The Song of David

“Oh, I love this one.”

I could only stare at her. This was one of her favorite sounds? Then voices were raised, and the sound seeped out the slim opening and floated down to the place where we sat, and I forgot about the fact that my suit coat was a little tight across the shoulders and my knuckles were sore from yesterday’s sparring session. I forgot about all of it because Amelie’s face was lit up by the sound of men’s voices, singing in worship, mellow and smooth, lifting and lowering over the words. They weren’t professional. It wasn’t a barbershop quartet or the BeeGees. There were more voices than that, probably twenty or thirty male voices singing praises. And as I listened I felt it deep in my belly.



“There is no end to glory;

There is no end to love;

There is no end to being;

There is no death above.

There is no end to glory;

There is no end to love;

There is no end to being;

There is no death above.”



When they finished, Amelie sat back and sighed. “I’m all about girl power, but there is nothing like men’s voices. They knock me out every time. The sound makes my heart ache and my bones soft.”

“Is it the words you love? It was a beautiful song.” I was still thinking about the words.

“I love that particular one. But no. It wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, and there have been days when Mr. Sheldon doesn’t attend or he forgets to open the window, and the music is muffled, even more than it was today. And I still love it. I can’t explain it. But love is like that, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Did you like it? Now you’ve heard two of my favorite sounds.”

“I liked it a lot. I wish I would have worn my sweats instead of this damn suit coat. But hey, at least I didn’t have to actually go to church.”

Amelie reached toward me, feeling along the lapels of my coat and up to my collar. “Yep. I got you good. I can’t believe you agreed to come.”

“You’re wearing a skirt!”

“Yep. If I’d worn pants you would have known something was up.”

I stood and pulled her up with me. “You’re a smart aleck and a tease. I don’t know if I like you, Silly Millie.” I was smiling as I spoke, and she grinned with me before reaching for my lapel once more, as if asking me to wait.

“I want to feel you smile. I can hear when you’re smiling. I love the way it sounds. But I want to feel it. Can I?” she asked sweetly.

I brought her hands to my cheeks and laid them there, dropping my hands to my sides.

“Are you smiling?” she asked.

I realized I wasn’t, not anymore. But she was, her pink lips parted slightly over pearly teeth, her eyes on a distance she would never see. I smiled down into her face, accommodating her, and her hands immediately fluttered over my lips and her fingers traced the grooves in my cheeks. I’d always used those grooves to my full advantage. When her left thumb slid into the notch on my chin, her smile grew even wider.

“You have dimples in your cheeks and a cleft in your chin.”

“My mother dropped me on my face as a child. I’m severely dented. What can I say?”

“Ah. I see.” One hand flitted up and traced the bridge of my nose. “Is that what happened here, too?” she asked, tracing the bump that I’d earned over and over again.

“Nah. My mama’s not to blame for that one. That’s a product of my favorite pastime.”

Her hands moved to cradle my face, melding to the shape of my cheekbones and my jaw. As she pulled her hands downward, the tips of her fingers touched the hair that brushed my neck on either side, and she paused in her exploration. She fingered the curls thoughtfully and a groove appeared between her dark brows.

“Haircuts with Henry tomorrow, huh? That’s very sweet of you. But don’t cut it all away, okay?”

“You like the Scottish highlander look?” I tried for a Scottish brogue, but didn’t quite make it. My heart was pounding and I wanted to close my eyes and lean into her hands. Her explorations were erotic without meaning to be, sensual without sexual intention, but my body didn’t seem to know the difference.