The Song of David

“I didn’t see a better solution.”

“I can think of one,” I snapped, and when he didn’t respond immediately, I exhaled heavily and pressed my palms into my tired eyes.

“Sometimes I feel like death is the only thing I haven’t done,” he said eventually. “Hell, and I’ve even attempted that a couple of times. The problem with death is that it’s exclusive, like sex and child-birth. Once you’ve done it, there is no going back.”

His thoughts were clearly rhetorical, and I waited him out again.

“The thing is, Mo. I’m okay with it. If I’ve learned anything from being your best friend, from watching you commune with the dead, it’s that death isn’t anything I need to be afraid of. I’m not a perfect man. But I think I’m a good man. I’ve lived a hell of a life, even with all the heartache. Millie told me once that the ability to devastate is what makes a song beautiful. Maybe that’s what makes life beautiful too. The ability to devastate. Maybe that’s how we know we’ve lived. How we know we’ve truly loved.”

“The ability to devastate,” I repeated. And my voice broke. If that wasn’t a perfect description of the agony of love, I didn’t know what was. I had felt that devastation. I had survived it, but I didn’t want to survive it again.

“I love her so much, Mo. I love her so damn much. That’s the thing that sucks the most. I can deal with the cancer. I can deal with death. But I’m going to miss Millie. I miss her already.” He swallowed, his throat working overtime against the emotion that choked us both. “I would miss you too, Mo, but you can see dead people, so I can haunt you.”

I laughed, but it came out a groan, and I stood, needing to escape, hating the sorrow, raging against the futility of grief, yet feeling it anyway. Tag watched me pace and when I finally sat back down, indicating I was ready, he spoke again.

“I’m okay with death, Mo. I’m good with it,” Tag said quietly. “But dying . . . dying is different. I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid of not being strong for the people who love me. I’m afraid of the suffering I will cause. I’m afraid of the helplessness I’ll feel when I can’t make it all better. I don’t want to sit in a hospital bed, day after day, dying. I don’t want Millie trying to take care of me. I don’t want Henry watching me fade from giant to shadow. Can you understand that, Mo?”

I nodded slowly, though doing so made me feel sick, like I was condoning what he’d done, leaving like he had.

“I laid in bed all night after they told me what I was facing. They gave me all the risks, the time frames, best case scenarios, worst case scenarios. By morning, I knew it wasn’t for me. I told my doctor, thank you very much, but I’m gonna go now.”

“And you weren’t going to tell anyone?”

“No.” Tag shook his head, his eyes on mine. “No.”

“But . . .” I didn’t understand. I wasn’t following.

“I got my affairs in order. I met with my attorney, got things figured out. Drew up the will, liquidated a bunch of stuff. The only thing that was bothering me was the money I still owed my dad. I could sell it all—the bar, the gym, the clothing line. If I did, I’d have more than enough, but I don’t want to sell. I want to leave the gym to the guys. I want to leave the bar to Millie and Henry so Millie can dance around that damn pole until she’s eighty-two and no one can tell her no, and so that Henry can have a place where he can talk sports and someone will listen. He loves the bar. I wanted to leave you something too, but I knew you would hate that.”

He got that right. He was messed up about everything else. But he got that right.

“But even with the sale of the apartments, the liquidation of everything but my truck, I still owe my dad fifty grand,” Tag continued.

“Wasn’t that an inheritance?”

“I didn’t want an inheritance. I wanted to build my own road,” Tag argued. “I told him I would pay it all back by the time I was thirty. Thirty ain’t gonna happen, Mo. So I needed to find a way to pay it back sooner.”

“The fight.”

“Yeah.” Tag nodded. “The fight. It just so happens I got offered a title fight that would pay me fifty Gs if I won. And I had absolutely nothing to lose.”

“And after the fight?”

“I was going to take a trip to Dallas, see my mom and my sisters and pay my dad back. I haven’t seen them in a while. Then . . . take a hike up into the hills above that overpass in Nephi.”

“The one where Molly was buried?”

“The one where Molly was buried,” he confirmed. “Hike up into the hills. Take a pill. Watch the sun-set as I went to sleep.”

“That’s it?” I asked, reining in my temper.

“That’s it,” he answered, with no temper at all.

I felt the rage surge in my chest and pop in my ears, but I kept my voice level. Apparently, he hadn’t thought he needed to say goodbye to me.