“I am?”
“Well, you and Calico. And Stewy Stinker.” She laughed, a wet hiccup that she swallowed back. She stepped back abruptly, and I knew she was getting ready to pull away.
“So do what you used to do. When you need to cry, do what you used to do.” There was a desperate note in my voice.
“What?” Georgia asked.
“Give me five greats, Georgia.”
She winced. “Damn you, Moses.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since you told me Eli was showing me his favorite things. You would be surprised how many times I caught myself making little lists of good things over the last seven years. And it was all your fault.”
“I was such a pain in the ass, wasn’t I?” She laughed again, but there wasn’t much mirth in the short expulsion of air. “I drove you nuts. Buzzing around you like I had it all figured out. I didn’t know anything. And you knew I didn’t know anything. But you liked me anyway.”
“Who says I liked you?”
She chuckled, remembering the conversation from the long ago day by the fence.
“Your eyes said you liked me,” she answered bluntly, the way she would have once. And then she nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear like she couldn’t believe she was flirting with me.
“Come on. Five greats.”
“Okay. Um. Man, it’s been a long time.” She was silent for a minute. I could tell she was really searching. She rubbed her palms against her jeans, as if she was trying to wipe away the discomfort that was written all over her face, all over her body.
“Soap.”
“Okay.” I tried not to smile. It was such a random item. “Soap. What else?”
“Mountain Dew . . . with ice and a straw.”
“This is pathetic,” I teased softly, trying to goad her into a smile. She did smile a little, just a twist of her lips, but she stopped rubbing her hands.
“Socks. Cowboy boots without socks would suck,” she announced, a little more confidently.
“I wouldn’t know. But yeah. I can see that,” I agreed, nodding.
“That’s five,” she said.
“We aren’t counting ice and straws. They came with the Mountain Dew. Come on. Two more.”
She didn’t argue about the disqualification of two of her “Five Greats,” but she was silent for a long time. I waited, wondering if she was done playing. Then she took a deep breath, looked at her hands, and whispered, “Forgiveness.”
A burning ache rose in my throat that was both foreign and instantly familiar.
“Yours . . . or mine?” I asked, needing to know. I held my breath, trying to hold back my emotion and watched as she tucked her hands in her pockets and seemed to gather her courage.
“Both,” she answered. With a deep inhale, she met my gaze. “Will you forgive me, Moses?”
Maybe she was seeking forgiveness for Eli because she hadn’t yet forgiven herself. But I didn’t blame her for Eli, I loved her for Eli, and I wanted to tell her there was nothing to forgive. But that wouldn’t be the truth either, because I had other things to forgive. No one had ever wanted me, starting from the day I was born. But Georgia had wanted me. And because she had wanted me when no one else did, I had immediately been suspicious. I had immediately distrusted her. And I had always held it against her.
“I forgive you, Georgia. Can you forgive me?”
Georgia nodded, even before I finished asking. “I already have. I didn’t realize it. But I’ve had a lot of time to think over these last couple of weeks. I think I forgave you the moment I saw Eli. The moment he was born. He was such a work of art. Such a little masterpiece. And you created him. We created him. How could I not love you, even just a little bit, when I saw him?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. So I nodded, accepting her forgiveness. And she smiled. I was too emotionally raw to smile back, afraid that parting my lips, even just a little bit, would re-open all my old cracks. So I touched her cheek, softly, gratefully, and let my hand fall back to my side.
“That’s five greats then, Moses,” she said. “Your forgiveness. And mine.”
Moses
I DIDN’T LET THAT FORGIVENESS go to waste. I brought flowers. I fixed dinner and bought cupcakes. And I kept drawing pictures. Not hearts, but pictures. I didn’t think hearts were subtle enough. Georgia’s parents were gone, which made it easier, and three evenings in a row, I found myself at her front door. And she always let me in. I didn’t stay as long as I wanted. I didn’t kiss her. But she let me in. And that was all I could ask for.
I’d gotten her permission to draw a mural in the indoor arena that had been added onto the barn. In the winter, all her therapy sessions and classes would be held there, and I wanted it done before the weather turned. The mural was similar to the mural on her bedroom walls. Georgia said her work was about transformation, and she thought the story of the blind man freeing himself through the use of the horse was perfect for what she and her parents did.
I was bent over, mixing paint when Georgia slid up behind me and thwacked my rear end, hard, causing me to lurch and sloshing paint on my shoe.
“Did you just slap my ass?” I rubbed at it, completely offended, more than a little surprised.
“It was in my way. And it’s kinda hard not to look at.”
“It is? Why?” My incredulous voice squeaked in a very unmanly way. Eli was watching us, his little shoulders hunched, his hand covering his mouth like he was laughing. I wished I could hear him. I wanted to slap Georgia’s butt right back, but thought maybe this whole interplay wasn’t really appropriate for my son to watch—and the thought made my heart turn in my chest.
“It’s a great-looking ass. That’s why,” Georgia didn’t sound particularly happy about it, honestly. But she sounded like herself, like the Georgia who was a little wild, more than a little blunt, and full of life.
“It is?”