Page 148 of Antihero

“I understand,” she said. “I understand you now.”

He eased back the tape once more, and the makeshift valve hissed. Three seconds this time. Improvement.

“We can go now.” His voice still rasped, but the wheezing was over.

“I will drive.” She punched the ignition button and pulled out of the gas station. “You can rest at my place. Where I can look after you.”

“You don’t need that.”

“Don’t you learn anything? It is precisely what I need.”

Exhaustion swamped him. Slumping back in the seat, he sent out a quick text update to Joey and Candy. For the rest of the ride, he dozed on and off, awakening at intervals to relieve the pressure in his lung. By the time they reached the Bronx, no more air let out when he untaped the makeshift valve. Wincing, he pulled the shaft free. Then he doused the hole with vodka, sealed it with gauze, and taped it off. He measured his breaths. The wall of the lung held, the tiny perf closing over.

Anca lucked into a parking space right in front of her building. He got upstairs with minimal pain.

Candy answered the door. His shirt was still unbuttoned, the dressing clear against his sweat-shiny skin.

She noted the position of the bandage. “Tension pneumo?”

“Minor.”

She stepped back, letting them in.

Anca guided Evan to her father’s room. The door was closed. Anca hesitated at the threshold. They stood there a moment. Her head was lowered, eyes closed.

Then she pushed inside. She helped him ease down to sit on the perfectly made bed, the movement lifting a swirl of motes. Leaning back on the pillows, he took in the room, that bowl of painted eggs, the toothpick flags, the poster of the circle dance. Everything perfectly preserved. Behind the door hung that cowboy hat over the jean jacket, the slippers beneath filling out the invisible man. Her father. What would he think about what had happened to his daughter? What would he feel?

“You sure you want me in here?” he asked. “Couch is fine.”

“I am glad for an excuse to use Tată’s room. He’d be glad for it, too.”

“Just need a shower,” Evan said.

Candy leaned in the doorway. “Want me to wash your back?”

Anca actually gasped and then laughed at herself. “Not under my roof.”

Evan said, “I’ll manage on my own.”

“I’ll take her to the hospital for her test,” Candy said. “We have to assume she’s being followed now.”

“We can’t leave him here alone like this,” Anca said.

“He’ll be fine.” Candy’s arms were crossed, her manicured nails impatiently drumming her biceps. “Come on.”

Anca glanced from Candy to Evan. Then from Evan to Candy.

Giving a pert nod, she rose to leave.

He was asleep before the door closed behind her.

In the middle of the night, a movement at the doorway stirred Evan from sleep. He tried to focus, but his head was groggy from injury, exertion, and the afterwash of opioids. Someone drifted toward him.

He breathed plumeria, relaxed.

Candy sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands came into sleep-blurry view, a catheter in one hand, IV bag in the other. He tensed.

She ran her fingers through his hair. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Maybe he was still asleep.