The Song of David

It was about me.

Millie called it the night I’d cleaned the blood from her skin and kissed her silly. Silly Millie. She wasn’t silly at all. She knew the score. And she was waiting for me to decide if I was man enough to love a blind girl.

Kissing a blind girl is an unpardonable sin, she’d said, taunting me. But she was wrong about that. Kissing a blind girl wasn’t unpardonable. Loving her wasn’t unpardonable either. But loving her and letting her down . . . that was unpardonable to me. That was unforgiveable. That was the part I struggled with.

The music resumed, but this time the melody was slower, sadder—music for listening rather than dancing. It was a Damien Rice song called “The Blower’s Daughter” and it pleased me that Millie knew it too, the discovery making me feel hopeful in an ‘if-we-love-the-same-music-our-hearts-must-match’ kind of way. I rose, grateful for the noise to cover my ascent, but Robin rounded the corner before I could take a single step.

When she saw me she squeaked and jumped a foot in the air. I held a finger to my lips, shaking my head vigorously. Millie didn’t need to know what I’d heard.

I turned and climbed the stairs, hoping Robin was following me, hoping Millie wasn’t.

I walked into the laundry room with Robin at my heels. I shut the door carefully behind her and shoved my hands into my front pockets, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.

“I want you to yell down the stairs. Tell her that I’m here. Tell her I’m coming down,” I demanded.

“But . . . you . . . how long were you there?” she stuttered.

I waited, not answering, and Robin’s face twisted into a scowl.

“You’re right about me, you know,” I said, giving her an indirect answer. “I do like women. I like them a lot. Especially beautiful women. And I’ve never been interested in having just one. I’ve never even had a girlfriend. There’s never been a girl that’s kept my attention. Until now.”

Robin’s scowl evaporated instantly, and her pursed lips slid into a smile. Without another word, she turned, opened the door, and bellowed down the stairs.

“Amelie! You’ve got company!”

I slid past Robin, winking as I headed back down the way I’d just come.

“Don’t screw this up!” she hissed. “She’s had too much shit in her life, and she doesn’t need more, Tag Taggert. Sunshine. Roses. Kisses. Adoration. That’s your job! No shit allowed!”

I couldn’t promise a future with no shit. I couldn’t even promise I wouldn’t cause some. I couldn’t alter my DNA, and I was sure I had strands that were soaked in the stuff. But I was bound and determined to shelter Millie from as much as I could. I shot a look over my shoulder and nodded once at Millie’s protective cousin, an acknowledgement that I’d heard her, and Robin closed the door, giving us the privacy I hadn’t afforded them.

Millie stood waiting, obviously not sure who her company was. She’d pulled her ponytail free, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders in rumpled disarray, but she didn’t smooth it down or tug at her clothes. She was regal and composed in her stillness, confident enough in herself that she didn’t fuss over what she couldn’t fix. Damien Rice was singing about not being able to “take his eyes off of you” and I could only nod in agreement as I approached her.

“David?” she ventured softly. The fact that she knew it was me made me light-headed all over again.

“Am I the only guy who makes that much noise coming down the steps?” I’d purposely made plenty of noise the second time around.

“Nah. You should hear Henry. You’re just the . . . only guy,” she admitted sweetly. Then her cheeks grew rosy and my chest got hot.

I felt a huge flood of relief. I was the only guy. Thank God.

I stopped a foot from her and reached out, taking one of her hands in mine. “Do you like this song?” I asked. Obviously she did and obviously I was stupid.

“I love this song.”

“Me too,” I whispered. I reached for her other hand.

“Accidental Babies.”

“What?” I tugged her hands gently, and she took a step. I was so close now that the top of her head provided a shelf for my chin, and Damien’s song was being drowned out by the sound of my heart.

“It’s another one of his songs. . . and I think I love it even more,” she whispered back.

“But that song is so sad,” I breathed, and laid my cheek against her hair.

“That’s what makes it beautiful. It’s devastating. I love it when a song devastates me.” Her voice was thready as if she was struggling to breathe.

“Ah, the sweet kind of suffering.” I dropped her hands and wrapped my arms around her.

“The best kind.” Her voice hitched as our bodies aligned.

“I’ve been suffering for a while now, Millie.”

“You have?” she asked, clearly amazed.