27. Vandal
VANDAL
The house is quiet after everyone leaves.
My back aches as I load the last cup into the dishwasher.
And I think about the number of times I’ve wondered what a day like this would feel like: A tight brotherhood of men who would literally do anything for me.
A best friend who cares enough to organize help when I need it.
A woman to love who has the strength to deal with the harshness of this life, but also the softness to keep me human.
And a little girl who has wrapped herself around my heart.
This kitchen used to be a sink full of dishes I didn’t give a shit about and the scent of motor oil from where I repaired bikes in the spot a dining table should be.
Tonight, the quiet is different. Because it’s not silence.
I can hear the strains of laughter and splashing from the bathtub down the hall and the low murmurs of Daisy’s and Elsie’s voices.
As I’m cleaning and putting things away, I find a half-drunk bottle of vodka from before my accident. Is there still a whisper of temptation to lift it to my lips and feel the freedom that kind of escape brings?
Sure, I’m not cured. The physical exertion hit different today. And I had a flashback when I went into the garage and found a baseball bat.
But I’m cured enough that I simply open it and pour it down the sink.
I spot a pink cup on the counter with a straw that’s been chewed on by tiny teeth sticking out of the top of it. It’s glitter and flowers and everything that isn’t me.
And yet, I’d die for the kid who owns it.
There’s a pair of Daisy’s sandals by the back door, and one of Elsie’s sneakers. And I suppose that’s gonna be the next ten years of my life, making sure she can always find the other.
Daisy comes into the kitchen and catches me staring. “What?” she asks.
I rub my hand over my mouth and then look around the kitchen. Down the hallway, Elsie is brushing her teeth while trying to simultaneously sing some song about a frog as far as I can tell. “Up until today, this place was a house. It had all the basics. Walls. A roof. A bed.”
It’s impossible to stop myself from walking over to Daisy. Carefully, I set my hands on her hips. Maybe it’s because that’s what I’m learning: Careful doesn’t mean weak. It’s not the opposite of strong.
“I want the two of you to help me make it a home.”
Daisy’s hands come up, and she slides them over my biceps. “This is all happening at a million miles an hour.”
I tug her close and brush my lips over hers. “I know. But I’m ready to get on with the rest of my life. Aren’t you?”
Daisy smiles at that. “I am.”
Before I can say anything else, a small voice yells from the hallway, “I’m done brushing, but I think your toothpaste is spicy.”
Daisy laughs into my chest, and I close my eyes for half a second and let the sound of it sink into the wood, the walls, and the bones of this house.
Then I call, “That’s because it’s grown-up toothpaste, baby girl.”
Elsie appears in the doorway with damp curls around her face, wearing dinosaur pajamas and holding Sir…Bear…in one hand. “I don’t think grown-ups should make their mouth hurt on purpose.”
“Fair point. Are you ready for bed?”
Elsie looks between me and Daisy, then lifts her chin. “Can Vandal tuck me in?”
Daisy’s hands tighten on my shirt, and mine tighten on her hip, because, fuck. It’s bedtime. And Elsie wants me above everyone else to put her to bed and let her know that she’s loved and safe.
“If your momma says it’s okay,” I say, because I don’t want to overstep with Daisy.
Daisy’s eyes shine, but her voice is steady. “It’s okay with me.”
Elsie beams as she gestures for me to follow her. “Come on, Vandal.” She disappears down the hallway, and I look to Daisy.
“What the heck am I supposed to do?”
Daisy laughs. “Make your own routine with her, but if it involves singing songs and reading stories, it’ll be plenty.”
I follow her down the hall to the room that was bare this morning. The bed and bedding is new, covered in rainbows and fairies and the occasional unicorn. There’s a nightlight shaped like the moon plugged into the wall, and three stuffed animals are lined up on the pillow.
Elsie climbs in and immediately rearranges everything to her requirements. “You can sit on that side,” she says, pointing to the left-hand side of the bed.
When we both finally settle, Elsie turns her face on the pillow so that she’s facing me. “Do I live here now?”
“You and your mama are staying here so I can look after you,” I tell her. “And because I want you here. But your momma decides what happens to you. Always.”
Her finger strokes her bear’s ear. “But can I keep my room?”
I smile at that. “Yeah. You can keep your room. But if you ever had to leave for any reason, you could take all this with you.”
She runs her hand over her pillow. “Even if I accidentally spill juice?”
I almost smile wider, but the question is asked so earnestly that I muster a serious face to respond. “This house was built to withstand a hurricane, I’m sure it’ll survive a splash of juice.”
Elsie pauses, flipping onto her back, then rolling to face me again. “Are you gonna be my dad? Because Jodie lives with her mom and dad.”
My first instinct is to look for Daisy, like maybe she could step in here. But I don’t want to be a coward with Elsie, ever. “Becoming someone’s dad is a real honor. And it’s something that you work on, together. Getting to know each other.”
“Like their favorite color?” Elsie asks.
“Yeah. Favorite color. What they like best for breakfast. Favorite movie of all time. So, here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m gonna look after you and your mom.
I’m gonna show up when I say I’m gonna show up, and I’m going to learn all those things about you, and you’re gonna learn all those things about me.
And I’m going to do the same with your momma.
And then we’ll decide if we think we like each other and love each other enough to be a family for real. ”
Elsie switches onto her back again; I swear she flip-flops around more than a loose fish in the bottom of a boat. “I already know I love you, Vandal.”
My heart bursts, like fully explodes. “Then I’m the luckiest man there is. If you ever need me, you call me like you did, and I’ll come get you.”
I don’t tell her I love her. Not because I don’t. But it feels wrong to toy with a little girl’s affection while me and her mom are figuring out what we mean to each other.
Elsie yawns, then blinks hard like she’s fighting sleep. “I don’t want your eye to fix.”
That knocks me sideways. “Why not?”
She reaches up and touches her finger to the eye she patches. “Because then we’re the same.”
I can’t breathe for a second. All day people have been telling me that the swelling is getting better. And that with time and more treatment, the blur will ease. Yet, I find myself wanting it to stay the same because the broken part of me makes her feel less alone.
“Elsie, sweetheart.”
She grabs her bear and scoots closer, pressing herself into my side. So I shift back against the headboard and gather her in. She’s tiny and warm and trusting as she lays her cheek against my ribs.
“Did you cry when you hurt your eye?”
I swallow deeply before I answer. “Yeah, Els. I did.”
“But you’re so brave,” she says. There’s such wholesomeness in her words that I force myself to look to the window until I can trust myself not to cry right now.
“Brave people cry too. It’s okay to express how you feel.”
She thinks about that and then snuggles closer. “You can cry in here with me if you ever want to.”
Fuck.
I press my mouth to the top of her head. I don’t know what the rules are for this. I only know she smells like strawberry shampoo.
“Momma sings me songs sometimes to help me sleep.”
Songs I can do. I think about the songs Mom would sing to me.
So, I sing Def Leppard’s “Two Steps Behind.” Telling Elsie through softly sung lyrics that wherever she goes, I’ll be two steps behind her and how there’s magic at her very core.
I skip the lines I’d forgotten that would make my take on the song weird in this context.
In between verses, Elsie looks up with sleepy eyes. “Today has been the best day of my life.”
I smile at that and keep singing until she flops against me in sleep.
And even then, I keep singing until the song is done.
By the time I ease out from under her, I feel like my heart has been rolled through a pasta maker. Her arms reach for her bear in sleep, holding it to her. And I stand here for longer than I meant to, just looking at her.
Then I pull the blanket over her and leave the door open a crack.
I find Daisy out by the pool, her bare feet tucked under her on one of the chairs.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts over a pair of denim shorts.
The porch is screened to keep mosquitos and other bugs out, but the light is off.
The yard is silver with early moonlight, and the warm air carries the distant rasp of insects from the trees. She looks up when I step outside.
“She asleep?”
“Out cold. I sang to her. But not before she asked me some difficult questions.”
That brings her eyes back to mine. “She did?”
“She asked if I’m gonna be her dad,” I say. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say yes, even though it was on the tip of my tongue. I told her decisions like that take time and that we need to learn some things about each other first. But, I’ve got to be honest, the word yes was right there.”
Daisy’s eyes shimmer with tears. “For what it’s worth, Vandal, I think you’d make a pretty cool dad.”
I think about what she said for a moment. “You know, sitting with Elsie, wanting to make sure she’s always safe and happy…makes me think I owe my mom an apology. I pushed her away because I didn’t want her to see me like this. But…”
Daisy sniffs. “I know if Elsie was hurting, physically or otherwise, you’d need an army to keep me away.”
I rub my hands over my face. “I hid behind the clubhouse. She couldn’t just walk in because she’s a civilian.”