The Song of David

“Those were some of her favorite things. She walked down the aisle on our wedding day to a Harry Connick song. And yeah. My tux was a smidge too short. She always laughed about that and said it was just like me. And her umbrella collection was out of control.” His voice broke, and he looked down at his hands.

The room was so heavy with compassion and thick with intimacy that if the five others present were able to see what I could see, they would have looked away to give the lovers a moment alone. But I was the only one to witness Noah Andelin’s wife reach out and run a hand over her husband’s bowed head before the soft lines of her inconsistent form melded into the flickering light of the fading afternoon.



Strange. I hadn’t thought about Cora Andelin since I’d left Montlake. And I hadn’t seen her since that day, just as I’d predicted. But the memory was so sharp and specific that I felt a sense of déjà vu, like Tag wasn’t the only one who’d dreamed about her. Dr. Andelin’s face, when I’d told him I could see his wife, was burned into the backs of my eyes. I’d thrown all his precious details, details of her life, of their life together, in his face, simply because I had needed to distract him from looking too hard at my own. I was my own special brand of asshole in those days.

“Remember how you said that she was fine, but Doc wasn’t?” Tag asked.

I nodded, incredulous. “She follows you around the joint. You miss her too much. And she worries about you. She’s fine . . . but you’re not.”

“So that’s why she was hanging around. She was worried about him,” he said.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” I exclaimed in disbelief.

“Some things you don’t forget, Mo.” Tag swore. “I won’t ever forget it.” He shook his head like the images still haunted him. “Do you think the reason you saw Molly—and don’t lie to me, Mo. I know you’ve seen her a few times now. Do you think it’s because she’s just worried about me?” There was a wistful note in his voice that made hope flicker in my heart.

“It very well could be,” I answered softly, coaxing the flicker to a flame.

He nodded and set his empty mug down at his feet. But I wasn’t ready to let Montlake go, not yet.

“Before we left Montlake, you asked me to keep you alive. You told me to knock you down, restrain you, whatever it took. Do you remember that?” I asked, not looking at him. I couldn’t look at him and keep my emotions in check.

“Yeah. I remember,” he said.

“I told you I would.” I had to stop talking for a minute. I took a few deep breaths and a huge gulp of coffee to soothe my burning throat and ease the ache in my chest. “And I intend to keep that promise,” I said, my voice cracking on the last word.

When he didn’t respond, I braced myself and turned toward him.

Tag’s throat was working even though his coffee was gone. He rubbed at his jaw, passing a hand over trembling lips, and I could tell he was fighting for control, just like I was.

“I can’t cure cancer, Tag. And I sure as hell can’t stop the people I love from leaving me. I couldn’t save Gi. I didn’t save Eli. But I’ve got some pull on the other side. And they’re all gonna have to go through me if they want you.”

He was nodding. “All right,” he whispered. “All right. But Mo, if that’s not enough. In the end, if that’s not enough, I need you to take care of Millie and Henry. Millie won’t want to let you. She’s stubborn like that. But make sure she doesn’t stop dancing. I hate it, but she loves it. And that’s the important thing. Make sure she’s doin’ the things she loves. Don’t let her grieve too long. Don’t let her grieve like Dr. Andelin did, making his dead wife follow him around because he couldn’t let her go. Help her let me go, Mo. Tell her I’m happy. Make shit up.”

I choked, laughter and tears warring for supremacy.

“Tell her I’m fighting with legends in heaven, that I am running through meadows of flowers, that I’m being fed grapes . . . scratch that. She wouldn’t like that. Just tell her I’m eating grapes.”

I laughed harder and wiped at my eyes.

“I’ll fight this thing, Mo. I’ll fight as hard as I can until the bell rings. But if the bell rings sooner rather than later, then you gotta promise me that you’ll take care of my girl. We gotta deal?”

“Deal,” I whispered. And we were both quiet for a time, battling grief and gratitude and the irony that there is no sorrow without the sweet.

I heard the door this time and ducked my head, not ready for an audience, but it was just Millie, and Millie couldn’t see my tears. Her face was shiny and pink, like she’d just washed it, and her dark hair was smooth and heavy around her shoulders. She had coffee in one hand—my pot was definitely gone—and she reached forward with the other.

“Where are you, David?” she asked, and she said David like an endearment.