This, Daisy realized, is the last good thing you’re gonna feel in your life.
You can’t fix this.
No love was in his eyes.
You are not excused.
Her mouth moved around his name but no sound came out.
Look hard.
You’re never going to see him again.
“Erik,” she whispered. Her mouth was dry now. A desert that would never see water again.
Oh God. I’m so sorry.
The screen door slammed shut. Through the mesh, she saw Erik throw off Will’s arms.
He turned his back.
And left.
WE’RE TAKING DAVID to the health center,” Will said. “He needs stitches.”
Daisy nodded, staring across the yard and through the hedge to the boys’ apartment.
“Don’t go over there, Dais. Give him some space.”
She did as she was told.
She didn’t shower, eat or sleep. Only smoked cigarette after cigarette, sitting out on the back steps of the porch, looking up to the windows of Colby Street. The minutes passed, measured in cigarettes. A constellation of ground-out butts collecting on the cement at the foot of the stairs. The buzz of insects gave way to the first song of peepers. The white skies darkened to grey and the streetlights came on, orange and sick.
She smoked her last cigarette.
Then she just sat.
She fell asleep with her head against the railing. Woke with a jolt when Will crouched down, his three-fingered hand on her shoulder.
“Come inside.”
She obeyed, got up and went in. Like a little lamb, she followed Will through the living room and up the stairs, along the hall to the bathroom where Lucky was waiting for her.
“Get in the shower,” Lucky said.
Daisy stared at her friend, trying to dissect her voice. Was it cold? Angry? She couldn’t decide.
“Just get in,” Lucky said. “You’ll feel better.”
“You don’t have to be nice to me.”
Lucky’s hand was soft on her cheek. “Yes, I do.”
She waited for Daisy, sitting on the closed lid and holding a big towel at the ready.
“Brush your teeth now.”
Daisy did, wishing Lucky would make all her decisions for the rest of her life.
Clean underwear and a T-shirt were laid out for her. The covers were turned back. Daisy laid down. Lucky had a quiet conversation with Will at the door before it clicked shut. Like a sister, Lucky slid under the blankets, her compact curves snug up against Daisy’s back. Her hand found Daisy’s and held it tight.
“We all do stupid things,” she said.
Daisy cried hard. Lucky held her.
“I love you,” she said. “I still love you. He does too. It’s going to be hard for a long time. But you guys are strong, you’ll get through it.”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy said between sobs, over and over.
“I know. It was a shitty thing to do but I know who you really are. It wasn’t you. You’re not yourself. None of us are. Shh…I love you. You’re my best friend. I’ll stand by you forever.”
“I need to go see him.”
“Not tonight. Everyone needs to sleep. You hang onto me. You get through tonight and if the sun comes up tomorrow, you go see him.”
“I need him.”
“And he needs you. But you gotta let him be tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Hold onto me. Go to sleep.”
“I need something.”
“No. No more of that, either. You’re tired, go to sleep. In the morning, we’ll figure this shit out.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” Lucky pressed a soft kiss on Daisy’s temple. “You have to.”
THE SUN CAME UP the next morning.
Her bedroom window faced east, partially blocked by an oak tree. In winter, the sun woke her at dawn if the drapes were open. In spring, the sun had to worm its way through leafy branches to get a ray in edgewise. First it tickled her closed lids with a creamsicle blush of orange. Forgetting all that transpired, she opened her eyes. The sun wore a wicked grin then, parted the leaves and glared hard and mean, rubbing its hands together in relish of what was in store.
It was already hot when she went through the hedge. Steam was rising from the pavement. It must have rained in the night. The bugs were out, meaner than the sun. She went up the back steps of Colby Street. The door was unlocked and open. Through the screen she saw Will sitting at the kitchen table.
He looked up, his expression blank. Daisy pulled her breath in through her nose. Pulled her shoulders back and down, pulled her stomach in, stood up straight with every bit of her dancer’s training, locking her spine and core into place. If Will wanted to take the first shot, so much the better. It would be rehearsal.
Will didn’t say anything, but his foot nudged the other chair out from under the table. Daisy sat as Will got up and poured from the steaming kettle on a back burner. He came back to the table with the remaining three fingers of his left hand wrapped around a mug of tea. He set it carefully in front of her, gave her a cigarette, took one for himself, lit both.
“He’s gone, honey,” he said.
Tight steel bands clamped around Daisy’s eyes and throat. She nodded, inhaling hard. She pressed her lips together tight, looked out the window and let the smoke slowly seep out her nose.
Will put his maimed hand out on the table. Her eyes flicked to it. They took in the shiny and seared flesh where his ring and pinky fingers once were, the ropes and ridges of scar tissue along the side of his palm, extending down into the heel of his hand. It was a brave hand. Heroic and kind. She recoiled from the kindness. It wasn’t for her. She didn’t deserve it. Shaking her head slightly, she took another drag and looked away.
He moved his hand further toward her. Giving hand was one of the most elementary gestures of the danseur noble. Extending his hand to the ballerina, ready to provide her with support and balance.
Dance with me.
Let my strength be your strength.
All she had to do in class was take Will’s hand and they were immediately connected. One touch of her palm to his and she knew if he was feeling well or not, if he was happy or distracted. Or angry.
Now she was afraid of his hand on the table, afraid to touch him and feel what he was feeling.
“Dais,” Will said. His voice was low in his chest and firm.
Come to me, his hand said.
Let’s have a conversation.
She put her palm on his. His three fingers wrapped around her five.
“It was a stupid and shitty thing to do,” Will said.
She nodded, feeling his acidic disappointment splash her bones.
“Were you high?”
She nodded again, her shoulders curving over toward her ribs, hair falling forward to hide her face.
“High or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna be eating this for a long time, Dais.”
“I know.”
“But you can work it out. I know you can. You just have to give him some space first.”
“I don’t think so…”
His fingers squeezed tighter. “You guys got through worse. This was just stupid and thoughtless. You’re weak, everyone’s weak right now. Weak and brittle. Combine all our good judgment together and you wouldn’t came up with enough to fill a spoon. You’re a strung-out wreck and David preyed on it.”
“Don’t blame him,” Daisy said. “This is my fault, I own this. Don’t excuse me.”
“I’m not excusing you. Erik’s my best friend and part of me wants to kill you. But you’re also my best friend and part of me wants to kill David. Christ, what a fucking mess. Jesus, Dais, what were you thinking?”
She slid her fingers out of his grasp and stood up, tea sloshing out of her mug. She crushed out her cigarette.
“I’m sorry,” Will said, reaching for her but she evaded him.
“Don
’t be sorry,” she said, walking into the living room.
“Don’t go up there, honey.”
She had to.
She laid on Erik’s bed in the hollow, empty room. Drawers tumbled from their runners, wire hangers askew on the rod in the closet. Corners of posters still scotched-taped to the walls. Her picture was left on his bedside table, the glass inside the frame cracked. His calling card. His last words.
Will came up and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, fitting his three fingers between the other five. Daisy pressed her face into the sheets, looking for Erik’s scent. A hair, a fleck of skin, a fingernail. Anything.
“Go home, Dais,” Will said.
“In a little while.”
He left her. She laid there as the sun crept around the edge of the window frame and inched across the bed. She cried a little then slept a lot. When she awoke, the sun was gone. The sheet had been pulled up to her waist and a glass of water put on the bedside table. She drank it down then went back to sleep.
She woke again, soaked with sweat, her mouth dry and bitter with cigarette smoke. She sat up, brain clanging like a bell between her temples. The empty room glared at her. She looked away from the accusing walls and her eyes lit on the wastebasket next to the bed.
It was filled with her.
She reached and picked through the pile. Notes and cards and letters. More pictures. Bits and pieces left in his room: hair elastics, earrings, hand cream and lip balm, a pair of her underwear. At the bottom of it all, a plain white envelope. It held their three most treasured artifacts, their three most important firsts: the wrapper from the Swedish Fish he left in her mailbox. The love note she wrote in return—the first love note she’d ever penned in her life. And the condom wrapper from the first time they made love.
Daisy reached with both hands and pulled it all out of the garbage. Sat up and collected every piece of herself, making a neat, squared-off pile in her lap.
You fix this.
TREMBLING WITH ANXIETY, she called his house that night.
“He’s asleep,” Christine said. “He came home early this morning and went straight to bed, said he didn’t want to talk. What happened?”
Daisy’s face burned hot, her mouth metallic. “We…had a fight.”
Christine laughed. “You two, a fight? Let me step outside and see if the world is ending.”
Daisy dug her nails into her leg and managed a brittle laugh.
“What’s the trouble in paradise?”
“I won’t put you in the middle,” Daisy said, her heart pounding. “I’m sorry. I’ll…call a little later.”
“All right, honey. Don’t worry. It’s never as bad as you think.”
Daisy went to see Kees the next morning. “Do I have enough credits to graduate? Am I certified?”
“You had enough last semester. I already told you that,” Kees said. “You’ve technically matriculated. Why?”
“I have to go home. I’m not staying for graduation. I have to go home now.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Dais. What’s the matter?”
“I have to go.” Her feet made miniscule movements backward, retreating, poised to flee.
Kees stood up. He looked older, drawn and haggard, but his eyes were kind. “Marguerite,” he said. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
He was kind. He loved her. And before she realized it, the story was spilling out of her mouth. She told him everything. A spasm of pain flickered through Kees’s face and she immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Daisy,” Kees said, his composure returned. “Come sit down, honey. Let’s talk about it.”
She couldn’t. She didn’t deserve his support or sympathy. She bit the inside of her lip hard, stepped forward to hug him and then ran away.
Get out of here.
Get out of this place.
Go home, Dais.
Like Erik, she packed swiftly throughout the night. Unlike him, she said goodbye.
She forced herself to go see David. He laid on his couch watching TV, his face still swollen and bruised, the bristling black sutures like spider legs along one cheekbone. He winced as he sat up, the broken ribs howling.
“Don’t get up,” Daisy said. “I’m just leaving.”
He nodded, tapping a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table. “Drive safe,” he said.
She lit it for him, then set the Zippo down carefully. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came.
“Dais,” David said, staring at the ribbons of smoke rising from his trembling fingers. “Dais, I want you to be all right.”
“I will.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine,” she said and turned to go.
“Wait.” He stood up slowly. “Dais, if it’s any consolation…”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“I love you.”
“Please…”
“I love you.” He was standing in front of her then. One of his hands closed on her upper arm. The other ran over her face.
“David, don’t,” she said. His tenderness was more than she could stand.
“I know what everyone says, that I only want what I can’t have. But I swear to God, Dais. If you stay with me I’ll… I can… I mean I can’t…” His fingers dug in her skin. His face twisted and he kicked at an empty soda can which skittered across the floor. “Goddammit,” he said through his teeth. “Why’d you have to come here?”
She scooped up the blame and clutched it to her chest as she backed away. “I’m sorry, I’m going,” she said. “I need to go home.”
Take all this. Take it home and fix it.
He took a step as if to follow but then only raised his hand and slowly let the fingers fall down on his palm. “Call me,” he said.
“I WENT HOME,” Daisy said. “It was the safest place I knew.”
“What was it like?”
Exhausted from her retelling, Daisy shook her head. The silence swelled and shrank. A quiet friend and even quieter enemy. She was grateful for a moment and hated the expectation within it.
“It sounds convenient when I say I don’t remember much,” she said, her tongue thick and tired. “It’s actually a little amazing to look back. I don’t know how I got through it. I don’t know what happened to the days. They turned into weeks, months and it’s going on years. I look back and huge chunks of time are missing.”
“It’s your mind’s way to survive,” Rita said. “If we remembered every detail from our darkest times, we’d quickly break down. What you remember is usually what’s important.”
“I remember things but I’m not sure what order they happened in. I know I don’t have to tell you a neat story, but I don’t think I could if I tried.”
She looked up at Rita. “Ask me another question,” she said. “Just get me going. Ask me something.”
Rita shifted in her chair, taking a measured breath. “What did you tell your parents?”
“Nothing at first. I kept it general. I said Erik and I had a fight, we needed some space. I was exhausted and wanted to collapse and be alone. Something like that. The thing is, even when I wanted to talk, something was wrong with me. I mean physically wrong. I thought I had broken my mind because I couldn’t speak.”
“You couldn’t speak. At all?”
“I would want to say something and the sentence would be in my head. The words all lined up in my mouth ready to go. But I would have this delay. I could count the seconds between the time I wanted to talk and the actual spoken words. The same thing happened with movement. I’d be in a chair and want to stand up. My brain would say stand up, let’s go, stand up now. My legs got the message but with this strange delay.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I guess if I hadn’t been so tired and distraught I would’ve been more upset about it but…”
“Psychomotor retardation.”
“Pardon?”<
br />
“Psychomotor retardation,” Rita said, sternly. “It’s a common side effect of drug withdrawal.”
“Oh,” Daisy said, uncomfortable.
“Were you still using cocaine or anything else?”
“No,” she said, a small shiver of revulsion at the back of her neck. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have known where to get it. But the thought of getting high and going back into the dark alone… No. I quit.”
“Cold turkey.”
“Yes.”
“That could have been dangerous. Cocaine withdrawal is no joke.”
Daisy opened her mouth to defend herself and realized she had no defense. “In all honesty,” she said slowly, “I didn’t care what happened to me.”
A corner of Rita’s mouth lifted as she nodded. “Fair point. I imagine you didn’t.”
“It stopped after a while and then I could talk about it.”
“How much did you tell them?”
“My parents?” Daisy said. “Everything.”
SHE SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE with her father and told him the simplest and most truthful story she could. Then she sat in his silence, staring at her chewed-off fingernails. Her body quivered like a racehorse at the gate, ready to flee down the track. As the moments ticked by she shrank further and further into herself until she could bear it no longer.
“Excuse me,” she whispered, and darted from her chair, toppling it sideways as she ran out of the kitchen. Through the living room and the front hall, bursting out the screen door onto the porch. A cry wrenched from her chest as she looked across the garden to the carriage house.
Do you ever think of marrying me?
She crumpled down on the steps, buried her face in her hands and wept.
The sun and wind dried her tears. Her head hurt. Her eyes burned. She could sleep forever. She would lie down and never get up if she could.
The screen door opened and shut behind her. Footsteps on the wide, scuffed planks, then the quick click of a lighter and the smell of cigarette smoke.
“You must face him,” Joe said. A creak of wicker as he sank into one of the chairs. Daisy stayed on the steps, curled tight with her head against one of the uprights, her mouth on her knees.
“The longer you wait, the harder it will be,” Joe said.
“I know.”
Give Me Your Answer True Page 20