Free Here to Stay by Suanne Laqueur Page B

gently, after one last hug on the porch, after the last one, after just one more. She put a firm arm around Daisy and took her inside. The door closed.
    Bag in hand, Erik trudged down the porch steps with the macho stoicism of a revolutionary going to the wall to be shot. It was starting to rain. Naturally.
    He got in the car, his face a stone. Will didn’t offer a word as he put it in gear and drove them away. For two miles Erik stared out the window, listening to the smeary scrape of the windshield wipers.
    “One of the rear tires on Daisy’s car looked low on air,” he said. “Remind her to fill it?”
    Will looked at him with a curt nod.
    Erik exhaled heavily and turned on the radio. The rest of the drive he made some innocuous chit-chat, but mostly he looked out the rain-beaded window and let all the songs make him feel like shit.
    “I’m tempted to put on Barry Manilow,” Will said. “Let it get really ugly.”
    Erik chuckled. “I’d open my jugular right here. Ruin your upholstery.”
    Will started to sing under his breath. “When will our eyes meet…?”
    “Shut up.”
    Will sang louder, leaning over the arm rest. “When can I touch you?”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Erik said, laughing. “You put that song in my head, I’ll fucking kill you.”
    “Oh Mandy…”
    Erik smacked the back of his hand against Will’s arm. “Asshole.”
    “You know you can’t smile without me, Fish.”
    “That’s always been my problem.” And Erik was smiling. Still miserable and moody and contemplating throwing himself off a bridge. But smiling.
    Will pulled up to the departures terminal. They both got out, hugged and pounded each other’s backs at the curb.
    “Did I apologize for that phone call?” Erik asked the air over Will’s shoulder.
    “About thirty times.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I know.” Will stepped back. “Now don’t try anything funny because I’m circling this airport until I see your plane take off.”
    Erik smiled. “Watch my ass as I fly into the sunset?”
    “You wish.” Will’s hand landed in a soft swat on Erik’s face. “Bring that ass back soon or I’ll kill you.”
    “I will.”
    “Promise?”
    “I promise,” Erik said. “I’m back.”
    Will ruffled Erik’s hair. “All right. Don’t fucking call me.”
    “Believe me, you miserable bitch, I won’t.”
    Will gave a stern flick of his jaw toward the airport doors. “Go.”
    Erik went. Feeling he hadn’t done enough and was leaving the best of himself behind.



“DON’T BE NERVOUS,” Daisy said, laying a hand on his forearm.
    “I’m not nervous,” Erik said, his stomach burning.
    I’m flat out scared, he thought.
    The sun was starting its descent over the rolling hills of Lancaster County. The day had been suspiciously mild for January: one of winter’s smartass attempts to get you to drop your guard and think it won’t be so bad after all. Then she’d swoop in for the kill.
    “Remember where you’re going?” Daisy asked.
    “I remember,” Erik said. It was surreal how little directional prompting he needed. Left at the crossroads. Bear right at the gas station. He smiled at the yellow barn with the beautiful compass rose hex signs on its façade. He raised his fingers off the steering wheel at the huge Amish Quilts roadsign and its patchwork design.
    Hello. It’s me. I’m back.
    His heart kicked up as they cruised along a half-mile of split rail fence and another familiar road sign loomed ahead: Bianco’s: Farm to Market.
    He turned up the road, eyes sweeping the land. The Christmas trees were full-grown—they were saplings when Erik first saw them freshman year of college. More acres of them sprawled on his left. The bare orchard trees on the right looked bigger and more numerous. The grapevines were cut down to the ground, leaving only the supports lining the slopes like stunted telephone poles.
    A mailbox marked the Biancos’ private driveway. At its base squatted a funny little stone statue,