degree. He deferred graduation and planned to come back in the fall and do at least another semester. Leo pledged to support him.

A community network came together to send Erik and Will home. The landlord guaranteed the apartment to them in the fall. U-Hauls were provided free of charge. A squadron of stagehands, led by Leo, showed up at Colby Street to help Erik, Christine and the Kaegers pack up the boys’ belongings. Briskly they sorted out what was necessary to take and what could be left behind in storage at Mallory Hall. The crew made the apartment spotless, then went across the backyard to help the Biancos extricate Daisy from Jay Street.

The first of her fasciotomy incisions had been closed—“Beautifully,” Dr. Jinani said—and the second was scheduled for five days later. She had already started in-house physical therapy and, as soon as she was discharged, she would start a more intensive program at a rehabilitation hospital.

When Erik came to the hospital to say goodbye to Daisy, he ran into Dr. Jinani, who was just leaving Daisy’s room. Learning Erik was going home, the doctor shook his hand and wished him well. “I am sorry to meet under such circumstances,” he said in his precise cadence, every syllable clipped and groomed into place. “But I am so glad to know you. And Daisy. You make a lovely couple. Truly I believe your support has been key to her recovery.”

Erik had an inspiration, and asked the Indian surgeon how one would say daisy in his language.

“Daisies are not native to India,” Jinani said, rubbing his chin. “The closest we have is the Chinese aster. And they are called Gulabahaar.” He wrote the word down, first in Latin and again in beautiful Hindi script. Erik put the scrap of paper carefully away in his wallet as he walked down the hall to Daisy’s room. He planned to take it to the tattoo parlor and have Omar add it to flower on his wrist.

Daisy had kicked the hospital johnnies to the curb and devised creative loungewear out of her own t-shirts and sweatpants with the left leg cut off. Sitting up in bed reading, she looked pretty, but frail. She had lost weight. Her face was drawn and pinched. Marie’s death had devastated her. Taylor’s lay heavy on her heart and mind. Holding her, Erik was torn. He hated to leave her—was on the threshold of being afraid of the separation—but his bones cried out to go home. Christine wanted him to come home. And he hadn’t yet seen his brother, who wanted him too.

“You go,” Daisy said, hugging him. “I want you to be with your family. I’m all right. I promise.”

I can’t breathe without you, Erik thought. He kept it silent. He didn’t want to heap any more troubles on her already occupied mind.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “It won’t be long. I’ll figure something out for the summer.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, caressing the back of his head.

He took her face and kissed her—between her eyebrows, each closed eye, her nose, her chin and then her mouth. On a sudden but sure impulse, he reached behind his head, unclasped his gold chain and put it around her neck.

“No,” she said, but her eyes closed and her hand came up to hold the charms against her throat.

“Please. I want to. Just until I see you again.”

“All right.”

He thumbed the tears from beneath her eyes. “I love us.”

“I love us,” she said. “Call me when you get home.”



*



Christine and Erik sat in a booth at a diner, just over the New York border. Erik downed two Cokes but only picked at his cheeseburger. Christine put down her coffee cup and threaded her hand through plates and glasses to find his.

“I don’t want you to think I’m taking you away from her,” she said.

“You’re not dragging me home, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I want to see Pete,” Erik murmured.

Her thumb ran across his knuckles, caressed the tiny, red scabs where broken glass had nicked him. “I’m going to be clingy a little while. I need to know where you are. I’ll be checking on you while you sleep.”

Erik managed a small smile. “I know.”

“Come be at home and rest. Collapse. Let me fuss over you and charge up your batteries. Because she’s going to need you.”

He nodded.

“Do you want to call her?”

He checked his watch. “She’s probably at physical therapy now. I’ll call her when we get home.”

“Try to eat, honey.” She let go his hand and picked up a knife. “Cut it in half. There. Eat half.”