hand against the other, then took her vacuum and her bucket and retreated.
His heart pounding, Erik reached for his phone and texted Daisy.
I believe Madame’s cleaning lady is here.
She replied a minute later. FUCK. I switched her day. I totally forgot. I’m so sorry…
No worries, he typed. A little embarrassing when I met her at the door naked. But I think she’s laughing about it now.
Don’t even…
She brought me breakfast in bed. Nice lady.
She’s fired.
He got out of bed, scratching and yawning. He picked his jeans and T-shirt off the floor, shook them out and got dressed. In the adjoining bathroom he swished some toothpaste around his teeth with an index finger, rinsed and spat, and smiled in the mirror as he dried his mouth.
“This is happening,” he said to his reflection.
HE WENT DOWNSTAIRS, skirting the cleaning lady in the living room. In the kitchen he lit a burner and pushed the kettle onto it. He found tea bags and the sugar bowl. The third drawer he tried had spoons. Opening all the cabinets to look for a mug, he found in one a pharmacy.
If you were in pain, Daisy was your girl. Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, Motrin. Various generic cousins for all. A plethora of vitamins and herbal supplements. She had a distinct preference for anything available in gummy form.
Her prescription meds were clustered together, separated in a dignified white-bottled grouping. Conscience and curiosity did a quick face-off in Erik’s head. Curiosity body-slammed conscience and he turned each bottle to the front. Zoloft. Wellbutrin. He knew the names well. Another bottle had Clonazepam. He laughed under his breath. Captain Clon. The real vitamin C. He had his own bottle in his shaving kit back at the hotel.
“Never leave home without it,” he said.
He flipped open a flat, buff disk to find birth control pills, that day’s blister empty.
He thought about last night.
“Come back to me,” she had cried over the phone. And he could deny her no more. Couldn’t deny himself another minute without her. He had no more time to throw away. He pulled jeans over his bare skin, zipped a jacket over his thin T-shirt. Without socks, gloves or a hat, he burst out of the hotel, careened into the bitter Canadian night and drove back to her house. She was waiting for him and took him upstairs to her room.
It began.
Yet it couldn’t begin.
Not until he was done with one last thing. Not until he was on his knees on her bedroom floor, untying the drawstring of her soft pants. Not until he pushed down the waistband and the flash of red letters was in his sight. Red letters spelling Svensk Fisk and forming the shape of a fish in the hollow of Daisy’s hip bone. Forming the shape of him, for he was that Swedish fish inked forever in her skin. Fiskare the fisherman. And he wasn’t done grieving the past yet. Not until he pressed his fingers to the red letters. Then wrapped his arms around the backs of her legs and pressed his mouth against her skin. Tasted the ink of himself on the canvas of her body. Found he was still there. She hadn’t erased him.
It was on him then. The dam of his heart broke. His throat dissolved. His lungs gave up the last of their poisoned misery and he sobbed.
She slid down the wall to sit and gathered him close, her hair falling down on either side of their heads. She didn’t shush him or soothe him with words. Only held him tight in the strong circle of her arms and let him dump the rest of it into her lap.
Then it was done.
Then it began.
They didn’t even get to the bed the first time. Down on the cold floor they grappled. Kissing and seizing. With all the grace of a pair of chainsaws coupling. They remembered and forgot. He zigged and she zagged. His head clocked hard on the floorboards, then rebounded into her forehead. They grabbed brows, groaning in pain, then grabbed each other again, groaning in need and tearing at their clothes. Her earring got tangled up in the neck of her shirt. His jeans got snagged on an ankle. He was trying to get his mouth on her. She was trying to get her mouth on him. Neither seemed willing to calm down and take a minute or take turns.
They wanted everything at once, their kiss sliding around words and words smashing between their lips and tongues.