The Song of David

But I gave them anyway.

I gave them because they fell from my mouth, and I pressed them to her ears, needing her to know how much I loved her, how perfect I found her, how precious the moment was. And she whispered back, matching each expression with affection, gifting words with caresses, until the effort to speak became too great and the words felt inadequate. When she reached the peak she pulled me over the edge with her, and I wished we could just keep on falling and never stop. Falling would feel like flying if you never hit the ground. But the landing was soft and our breathing slowed, and I pulled her in tight as the world righted itself. Or wronged me. I wasn’t sure which. Millie was pliant and sleepy in my arms, and I felt her drifting off.

“I love you, Millie. Do you know that?” I said.

“Yes.” She said the word on a long, satisfied sigh, as if the knowledge was wonderful.

“You have your favorite sounds, and now, so do I. I love it when my back is turned, and I hear you coming. I love the sound your stick makes. When I hear it, it makes me smile. I love your voice and the way you laugh from your chest. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. That laugh.” I felt her smile, her lips moving softly against my throat.

“I love that little breath, the little gasp in your throat when I touch you here.” I pressed my hand to her lower back and pulled her tightly against me. Her breath hitched on cue. “That’s it. That’s the sound.”

Millie kissed my chest but didn’t speak. I counted to sixty slowly, and then I continued, whispering so softly and so unhurriedly she was sure to fall asleep.

“And you hum. You hum when you’re happy. You hum when you run your fingers through my hair and when you’re falling asleep. You are almost humming now.”

There was silence in the room, and I knew she’d slid under the downy blanket of slumber. It was what I’d intended. I’d waited until she was gone.

“I want to hear that sound every night of my life.” I felt the panic rise up in my throat, not knowing how many nights I would have and not wanting to think about that when I was holding her. With the panic came tears, and they leaked out the corners of my eyes and dripped into my ears.

“I love you, Millie. And it’s the most amazing feeling, the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. I can’t hold it in my chest, that feeling. So it spills out of me whenever you’re around. It spills out of my mouth and my eyes and my ears. It spills out of my fingertips and makes me walk faster and talk louder and feel more alive. Do you feel like that, Millie? Do I make you feel more alive?”

Her deep, soft breaths were my only response, and I kissed the top of her head.

“How can I possibly be dying when I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before?”





I CREPT INTO Henry’s room at about dawn. I wanted to see him, just in case. Just in case the news was bad and I didn’t come back. I wanted to say goodbye, even if it was temporary, even if he couldn’t hear me. He looked big in the small bed, his long feet and knobby knees sticking out from beneath the covers. He needed a new bed. I made a note to tell Millie and then stopped myself. What had Millie said? She’d been taking care of herself before she met me, and she’d be taking care of herself, and Henry, after I was gone. They’d been taking care of each other.

I didn’t want to wake him, and I moved to go, my eyes skimming over his desk, over the book about giants that had once scared him. Moses had mentioned Millie’s dead mother and that book, and it had gnawed at me for a week as I tried to figure out how to approach the subject without upsetting anyone. I had shared Moses’s abilities with Millie in broad strokes, but knowing someone could see the dead and having someone see your dead were two different things. I knew that first hand. But it bothered me enough that I finally asked Henry about it.

“You wouldn’t have a book about giants, would you Henry?” I inquired hesitantly. It wasn’t very subtle, but apparently, Henry didn’t need subtlety. He’d known immediately what book I was referring to. He also knew where to find it. He had clattered down the stairs to the storage bins that were neatly stacked and labeled, and within a few minutes, returned with a handful of old treasures, including a book that was well-worn and obviously well-read. It was called When Giants Hide. Henry had shown me the pictures and made me find each giant before turning to the next page.

“My dad’s name is Andre,” he’d said abruptly.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Like Andre the Giant,” he added.

I nodded. One Andre was a giant, one Andre played for the Giants. Interesting. I hadn’t made the connection, but Henry obviously had.