Attempted. Attempted. That means she’s still alive. I hold onto those words like a buoy in a storm. The word murder sinks into me like a blade. How could this happen?
How could I let this happen?
I don’t even brace myself. I can’t feel the cold. I have no coat, just a holey woolen sweater and my own dread to keep me warm.
I run, slipping on ice, knocking into people, and swearing. I don’t care.
I need to see her now. And nothing’s going to stop me. Not even the sky.
46
HIRO
I burst through the hospital doors like a monster. I’m King Kong searching for Ann. I’m frozen through. Blue-lipped, teeth chattering. But my heart is on fire. It searches for its home. I breathe in large gulps of warm air. I’m. I’m. I’m…
I shrink. How do I tell her how sorry I am? How do I explain why it’s taken me so long to find her? My last thought almost brings me to my knees. What if she’s so badly broken that I can’t reach her?
I wobble, press in, and remind myself to be brave. That I can do this. I walk up to the reception and ask for Nora Deere. The woman looks down her nose at me, and I stare squarely into her eyes. “And who are you?”
Without faltering, I say, “I’m her fiancé. Hiro. Hiro Jackson.”
Putting a finger up to my face, she picks up the phone. “One moment, please.”
My eyes do what they always do-search for exits, for security guards, for cops. But it’s a tired version. I’m so tired of running. The woman swings away from me in her swivel chair, covering her mouth as she speaks. Her nasty eyes appraise me and find me all too Asian and all too lacking, but she eventually nods in a concessional type of way and finally finds my eyes. “All right, Mr. Jackson…” She says my name like it’s a lie. It kind of is. “Miss Deere, your fiancée, confirmed your relationship.” The woman talks like certain words taste bitter on her tongue. I ignore her sourness. “She’s on the fourth floor. Just go to the nurse’s station, and they’ll show you to her room.”
That’s one mark in the positive side of the ledger. She’s awake. She’s alert enough to confirm my lie. I breathe in and hold it. Four floors to prepare myself. Four floors to come up with something other than I’m sorry.
Gulping, I step into the elevator, holding the door open for a pregnant woman and her husband. They smile and push their floor. I stare at my feet. Always in the habit of hiding my face.
I look up when the bell dings. The woman holds her belly lovingly, rocking on her heels. Her husband keeps an arm protectively around her shoulder. They don’t look much older than me. Just a young couple doing one of those normal life things I’ve never really thought about.
The doors close, and I’m faced with my own warped reflection in the lift doors. He looks scared out of his skin. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks just as I’d expect a man in love to look if he’d just found out his fiancée was almost murdered.
I laugh then in a gulping, garbled way, warning myself not to get my hopes up. They flip up like winning cards, and I remind myself they could be the joker. Just because she backed up my deceit doesn’t mean anything. Small seeds of hope grow unwatered. It doesn’t mean nothing either.
The doors slide open, and I feel like I got there too fast. I’m standing at the nurse’s station and they’re nodding to me solemnly, sadly, and I start to really panic. Start to picture things I don’t want to picture. The nurse says, “Follow me, sir.”
Sir. Act like a sir. A man who has a right to be here.
I resist the urge to pat my pockets. Wipe my hands on my pants.
Just breathe. If she’s talking, it can’t be all that bad, surely. But then the word murder comes back and bites me again and again. Ripping at my skin relentlessly. I halt. “Nurse, wait.”
She turns around, soft blonde hair sweeping her shoulders. “Yes?”
My eyes drop to the floor and then I muster my courage, gather what I can. “Please, so I can prepare myself…” So I can be strong. “Can you tell me how bad her injuries are?”
Words hurt like torpedoes being shot into my chest.
Worst beating she’s ever seen.
Collapsed lung. Broken tibia.
Internal bleeding.
Severe concussion from repeated trauma. The nurse then acts out the motion of Kite’s head being slammed against a dumpster over and over again, and I think I might be sick. If there was blood in my face, it’s all gone now.
She stares at me with a new sympathy. Like I am bereaved. “There’s something else…”
Oh God, how could there be anything left?
Hold it together. You have to. For Kite. “Tell me.” I steady myself on the wall. This is too much.
“Well… she was bleeding when she arrived.” The way she says bleeding gives it a different meaning than the usual.
“You mean…” My eyes drop. She nods. I knew this. I knew she had her monthly.
“Well, we are required to do thorough examinations. We took records for the court case. Signs of previous abuse. Broken bones. Scarring both externally and internally…” I nod along, only half able to listen. But the nurse gets the sense this is not a shock to me. “It seems your fiancée has suffered a great deal of blunt trauma to her abdomen over the past ten years.” She twists awkwardly. “Her doctor sent over her records. Seems she had only just visited him on the day of the attack… He was quite forthcoming in sharing his diagnosis…”
I might just melt into the wall, turn a faded green. It doesn’t feel like it’s capable of holding me up any longer. “Please, Nurse, just tell me what it is.”
She shakes her head and sniffs. Wiping at her eyes. “It’s such a shame for someone so young, you know? After everything she’s had to endure, this seems like the cruelest twist of fate.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Nurse,” I prompt, my teeth grinding against each other.
“It appears Miss Deere’s abdominal scarring has caused adhesions that mean it is highly unlikely she will ever be able to bear children.”
My eyes widen. My heart squashes in my chest. Pieces of this jagged and complicated puzzle start to fly from the corners of my eyes, coming together. Revealing a picture. And I think I know, at least I hope I know, why she said no. “That son of a bitch.”
Swallowing my anger, I remember why I’m here. What I know I must say to her now.
This is not about marriage or money now.
There are simple words that I can say. Standing straight, I walk to her room.
It is the worst thing imaginable. It is the most heartbreaking truth of our story. While some husbands and beaus might not be able to identify their beloved after an attack, with their face swollen and purple, I recognize Kite straight away. Because as long as I’ve known Kite, she has always had some degree of bruising. She has always been coming from a beating or heading back into one.
The weight of that realization carves pieces from me. I hold them close. They are hers to do with as she pleases now.
My fingers grip the doorframe, fingernails digging into paint the color of mushrooms. My eyes rake the room. Kite shouldn’t be in this drab, neutral place. She deserves splashes of color, satin, and light. She deserves everything. The world to spin at her chosen pace and angle. The sun to slant and brush her beautiful cheeks. I swallow. Finding it hard to believe that what she wants is me. But then she looks up, grace and violence. Strength and fragility. Those amber eyes engulf me. Her lip quivers and she opens her mouth to speak, but I’m already at her side. I’m already sheltering her in my arms, covering her with kisses. There should never be space between us. Never be words we cannot say to each other.
“Oh, Kite, Look at you.” I carefully survey her. Tears bulge from her lashes and drag down her cheeks. Her lip is held between her teeth like it is holding in a scream. She is broken, but still holding together. Even if it’s by pure will alone. “You are so strong. So beautiful.” I trace her jaw with a touch
like gauze.
She’s making these strange hiccupping sounds, ribs rattling like combs. She’s letting go. She’s allowing herself a fall-apart moment. I edge onto the bed and let her cry in my arms, bury her head in my chest and expel all the pain and fear that’s been stuck inside her these past few days. I stroke her head like it’s made of eggshell, letting her sniff and wipe snot on my shirt. I let her pour all her grief into me. I can take it. I want to take it.
It’s a long time before she calms down, but her breath eventually comes more evenly. Steadier.
“Where’s Frankie?” she asks as I hand her a box of Kleenex.
Hand on hand. Trying to get as close as possible without hurting her. “She’s safe.”
At the same time, we whisper each other’s name. “Hiro.”
“Kite.”
She emits a tiny laugh like one precious strand of steam. I grasp it. She can still laugh. She starts to speak; I can feel the explanations bubbling below her throat. But she owes me none. There is only one thing that needs to be said. “Kite. You are all I want.”
Our eyes connect, and sadness brims in hers. I know mine are full of love. “But…” she begins.
Taking her hand, I press it to my lips. “You are, and will always be, enough for me.” I keep her eyes, see the warmth creeping in at the edges. The love that we somehow managed to grow out of dust and dirt. “You. Are. Everything. I. Need.”
Her chin falls, her eyes on our hands. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
I wish I could leave it there, but she presses. And I understand. She needs to be sure. “So, you know about my condition?”
I want to be clear. I want to leave no doubt in her head or heart that I will grow to resent us. “What I know is that you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And even though I know you would make a wonderful mother, if that is not possible for you, I am sure you and I will find other ways to share your love and compassion. And if you decide to share just a tiny part of that incredible heart with me, I’d be the luckiest guy in the world.”
She giggles, and I blush for all my gushing. “I’m scared you’ll change your mind.”
I smile. “You of all people should know how stubborn I can be by now.” Her lips are split. Blackened blood holding them together. “It doesn’t matter to me, Kite. You’re all that matters.” I run the tips of my fingers over her cheek to her lips, catching on the broken parts.
Her voice breaks over her words. These utterances crashing like small waves on the shore. “I wanted it. It mattered to me. I could see them, Hiro. I dreamt about them. Our children. And now they’re just… gone.”
I lean in and gently kiss her stubborn, damaged mouth. “We will fill our house with children. They may not be our own, but that doesn’t mean we won’t love them just as much.”
Again, the tears begin. She needs to grieve what she has lost. She whispers into my salted shirt. “He took this from me. He took it, and I can’t get it back.”
I take her shoulders; her skin and bones feel like a bird’s. She is delicate, but she is also formidable. I put a small amount of space between us, so I can see her face in all its ruined beauty. “Let this be the last thing he ever takes from you, okay? It ends here.”
She nods.
It ends here for Christopher Deere.
But Hiro and Kite are just beginning.
47
KITE
Hands smooth my blanket. A palm to my forehead. Fingers to my wrist. These hands are not rough from rusty hooks. Chipped from chain-link fences.
“He hasn’t left your side,” sighs the nurse. “It’s so romantic.”
I watch Hiro, twisted in a plastic chair. He’s good at sleeping in tight places. He’s just… good. We haven’t spoken of marriage again. Those words feel pushed through a keyhole. They’re what we follow, not what we need. It’s enough that he’s here—that I truly understand his love was never conditional on traditional things. It was never conditional. He’s right. We can make our own family. With the Kings, we’re more than halfway there as it is.
I haven’t told him about my visit with Mr. Inkham. But I will. For the first time, I feel like we have some time and space to figure things out. Time used to be measured in escaping seconds. Now, despite my collapsed lung, I feel like I can breathe.
“Hiro,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
He blinks awake suddenly, arms up in defense from imagined pickpockets. It will take some time for him to adjust to a life where he’s not always fighting for survival. I bite my lip. He’s so tied to the tunnel. To the Kings. What if he doesn’t want to leave?
He comes to the bed and takes my hand. “What is it? Do you need something?” His dark eyes are sleepy, his hair crinkled and messy.
I frown. I do. I need Frankie, but at the same time, I’m not sure I want her to see me like this. “I…”
He finishes for me. “You need Frankie, but you don’t know if she can handle…” He gestures at my general state. “…all of this.”
All of this. All of me folded into a swollen red and purple shape. I nod. “I don’t want to scare her.”
He sighs. Eyes darting to the corner. To those shadows we’ve become so accustomed to that are now missing. “Can I say something?” His dark hair ruffles over his eyebrows. His concern so sweet.
“Always.”
“She’s much tougher than you know. She also understands a lot more than we give her credit for… It may upset her to see you like this, but this is the truth of your situation. She needs to see what he did… and know there is no coming back from it. It will kind of be a final way for her to put him to rest.”
It sounds extremely harsh. I gulp. “You know he’s in prison now.”
He nods, eyes narrowing. “I know. It’s better than he deserves.”
I want to say it. I want to tell him that we could go home, to a real home, but something holds me back. He’s said no to me so many times. I couldn’t bear it if he turned me down again. I also need to be sure it’s what I want. So, I clutch the news to my chest even as it flaps its anxious wings and tries to get away from me. I’ll tell him. I will… There’s a break in the wings. A feather missing. I’m still not sure I want to go home. Not to that home.
“Can you bring her to me?” I ask, eyes glistening.
He smiles, teeth hiding. “Of course.”
I don’t want him to leave. We’re always torn. The second we manage to mend, something else gets in the way.
I settle my nerves. It will be okay. We stretch the seams. We lace together. We’re used to the call of other responsibilities.
He takes his coat and leaves.
And I feel like those threads are getting picked at, just a little. Because I want to give Hiro the world, and I’m scared he won’t accept it.
He’s only gone an hour, but it’s enough time for me to have chewed my nails down and started on the skin. A small knock on the door startles me, and I straighten in my bed. Try to look less destroyed. More like I survived a boxing match rather than was simply boxed.
“Nor-ah…” Frankie sounds like a mouse. It’s unusual for her. But then, what must I look like to her? I smile. It hurts my cut lip, and I touch it to check it hasn’t started bleeding again. “Are you okay?”
Timid feet tiptoe into the room. Messy, fire-lit hair. Smudge of dirt on her jaw. A strong, warm shadow behind her, keeping her safe. For me.
“I’m okay.” I look up into Hiro’s expression. It’s sadness and belief. It’s trust and encouragement. It says you’re not okay, but you will be. I beckon to her and she scuttles across the linoleum floor, her arms landing on the bed. She tries to hug me, and I make a strange squealing noise when she presses too hard on my chest. “Actually, Frankie, I’m not really okay. I’m hurt. I’m quite badly hurt.” Those last words are so hard for me to say. I’ve been the soldier. The shield. I’ve always protected her from physical harm. But I’ve also always kept her clear of the details. Shut her out and boxed h
er in.
She blinks up at me with tears in her eyes, and I don’t want to continue. Hiro tips his chin. His eyes say I can do this. He steps away from the doorway, leaving us alone.
“What happened to you, Nor-ah?” She swings where she stands. Constant movement. A top that perpetually spins. But she’s being careful of me. She’s growing up. God, I wish she wouldn’t.
“Our father got very angry…” I start, then stop. Realizing in some way, I’m trying to justify his actions. “I mean…”
Her blue eyes show she knows it all. She just needs me to confirm it. “Deddy hurt you, didn’t he?”
I reach for her hands. Our fingers becoming a nest. A haven for a new life, free from the terror of Christopher Deere. “Our father really hurt me, Frankie. I want you to understand that he hurt me so badly that the police came and took him away.”
“Is he in jail?” she asks. Still squeezing my grated fingers. Her little chest rising and falling fast. Her feet dancing as they always do.
“He’s in jail, and he will probably be there for a very long time.” Not probably. He will. He will. He will.
She exhales loudly. I can actually feel the relief pouring from her rattling lungs. A sweet breeze carrying blossoms and lilies. “Good. Then we can go home.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
My face tightens. Home. Home feels far away for me. But Frankie’s eyes are bright with anticipation. With hope. “I don’t know…”
She stands on her tiptoes. Leaning over me, a waif with flames for hair and iron for will. “If he’s not there, then we can be there. If he’s not coming back, then we don’t hef to worry no more.”
There’s a please in her eyes. A please I can’t possibly refuse. “Okay. When I get out of here. We can go home.” And maybe with her help and Hiro’s, we can flush the bad air out and fill it with good things. Lost and found things.
Hiro Loves Kite Page 17
