“Not much else,” she said. She went to him and gently kissed his smooth face. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
His mouth flickered in a smile. “For real?”
“For real.”
“It was hairy for a while but… What about you? Opie said you had a tough time.”
“I got through it. No happily ever after yet but I have to believe someone is out there for me.”
“Sometimes hopefully ever after is enough.” David dug his fists by his neck, stretching his elbows high to the ceiling and yawning. “You going back to the hotel?”
“I think I’m going to wander around a little. Overdose on nostalgia.”
“You’re braver than I, Marge.” He stepped down into the aisle and Daisy followed. In silence they left the theater, walking out through the lobby and into the slanting rays of late afternoon sun.
“I’ll see you back here for the vigil?”
David drew on a pair of sunglasses. “Yeah, I’m going to sleep a bit.”
Daisy didn’t wander far. She only reached the end of the mall before it became too much. Too emotional to be walking the old campus, with the budding dogwoods postcard-pretty among brick buildings. Too wistful to be passing through groups of laughing, chattering kids and hand-holding couples. Too hard for them to be kids and in love while she was chasing down thirty-one and alone.
She went back to the hotel and called her mother to share some of the afternoon. Then fell into an exhausted and dreamless nap.
IT WAS AFTER SUNSET. The sky was a bowl of indigo blue, banded with gold at the horizon. They gathered in the courtyard of Mallory Hall. Each hand held its unlit candle. Free hands joined.
The president of the university began to speak. His voice was weak with emotion. From where she stood with her friends, Daisy could only catch every third word.
From behind, John crossed his arms over her collarbones. She leaned back against him, staring out over the sea of heads. Leo and his wife swam into focus and then blurred into the crowd. Over in her peripheral, Kees and his long-time lover, Anton. Neil, Will and Lucky were a little bit behind her. David slightly in front.
The president finished speaking. Clumsy one-handed applause. The rap of the music director’s baton on the podium and the string ensemble unfolded: violins to shoulders, bows at attention.
“Please, no Gershwin,” John said.
Smiling, Daisy shushed him, rubbing the back of her head into his shoulder. She closed her eyes and sighed into the aching bittersweet. When she opened them, a galaxy of flames was starting to spread through the crowd.
The musicians began the Allegretto from Beethoven’s seventh symphony. The bass viols deep and solemn in the hauntingly simply two-note theme.
Leo passed his flame to Kees’s candle. Kees lit John’s, who lit Daisy’s. She turned and touched her wick to Will. Kissed him. Then kissed Lucky and brought her flame to life. Turning back toward the courtyard, she saw David, still standing alone, holding his now-lit taper.
Daisy stared as the cellos picked up the theme, weaving with the bass like a braid. Point and counterpoint.
A string of beauties hand-in-hand.
David’s parents had played the Seventh for their little boy. Now he stood alone in the crowd, the nape of his neck exposed and vulnerable beneath the cuff of his watch cap. The hairless ridge of his brow. The unfamiliar jut of his cheekbones. How his jeans bagged in the ass and his smart tweed jacket hung on his narrow shoulders.
Daisy cracked a long-bolted door in her heart and reached within, pushed aside chemical squalor and shame. Other things were in here. Better, nobler things. Like opening her eyes in the hospital to find David reading by her bed. The touch of his fingertip to her nose.
Being told David held her hands when she was lying shot on the stage floor.
David had watched over Erik in the hotel room that night, and barely left his side in the days after the shooting.
“Will you do something for me?” she had asked.
“Anything,” David said. “It’s done.”
The comforting smell of burnt sugar essence as a fish was inked into her skin. A strong hand holding hers, wanting to be useful.
She’s the brave one. I’m just the chauffeur.
David forever passing her his headphones, his eyes dreamy with classical music and its stories. “Here, Marge. Listen to this.”
David in front of the fireplace at her parents’ house while they decorated the Christmas tree. Holding a candy cane like a microphone. A satirical serenade.
Roast nuts chesting on an open fire. Nipfrost jacking off your nose. Yuletide Carol being laid by the choir…
The joyful, singing smile on his face morphed into the lift of his cheekbones in her hands, when his body was over hers in his bed. She had made him smile. She remembered now.
I hate you.
“You all right?” John said.
Everyone hates me.
“I need to stand by Dave,” she said.
She went to him so swiftly, her candle blew itself out. She slipped her arm into his elbow. He jumped in his shoes, his head turning as if he were being attacked. Eyes wide like a deer. A hundred flickering flames in the pupils.
“Seulement moi,” she said, laying the backs of her fingers on his cheek. Their gazes held as the violins came in, adding another layer to the growing sound.
“Je suis désolé,” he whispered.
She slid her hand around the back of his neck, slid her fingers under his cap. His pulse beat on her fingertips as she put her forehead to his.
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “I’m so sorry, David.”
Taking his arm again, she held her flame to his, relighting it, merging the wicks together.
John stepped in, put his arm around David from the other side and put his flame with theirs. Will and Lucky came to the circle and added their candles. Then Neil squeezed in. They huddled around the tiny pyramid of fire, their faces splashed with gold.
“It’s not right,” David said. “Fish should be here.”
“Fish is safe,” Lucky said, closing her eyes.
“The journalist asked me where he was. It’s not right none of us know. Did anyone even try to find him?”
They pulled closer. “It’s okay, Dave,” John said.
“He should be here.”
“He’s where he needs to be,” Will said.
“We’re here,” Daisy said.
“We’re here,” Neil said. The taper in his hands trembled. Wax dripped onto the stones.
They held each other tight in the candlelight. Their lifeboat bobbing on the open seas.
And the musicians played on.
THE ELEVATOR GAVE a sedate chime.
“Ever notice,” Daisy said behind a yawn, “The more cushy the hotel, the more dignified the elevator bell?”
John smiled at her but the smile was disconnected from his eyes. He seemed preoccupied with something as they stood aside to let the elevator occupants come out. He ushered her in. The doors purred shut.
She reached and pressed nine, moved to the back wall. He reached then, and his hand hovered over the number buttons, index finger extended. One beat of silence. Another. His head turned and he looked at her. Nothing playful in his expression, nothing teasing in his finger hovering over the buttons. Rather something deadly serious, almost dire in his eyes and their single, simple question.
The doors had closed and they were rising now. She had the sensation of moving not up but forward, at a clip, afloat on a fast-moving river, heading straight for an intentional precipice. The elevator chimed past the fourth floor. She reached and folded his pointing finger back into his palm, brought his hand back to his side with hers in it. Fifth floor. Their fingers squeezed.
“When you told her I was the one who got you through,” he said. “It meant the world to me.”
She rolled her brow against his arm. “I told the truth.”
A sixth ding. He put his hand on her head, le
t it trail down the length of her hair and her back. Seven. She put her arms up around his neck. Eighth floor. He pulled her mouth into his. She remembered his taste at the ninth and last bell.
Down the long corridor, dim peachy light layered with oblique flashes from the mirrors on either side. A deep hum resonating from within the belly of the building. Do Not Disturb signs dangled from doors, shut tight as secrets. Her door clicked behind them and they became another undisturbed cog in the furtive, nighttime machinery of the hotel.
“Get me through tonight,” he said.
All night long, in the light of a single candle flame, their bodies came together. Aching and passionate. Driven by the primal need to connect at the most elemental level. To validate their survival. Giving death the finger with the ultimate act of life.
With breath and touch and fingers and mouths they disappeared in each other. They slept and woke and reached for each other again.
“I need you,” she said, lips open and straining against his skin.
“I’m here.” His voice hoarse with desire.
“Come here,” they said in the dark. “Come with me. I need you.”
“I’m here.”
“I’m here, Dais.”
We’re here.
“Sleep,” she said, and he did.
“Wake up,” he said, and she did.
No needless explanations or justifications.
“It feels so good to hold you,” he said, hands buried in her hair.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I needed this. I remember this.”
“Hold me. Come inside me again.”
“I’m here. Be with me.”
“Here.”
“Here, Dais. Right here.”
“WELL,” WILL SAID, looking around the table. “Are we going or not?”
John folded his napkin and tossed it into the center of the table, narrowly missing one of the nine empty Bloody Mary glasses. “Fuck it, I’m in.” Under the table his calf rested against Daisy’s, weary and sated.
“I think we’ve had enough liquid courage,” Daisy said. She ached pleasantly all over.
“I’d kill for a cigarette,” David said. “All right, bitches. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
They sorted out the check then pushed back from the table, gathering bags and jackets. They stepped into the bright sunshine and started walking toward the old neighborhood. Daisy took Lucky’s arm, anticipation thick in her chest.
“Maybe nobody will be home,” Lucky said. “We can just peek in the windows and that’ll be it.”
But it was Sunday and everyone was home, nursing hangovers or sleeping them off. An appliance truck was parked outside the apartment on Jay Street. On the front steps sat two girls, painting their toenails.
“Infants,” Will said again. “Who are these children they let into college these days?”
Lucky and Daisy approached, smiling.
“We used to live here,” they said to the girls, who were sweet and welcoming. Hobbling around with their pedicures they got up, shook hands and invited them in.
“The delivery men are here,” one said. “We’re getting a new stove.”
“You should’ve seen the one we had,” Lucky said, laughing. “Vintage Whirlpool, avocado green. The oven had two settings: lukewarm and cremate.”
The girls exchanged glances. “That’s the one they’re taking out.”
“No,” Daisy said. Lucky turned back to the boys.
“Guys, the stove is still here,” she said.
“No,” the boys said together.
They came up the porch stairs, but at the last second David wouldn’t go in. “It’s too much,” he said and sat on the front steps. His fingers patted his jacket as if to take out a cigarette, but he only came up with some gum.
Daisy and Lucky held hands tight as they stepped into their old living room.
“It’s so small,” Lucky said.
Daisy didn’t fight the instant wave of emotion. With liquid eyes and a tight throat, she squeezed Lucky’s fingers and looked the rooms full in the face.
I lived here.
I loved here.
Erik was everywhere and it helped to have the memory of John still on her skin—a thin veneer of distance between her and the memories waving from the couch. Grinning from the floor. Winking from the stairs.
I loved here.
And here.
And God, remember the time over there?
“Is it how you remembered?” one of the girls asked.
“Exactly the same,” Daisy said.
Still holding hands, she and Lucky went into the kitchen. The workmen had disconnected the gas line and were getting ready to heave the stove out.
“Farewell, soldier,” Lucky said, saluting. “Go and fight no more.”
But the appliance, in a decade-old rut, refused to budge. The men rocked and coaxed it. Will stepped in to help. They dug, braced and cursed and finally pried it free.
John held the screen door as the three manhandled the stove onto the back porch. Daisy glanced at the wall by the basement door, a poorly-spackled patch in the sheetrock by the light switch. Painted over and slightly bulging from the surface. But unless you were in the know, you wouldn’t guess the hole was created by someone’s head.
You like fucking her? Did it feel good?
She looked down at the square of blackened dust and grease on the linoleum floor. Bits of foil, cardboard and cellophane. Rubber bands and bottle caps.
And a dull glitter of gold.
Her heart knew what she was seeing before her brain could form words.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
She crouched down, picking it up with careful fingertips. The clasp was still joined, but one of the jump rings holding it to the chain had broken. She coiled it into her palm, closed it up safe and pressed her fist against her mouth.
“Dais, what’s wrong?” Lucky said.
Daisy held her hand out.
“Holy shit,” Lucky said. “Will, come here. Quick.”
Daisy closed her fist around the chain and charms again, held it at the base of her throat. The full weight of the day pressing on her back. She knew what happened. It broke while he was fighting David. It broke and fell off him, got kicked under the stove in the scuffle. And he was so upset and shocked, so destroyed, he didn’t even notice.
Will crouched down by her. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
John hunkered down, too, his hand on Daisy’s neck. She opened her palm to them.
“I’ll be fucked,” Will said slowly. “He’s been here this whole time.”
“Waiting for us to find him,” Lucky said, with a sad tiny laugh.
John’s hand tightened on Daisy’s nape as he pulled her head to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really thought you had it all this time.”
Will cupped his palms and Daisy gave him the necklace. He held it up, touching each charm in silent inventory. The gold fish. The boat. The St. Birgitta medal.
The scissors were missing.
I fell down.
And then I fell off.
Daisy looked up at Will. Through the links of gold he met her eyes. He made to give it back to her and she shook her head.
“No,” she said. “No, you do it.”
“Are you sure?”
She glanced at John, then back at Will. “He wouldn’t believe me. It should come from you.”
Will put it carefully into his shirt pocket and they all stood up.
“Luck and I are going upstairs,” he said.
Daisy wiped her face and managed a laugh. “No, thank you. I’m done.”
“Will you go over to your place after?” John asked, tilting his head toward Colby Street.
“No,” Will said, heading into the living room. “I don’t need to see where I slept with James.”
Silence in his wake. John and Daisy flicked wide eyes to each other.
“I’ll c
heck on Dave,” John said, and with a last squeeze on Daisy’s neck he headed out.
Alone in the kitchen, she walked about, touching drawer handles and the sink fixtures in a stupid and transfixed state. She brushed her hand over the patch in the wall. The floor was clear, but her feet remembered the crunch and rattle of broken dishes.
Her hand went to her throat, felt for a charm that had never hung there.
Commotion on the back porch, the workers were bringing the new stove in. Quickly Daisy started picking around in the dirt and dust, heart pounding. Fingers flicking and pushing. Loose pennies. Crumbs and wrappers. A petrified French fry. It had to be here.
Please.
A flash of gold. Her fingertips darted and she had them. Relief washed over her as she stood up and carefully blew the last bits of grime off the tiny scissors. She tucked them in the inside pocket of her purse, and with a last look around the kitchen she went out to meet the boys on the porch.
“WILL YOU DO something for me?”
“Anything,” Daisy said, picking a loose thread off David’s watch cap. “It’s done.”
He wanted to go downtown and see if Omar’s tattoo parlor was still there.
“Are you getting ink?” she said.
“I might,” he said. His chin lifted and his closed-mouth grin was a wry challenge.
On the drive over, she thought she might too. Have the bit of Latin from the Requiem put on top of one of her scars—qua resurget ex favilla. From the ashes shall rise.
But as they walked down the street, they saw the parlor was no more. The West Indian grocery store was still open, but next door was now a hair salon. Disappointment flooded Daisy’s mouth, unexpected and bitter. They stood outside the door a few minutes, lost and forlorn.
“Do you want to try somewhere else?” she finally said.
“No.” David looked so tired. “No, I wanted to come here. Can we sit down a minute?”
Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
He shrugged her off. “I’m fine. I’m tired and my hopes are dashed and I just want to sit down, Marge. Don’t have a baby.”
The grocery store had a few little tables. They got coffee and sat in the window. Daisy’s eyes kept darting around, looking for Omar or Camille. Where did they go? What happened?
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