A Different Blue(124)

deny that he had purposely stayed away.

“I thought maybe you and I needed some distance. It's been only two months since Melody was

born. Our . . . relationship . . . has been forged on some pretty intense experiences.” Wilson

formed his words carefully, pausing between thoughts. I didn't like that he was so deliberate.

It felt patronizing. But he continued in the same tone, speaking precisely and slowly.

[page]“I thought maybe you needed some time and some . . . space. Without drama, without . . .

me . . . or anybody else. Just space.” Wilson looked at me intently, his grey gaze sober and

steady.

I laid down my tools and stood, putting space – the thing Wilson was so convinced I needed –

between us. I shivered, freezing now that I had slowed my pace. The cold of the concrete floor

had seeped up through the soles of my feet, and my torn jeans and thin tank top were suddenly

insufficient to ward off the chill. I turned my back to Wilson and reached my hands toward the

heater, trying to pull the warmth into my stiff fingers and arms.

“Do you remember that story Jimmy told me? The one about Tabuts the wise wolf and his brother

Shinangwav, the coyote?” I tossed him a questioning look over my shoulder.

“The one about the people carved from sticks? The one you told me to school me on the unfair

socio-economic structure throughout the world?” Wilson's mouth twisted wryly, and he walked

toward me, grabbing my flannel shirt off the floor where I'd discarded it. He placed it around

my shoulders, and then folded his arms around me, resting his chin on my head. His heat felt so

good, so right, that I closed my eyes against it, against him and the ease which he held me, as

if I were his sister or a favorite cousin. I didn't feel at all sisterly toward Wilson. And as

good as his arms felt wrapped around me, there was pain in the pleasure.

“When I was a child, that story never made any sense to me. Why would people want to be alone?

” The wistful tone of my voice was revealing, and Wilson's arms tightened around me. I kept my

eyes closed, a sudden weariness crawling into my muscles and limbs with the heat that surrounded

me.

“I thought Shinangwav was the smarter brother. He knew people would want to be in bunches. I

pestered Jimmy constantly for a mother or a sister or a handful of friends. A wise wolf should

know that people would rather be together.”

Wilson turned me in his arms and smoothed the tendrils of hair from my cheeks. I wanted to keep

my eyes closed, fearing that if I opened them when we stood this close they would give me away.

But the proximity made keeping them closed seem expectant, as if I were waiting for him to kiss

my lips, so I opened them and raised them wearily to his.

“Sometimes I feel like I was one of those who was left in the sack while everyone else was

falling out in groups,” I whispered.

Wilson's eyes were so grey in the paltry light of the dim corner that they looked like slate in

a deluge. His face was a study in concentration and empathy, as if every word I said was of

supreme importance. It was that expression, that intensity, that had worn me down, and won me

over, history lesson after history lesson, day after day, and he didn't even know I was his.

“I would say that's a pretty understandable reaction after carrying a child for nine months . .

. and having to part with her.” Wilson's voice was gentle, and he kissed my forehead chastely,