The Song of David

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m not sure what a Scottish highlander looks like. But I like your face. It’s strong . . . full of character. And the hair suits you.” She was staring up into my face, describing me, and yet she couldn’t see me at all. I stared at her mouth and wondered what she would do if I pressed my lips against hers. Would it startle her or would she recognize the sensation immediately? Had she ever even been kissed? She wasn’t shy and she was beautiful, and at twenty-two she should have had her fair share of boyfriends and kisses. But she was blind, she had a dependent brother, and she spent her free time listening to men’s choirs and babbling brooks. Somehow I suspected she wasn’t all that experienced with men. She dropped her hands and stepped back from me, almost as if she could hear my thoughts.

“Let’s get some ice cream,” she said, and I shook myself awake, pushing away thoughts of kisses and linking her arm back through mine.



(End of Cassette)





Moses




“I WANTED HIM to kiss me. But he didn’t. And I was convinced that he didn’t like me that way,” Millie said sheepishly, her face flushed. I kept expecting her to turn off the tape recorder and ask us to leave. Hearing Tag’s inner thoughts and feelings was downright embarrassing, and when I saw him again, I was going to punish him for making me sit through it.

We were at Millie’s now, parked in her living room so that she would be there when Henry got home from school. It had been forty-eight hours since Millie had called me, forty-eight hours since my world had shrunk to one priority, everything else pushed aside or postponed.

“Tag went to church with you?” Georgia’s voice was incredulous. Millie and I had brought Georgia up to date, and her presence calmed me, reminded me that regardless of the priority, regardless of my fear, she was with me. She was mine. That part of my world was intact. She’d arrived last night with baby Kathleen, and we’d rented a hotel room, unwilling to stay in Tag’s apartment, though I had a key. There was a freaking “For Sale” sign in the window, and I didn’t want to be sleeping in Tag’s bed only to have a realtor show up with buyers in tow.

The thought made me angry, even as Georgia’s question made me laugh. Tag and church didn’t really mix. The thought of him sitting in a suit coat, his hair slicked back, listening to hymns with Millie was almost too unbelievable to imagine.

“Moses?” Georgia’s lips quivered, the seriousness of the situation making her hesitant to join in.

“I had to drag his ass into dozens of churches throughout Europe. I don’t think he ever went willingly, and we were just looking at the ceilings and the sculptures, no singing involved.”

“He loves music. Have you ever heard him sing? I love hearing him sing.” Millie smiled and then her smile immediately fell, as if reality had slapped her back down and whisked away her joy.

“I’m still stuck on the fact that he volunteered to get a haircut,” Georgia smirked, giggling in spite of her attempts to be appropriate.

“Well . . .” Millie hedged. “That didn’t quite go according to plan.”





HENRY CLIMBED INTO my truck and buckled his seatbelt with the grimmest expression I had ever seen. His hair stood out in every direction, and his hands shook.

“You okay, buddy?” I asked, trying to be gentle.

“Do you want to go see Robin instead? She’d be glad to cut it, Henry.” Millie had followed him out, tapping her way down the sidewalk with a concerned frown between her dark brows. She now stood holding onto the passenger side door. I could tell she wanted to ride along, but Henry didn’t seem to want her to.

“It’s a man date, right Henry? Men go to the barber. Not the salon.”

Henry tapped his fingertips together nervously and wouldn’t look right or left.

“Kite flying is an official sport in Thailand!” Henry blurted.

Amelie bit her lip but stepped back from the passenger door.

“Bye, Millie. I’ll bring him back. Don’t worry,” I called.

She nodded and tried to smile, and I pulled away from the curb. Henry’s tapping became a cadence. Clack clack. Click click. It sounded like the rhythm Millie made with her stick when she walked.

“Henry?”

No response. Just clicking, all the way to the barbershop.

I pulled up to Leroy’s shop and put my truck in park. I jumped out and came around to Henry’s door. Henry made no move to disembark.

“Henry? Do you want to do this?”

Henry looked pointedly at my shaggy locks and clicked his fingers.

“I need a haircut, Henry. So do you. We’re men. We can do this.”

“Ben Askren, Roger Federer, Shaun White, Troy Polamalu, David Beckham, Triple H.”

“Triple H?” I started to laugh. Henry was listing athletes with long hair. “You’re getting desperate, Henry.”

“Larry Fitzgerald? Tim Lincecum?”

“Tim Lincecum, huh? He plays for the Giants, doesn’t he? Your favorite team, right?”

Henry didn’t respond.

“Ah, shit. What the hell. I didn’t want to cut my hair anyway. I kind of think your sister likes it.”

The clicking slowed.

“You wanna go buy a kite? I hear it’s an official sport in Thailand,” I said.

Henry smiled the smallest ghost of a smile and nodded once.