The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(81)

“Enough,” Will said, his voice a low growl. His finger pressed down harder—a defense move he had learned in Taekwondo. Fiery pins and needles shot down Erik’s arms, leaving him no choice but to let go.

“Come on,” Will said, pulling him back. “You’re only giving him what he wants.”

Erik got another kick in, into David’s ribs with the hard toe of his work boot. He felt the soft give of flesh and the resistance of bone.

“Come on, Fish, let’s get you out of here.”

Erik fought, struggled, writhed, but Will’s strength was absolute and his arms were a straitjacket about Erik’s torso.

As he was being dragged away, Erik looked back just once. Looked at David lying on the floor, arms over his head. And Daisy, on her knees, in the wreck of her kitchen. Daisy, her hands in her hair, pulling it from her temples. Daisy, her mouth open, and those eyes, dear Lord, those beautiful blue eyes he had stared into so many times, making time itself stop, making the world go away.

The eyes he had let look into his soul.

He had trusted her. He had put himself into her hands, been vulnerable with her in the dark of night, let her see him at his weakest. And she had gone to David.

Through the doorway he stared into her eyes. Time did not stop. The world stayed as it was. The connection was gone. The bond was lost. She had killed it.

“Erik,” she said, her hands coming out of her hair, falling into her lap.

Then the screen door slammed shut.





Triage


“I don’t want to see her,” he said to Will.

“You shouldn’t,” Will said. “Cool off. Nobody will fault you if you get out of Dodge a little while.”

Erik sat on his bed, staring straight ahead.

“Fish,” Will said. He crouched down by Erik’s feet. “There’s an explanation.”

Erik flicked his eyes to Will. Stared at him.

“I mean,” Will said. He floundered for words, reaching to run his maimed hand through hair no longer there. “This was just something reckless and stupid. You can work it out…”

Erik looked away. “Leave me alone.”

Will shut the door. Erik remained in his room the rest of the day, with the door shut, although the house was empty. Will did not come back. Erik lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, watching it get dark. The silence inside the house screamed. The ambient noises from outside puzzled him. How could the world just be going by? Didn’t anyone realize what had happened?

The slam of a screen door made him sit up. He looked out the window, through the hedge to the girls’ backyard. Daisy was sitting on the back stairs. He could see her white shirt in the dusk, and the glowing red tip of her cigarette. The minutes slipped by as she smoked, her arms around her shins, chin on her knees. She lit a second cigarette off the end of the first and smoked it. Then a third.

He could go over.

They could smoke and talk. She could explain.

They could work it out.

He fell back down on the bed again, unable to stop the tears. Great, shuddering sobs in his chest and throat, a lament smothered into the pillow. She was sitting there smoking, wearing the same skirt and shirt and carrying David on her skin. David was all over her body. Maybe even dripping out of her. She had taken her clothes off for David. She had opened her mouth for David, opened her legs for David. She had let David inside her, moved under him like a lover. Her arms up around his neck, her knees hugging his hips.

Was he supposed to sit there and smoke and listen to her explain all that?

How could you do it? Erik went to the window. Stared through his tears to the tiny, balled-up figure on the back steps. How could you? What were you thinking, what made you go? What did you need?

Then he knew what the explanation was.

She needed the pain Erik wouldn’t give her anymore.

He was useless to her.

She went to get it from David.

Erik sat up and threw the pillow aside.

He picked up anything within reach and threw it.

It wasn’t to be borne.

“It’s over,” he said. “We’re finished. You’re useless to me now.”

He drew in a deep breath, balling his hands into fists, setting his jaw.

Feel nothing.

He picked up the backpack he had started filling and set it on the bed.

It’s over. You will feel nothing.

He began to gather more things together.

Through the night he sorted and packed. A swift and brutal triage of what had to be taken and what could be left forever. He pulled together his belongings and pushed aside Daisy’s. He loaded trash bags and duffles into his car, and before the sun came up, he left.

“I will explain,” he said to his mother, six hours later. “But not now. I’m home but pretend I’m not here. I just need some space. Then I’ll explain.”

He shut himself up in his room and slept for two days. The house was quiet around him. Christine was working. Pete wasn’t home from college yet. Lena was there, though. She lay on the floor by Erik’s bed, occasionally putting her paws on the mattress and licking his face. He pushed her away.

The morning of the third day, he summoned his will and got up. He was brushing his teeth, staring in the mirror at his haggard face and scruffy growth of beard, when his hand flew up to his neck.