A Different Blue(118)

airport in Reno had been shut down by the blizzard, and flights weren't scheduled to resume

until morning. I managed to eat and was dozing off when Wilson returned. The lights were off in

my room, but it wasn't truly dark. My room had a “lovely view” of the parking lot and the

orange-yellow streetlights below cast a burnished glow into my darkened room. Wilson tried to

sit unobtrusively in the corner chair, but the chair squeaked loudly, and he cursed quietly.

“You didn't have to come back.” My voice sounded scratchy and wrong to my own ears, hoarse,

like I'd been screaming for hours.

Wilson sank down into the noisy rocker, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin in

his hands. I had seen him do this before, and it brought a sudden rush of tenderness so intense

that I gasped.

“Are you hurting?” he asked softly, misinterpreting the sound.

“No,” I whispered. It was a lie, but at the moment the truth was too complicated.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” I repeated. Silence magnified the sounds in the room and in the corridors beyond.

Squeaking wheels chirped down the hallway, the squelching sound of sneakers on the linoleum

floor. A nurse entered the room across the hall with a cheerful “How we doin'?” And I found

myself listening for sounds I couldn't hear. Straining to hear a baby's cry. My mind traveled

down the hall and into the nursery where a child lay unclaimed.

“Did you hold her?” I asked suddenly. Wilson straightened in his chair, and his eyes searched

my face for clues in the murky light of the room.

“No,” it was his turn to reply. Again, silence.

“She's all alone, Wilson.”

He didn't argue that Tiffa was on her way or that my baby was being taken care of and was most

likely sleeping. Instead, he stood up and approached the bed. I was curled up on my side, facing

him, and he squatted down so his eyes were level with mine. We studied each other silently. And

then he brought his hand up and laid it gently against my cheek. Such a simple gesture. But it

was my undoing. I closed my eyes and cried, blocking out his stormy grey eyes, the understanding

there, the compassion. Eventually, I felt him lay down beside me on the narrow bed and wrap his

arms around me, pulling me up against him. Occasionally, he would stroke my hair or shush

softly, but he made no comment as my heavy grief saturated the pillow beneath my head.

[page]A nurse entered the room once and turned around and went right back out. Wilson made no

attempt to move or retreat to the chair in the corner.

“You never told me the ending of the story,” he murmured much later.

“Hmm?”

“The hunter and the star girl? Did they live happily ever after?”

“Oh,” I remembered drowsily. “No . . . not exactly. She stayed with him, and they had a

child. They were happy, but the girl started to miss the stars.” I paused, fighting the

lethargy that was stealing over me. I continued, my voice fading with every word. “She wanted

to see her family. So she wove a large basket and collected gifts for her family, things from

the earth that you couldn't find in the sky. She placed the basket in the magical circle, put

the gifts and her son inside, and climbed into the basket herself. Then she sang a song that

caused the basket to rise into the sky. White Hawk heard the song and ran to the clearing, but