Here to Stay

by Suanne Laqueur

  This, he thought. This and only this.

  Thank you for this.

  He let go of time and floated on the moment. Not quite leaning into it. Not yet.

  “Oh God,” Daisy said. Her face was twisting and she bit down on her bottom lip. “Erik.”

  He picked up his head, a stab of adrenaline in his chest. “What’s happening?” he said.

  “So much for a breather,” she said, gasping.

  A second nurse reached gloved hands in to take Kirsten. Lee spooned some ice water into Daisy’s mouth and then helped her sit up. “Let’s go, Mama.”

  “All right, Daisy,” Alibrandi said. “I know you’re tired. You have to dig deep now.”

  “You got this,” Erik said, standing up and getting a hand under Daisy’s bent knee. His other hand reached to touch her face. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes met his. “You told me I was done.”

  “I lied.”

  Her chin gave a short nod. “I’ll get you for this, motherfucker.”

  “It’s now officially what I do,” Erik said.

  She let out a sharp cry and her eyes doubled in size. “Oh my God, he’s right there.”

  “Let’s do this,” Alibrandi said. “Put him in my hands.”

  “Show me a beautiful boy,” Lee said.

  From somewhere across the crowded delivery room, Kirsten was crying again.

  “It’s all right, honey,” Erik said under his breath, braced against Daisy’s strength. “He’s coming, I promise. Give your mother a minute…”

  THE SCREENED-IN PORCH was finished. Down to the cushions on the wicker seating, the lights around the large window openings and the three ceiling fans. They made a low purr and the occasional squeak as they kept the breeze moving through.

  Erik and Daisy lay together on the double-wide chaise lounge, a bit of extravagance they felt was vital to their existence. In good weather, it was always in use.

  Today was good. The sun moved in and out of the clouds, glinting off Astrid’s diamond on Daisy’s hand and flinging tiny rainbows around the white woodwork. The May air was warm enough for short sleeves and bare feet. Cool enough for a throw blanket across their legs.

  At the end of the dock, Will and Lucky sat in the Adirondack chairs, holding hands, their faces turned up to the sun. Sara’s sing-song chatter ebbed and flowed as she swung on the tire suspended from the oak tree. At the play kitchen at the base of the trunk, Jacy banged pots and pans, stirring mud and leaves and flower buds.

  “Uncle Erik,” Jack said, appearing on the other side of the screen. “Let’s go fishing.”

  “I can’t,” Erik said, his eyes closed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m loving your aunt right now.”

  Jack sucked his teeth. “You can love her anytime you want.”

  “But I want to love her right now.”

  Daisy turned her head on Erik’s chest and smiled at Jack. “I’m being loved.”

  Jack kicked at the ground. “I’m never loving girls when I grow up. You waste so much time.”

  “Good plan,” Erik said, yawning. “It’s too late for me. I ruined my life loving girls.”

  “I’ll fish with you, Jacques,” Joe said, coming around the side of the house. “You want to cast from the dock or take the boat out?”

  They ambled off, discussing a plan. Erik’s hand moved along Daisy’s back.

  Francine came out the kitchen door with Kirsten.

  “Look how beautiful,” she said.

  She came over and laid the baby on Erik’s chest. Just bathed, Kirsten was cool and soft in a striped sailor shirt and little blue jeans, the damp wisps of her light brown hair drawn aside and clipped with a bow. The sleepy, blinking eyes above her pacifier were dark blue. None of the Bianco green in their irises. These were her Uncle Peter’s sapphire eyes.

  Byron’s eyes.

  Francine shook out a receiving blanket and smoothed it over Kirsten, then went back inside and returned with her grandson, who had been named Kennet William.

  “Why?” Will said when he found out.

  “Why?” Erik grabbed Will’s wrist and turned it up to show the tattooed fish. “Why’d you do that?”

  Will pressed his mouth in a tight smile and said nothing.

  “You set me in your presence forever,” Erik said. “I don’t want any more tattoos so I set you in my presence this way.” He dropped Will’s arm and swatted the tear-streaked face. “And Kennet Asshole doesn’t have as nice a ring to it.”

  They tried calling him Kenny, but it never rolled easily off their tongues. They tried Kees, but it made their hearts hurt. For a couple months it was KW, which was cute, but a mouthful. It truncated to K-Dub and finally became Kade.

  Wearing only a onesie, he wiggled in Francine’s arms, eyes wide above a damp slick fist in his mouth, his sturdy legs running in the air.

  “Where’s Mama?” Francine said. “Look, there she is.”

  Kade thrust his arms out, nearly toppling from his grandmother’s grasp.

  Daisy reached up. “Come here, Godzilla.”

  “I couldn’t get his pants on.”

  Erik raised a hand. “I taught him that,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Laughing, Francine got another blanket. She leaned and kissed all four heads, then let herself out the screen door to wander around the gardens.

  Daisy’s hand moved in circles on Kade’s butt. He looked this way and that, kicking at the blanket. He gnawed his fingers and bopped his forehead against Daisy’s collarbones, gurgling all the while.

  “Dude, you’re a lunatic,” Erik said softly. “Chill.”

  Kade waved a wet hand and blew bubbles, his face unfolding in a toothless grin. Bald for the first five months of his life, fine blond hair was beginning to cover his head. His eyes were somewhere between grey and green, with the Bianco blue rim around the iris.

  “Look,” Daisy said. “Look who’s here, Kade.”

  Outside the screen, a hummingbird hovered above the masses of daisies planted around the porch. It levitated up, down, then zoomed toward the magenta pompoms of the bee balm. It swooped and darted, squeezing in and out of small places. Looking for sweetness.

  “It’s Trudy,” Daisy said. “She came to say hi.”

  Kade wasn’t interested. He arched up like a lopsided sphynx, his chubby hand reaching toward his sister. Daisy leaned a little to close the gap. Bubbling and cooing, Kade touched Kirsten’s shoulder and gave one last questioning croon.

  Kirsten turned her head as if to answer, but her eyes were closed. Her downy eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if in deep thought. One little fist tucked by her chin, the other curled tight on Erik’s finger. Around her neck on the tiniest of chains slid the silver fish.

  Erik sighed under his daughter’s placid weight and regarded his wriggling son. “Go to sleep,” he said.

  Kade gave a small bark of laughter.

  “Fat chance,” Daisy said. She ran her fingernails lightly along Kade’s limbs. Sometimes this got him to settle down.

  “Good thing you’re cute, kid,” Erik said, yawning. All he did these days was stumble around and yawn. He’d feel more alert on a Benadryl drip.

  “Da,” Kade said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Erik said. “Don’t sweet-talk me.”

  “Da da da,” the boy sang. He put his cheek on Daisy’s chest and she scratched his back.

  “This is nap time,” she said. “We love nap time.”

  “I see Kirsten napping nicely,” Erik said. “Who else is napping nicely?”

  “Da,” Kade said.

  “Da is not napping,” Erik said. “Because Kade won’t go to sleep. Ever.”

  But then, thank God, Kade yawned and pressed a fist to his face.

  Erik reached to curve his hand around the baby’s head, stroking a thumb between his eyes. “You just think life is amazing, don’t you?”

  “He’s too happy to sleep,” Daisy said, yawning.

  Erik went on
caressing his son’s forehead, suffused with an exhausted, content peace. Knowing now the first soul had been too big for one body. Nothing was wrong with Kees’s ride—it just didn’t have enough seats.

  You broke and left, but then you came back.

  Because you were meant to be mine.

  On top of his heart, Kirsten sighed.

  “Da,” Kade said.

  Your heart is huge, Erik thought. Your love will be amazing.

  Feel all of it.

  Kade smiled. Under his father’s touch, the tiny eyelids closed for longer and longer until at last, they stayed shut.

  Erik’s own thick eyes drooped as he looked at Daisy. Her shirt stained with milk, drool and bits of lunch the twins had thrown at her. Her hair half-falling out of its bun, an earring missing, her eyes smudged with fatigue. The gold fish and the pearl neatly nestled in the hollow of her throat. Kade’s mouth moving against her collarbone, sucking in his sleep.

  This is my forever.

  “You so much,” he said, drifting off.

  A last flash of blue-green before she closed her eyes, tilted toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. “So much you.”

  The hummingbird zipped past the porch again. It floated on the air, its sleek body suspended between blurred wings. For a moment it gazed at the sleeping Fiskares through the screen. Then, with a last green-gold flicker, it flew away toward the lake.

  I WRITE STORIES FROM LIFE, and the following people may or may not be aware they contributed to this book:

  Dawn Valzania, who suggested less angst and more banging the manny.

  Julianne Pressman, who drew a line and is always on my side.

  Amy Alt, who helped me get Erik to Canada.

  David Cramer, who ate all the maraschino cherries at Mary Laqueur’s wedding.

  Mary Laqueur Holt, who was a vision in her wedding gown.

  Christine Wiita, whose copy of National Geographic: Drives of a Lifetime introduced me to the Finnish colony of Peñedo and gave me an idea.

  Bill Webb, who showed me how to set the proper DMX value for the automated lighting fixtures.

  Rob MacKechnie, for his impeccable taste in wedding favors.

  Dawn Curran, who did amazing damage control after Poltergeist.

  My sister-in-law Janine, for her patient answering of a thousand IVF questions.

  Corinne Videla, who had a Lucky to get right in bed with her and hold the pieces together.

  Kathy McNamee, whose voice is set in her son’s presence forever. Her dignified grace and courage and her fierce love for Matt shaped Christine Fiskare like nothing else.

  The SLQR Advance Read Army. If I lose you, my stories will die.

  My editor, Becky Dickson. When I write, I can hear you.

  My stylists: Tracy Kopsachilis, who makes my books beautiful on the outside and Colleen Sheehan, who makes them beautiful on the inside.

  The IABB community who is a priceless source of support, humor and friendship.

  Emma Scott, author and friend, whose sound, fearless feedback made me dig deeper.

  Alleskelle Fraser, for pardoning my French.

  Rach Lawrence, for reading what I write.

  Ami, because not everything has to be a thing. (Literally.)

  Stacie, my gold medal wingman.

  My irrefutable fract, Fank.

  My grandfathers Ernest and David. My grandmothers Lena and Clara.

  My parents, for life and its collection of perfect moments.

  My brother, whose saving grace is believing in love.

  My husband JP, who proposed in the kitchen. (Him so much.)

  My daughter Julie, who looked into my eyes while she was being born and made me see the past and future.

  And my son, AJ, who was meant to be mine. He just caught a bad ride the first time around.

  SUANNE LAQUEUR’S DEBUT novel The Man I Love won a gold medal in the 2015 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards. Its other accolades include the 2015 Beverly Hills Book Award, a gold medal at the 2015 eLit Awards, and was a finalist in the 2015 Kindle Book Awards.

  Laqueur graduated from Alfred University with a double major in dance and theater. She taught at the Carol Bierman School of Ballet Arts in Croton-on-Hudson for ten years. An avid reader, cook and gardener, she started her blog EatsReadsThinks in 2010. She lives in Westchester County, New York with her husband and two children.

  With The Man I Love and its companion novel, Give Me Your Answer True, Laqueur has gone from choreographing dancers to choreographing words. Her goal is to create a new kind of emotionally-intelligent romance that appeals to the emotions of all readers, crossing gender, age and genre. Visit her at www.suannelaqueur.com.