I don’t call. But I do tell Emily how much I hate Miranda calling me darling, which makes my sweet girl smile.
I make it my mission to draw out that smile during the hours I’m awake. After getting the nod from the male nurse, who seems to be her guru in all things brain-injury related, Emily reads to me by the hour, even when I’m sleeping. I ask her read her own books to me, but she gives me a shy smile and claims she doesn’t have them with her. Instead, she reads to me from the works of Arthur Conan Doyle, because she says Sherlock Holmes is her second favorite detective. That gives me the opening to talk with her about investigative methods in general, and my search for the brick in particular, so that I can normalize my injury as much as possible. I know seeing me hurt must have terrified my little girl, even if she’s putting on the bravest of brave faces.
She smiles much more easily after I give her a schedule on the third day after my surgery. I model it on the schedule I gave her for the plane, with no more than an hour of sitting at my bedside before she takes a break to stretch or eat or exercise. She insists on both Maude and Niall sitting with me when she goes for the first of the fifteen-minute walks on my schedule, but looks so much more relaxed when she returns that Maude immediately ordains several more walks every day. Since Emily knows I have her taking walks every two hours, she simply smiles and says, “Yes, ma’am.”
My good girl.
The only order Emily won’t obey is getting back in bed with me. Evidently Benjie reprimanded her when she did it right after my surgery. Although I tell her she answers only to me, she refuses to go against anything he, or Dr. Lacey, tells her might hamper my recovery. Instead, she sleeps on a little cot Benjie brings for her each night, a clandestine arrangement since visiting hours end at twenty thirty. I sleep restlessly, not because of the pain, but because my arms are empty.
Finally, on the fourth day after my surgery, Benjie takes out all of the tubes stuck in me, including the motherfucking catheter, which is the thing that’s bothered me the most. Much more than the five-inch incision in my head or the titanium mesh holding together the broken bone beneath. Emily watches the removal of the last tube with gleaming eyes. As soon as Benjie moves away with his cart of tubes and bags, Emily climbs onto the foot of the bed. She worms herself up against my side, settles her head on my shoulder, and closes her eyes with a big sigh.
Benjie clears his throat.
Emily cracks open an eye to look at him before she gives him a beatific smile and snuggles back into me. “You said I couldn’t be in bed with him as long as he had those tubes in. Now they’re out.”
“You still shouldn’t be in a hospital bed with him. Health and safety,” Benjie grumps.
“I’ll risk it,” I tell him, happier to have my little girl back in my arms than anything since seeing her walk into the ICU.
“Dr. Lacey’ll be in to check you before she signs your discharge.” He points a thick finger at us. “Do not let her find you in that bed together.”
“No, Benjie, sir,” Emily says, with her eyes still closed, smiling against my shoulder.
After he leaves, she whispers to me, “Vashi and I are going to find him a nice subbie. He needs someone to call him sir and give him welcome-home blow jobs every night.”
That makes me chuckle, even though I’ve felt a few pinches of jealousy watching Emily respond to Benjie’s apparently subconscious dominance. “He does, does he?”
“Uh-huh. He’s such a Dom. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“What about Daddy? Do I get welcome-home blow jobs every night?”
“Yes, Daddy, and good morning ones, too. Lots and lots of blow jobs as soon as Hendry clears you for sex.”
Hendry?
“Who’s Hendry, baby?”
“The physical therapist Mistress Maude recommended. She’s in the East Village, so we can walk to her office once you’re walking again. In the meanwhile, she’ll come to your house. You’ve got your first appointment with her the day after we get back to New York.”
“That’s quick work, little girl.”
“I have to get you better.” She lifts up onto her elbow and looks at me very seriously. “I’m still on orgasm restriction until you give me an hour of edging. I need you better fast, Daddy.”
I chuck her under the chin with my free hand. “I would never keep you on orgasm restriction until I’m better. I’ll give you an orgasm now if you take off those cute shorts.”
My fingers will work fine for that task, and I’m sure I can do it without raising the intercranial pressure that everyone’s so worried about.
She shakes her head. “I don’t want orgasms while you can’t have them.”
I tuck her back against my side, her face in my neck. “Emmy, you are such a wonder.” I stroke her hair. We haven’t said the magic words since the ICU. “I love you, little girl.”
She gives a happy sigh, her breath warm across my collar. “I love you,
