A Different Blue(144)

him. As if I were precious. As if I were loved.

There was a crack in the glass. I hung the picture back up anyway, straightening it carefully.

The crack separated the top half of our bodies from the lower half. Luckily, the picture wasn't

damaged. We were still whole beneath the jagged scar. I stopped, considering. I was scarred, but

I was not broken. Beneath my wounds I was still whole. Beneath my insecurities, beneath my pain,

beneath my struggle, beneath it all, I was still whole.

I dimmed the lights and slipped out of my dress in quiet contemplation. And then, above my head,

music began. I walked to the living room and lifted my face to the vent, listening. Wilson tuned

and tightened the strings, plucking and playing as he went. And as I listened, I was filled with

wonder. Willie Nelson. Wilson was playing Willie Nelson. “You Were Always on my Mind” had

never sounded so sweet. It was as if it had been written for the cello, though I doubted most

people would even recognize Willie Nelson in Wilson's arrangement. He played it several times

before he left it, as if needing to make sure that I heard. And then it was quiet above me.





Chapter Twenty-Six





I awoke to pounding on my door the next morning. I had tossed and turned all night, restless

with lust and love, weary with doubt, wondering if I should have taken what Wilson was clearly

offering.

“Blue! Blue! Open up! I need to talk to you!”

“Holy crap!” I moaned, sliding out of bed and pulling on a bra, a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt

as Wilson continued to pound.

I opened the door, letting him in, but I immediately retreated to the bathroom. He followed me,

and I quickly shut the door in his face. I used the toilet, brushed my teeth and hair, and

scrubbed my face free of all the makeup I'd gone to bed in. Wilson was still waiting outside the

bathroom door when I opened it. He took in my freshly scrubbed face, his eyes lingering on my

mouth. Without a word, he slid his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. I gasped,

caught completely off-guard. He just held me tighter.

“I think it's time to end this,” he whispered against my hair.

[page]I tried to pull away from him, rejecting him before he rejected me. It was easier that

way. But he tightened his arms and soothed me with shhhing sounds.

“Shh, Blue. Just listen.”

I held myself very stiff, trying not to be distracted by his scent, by the way his arms felt

around me, by his lips in my hair, by my desire to keep him there.

“End what?” I finally responded.

“This not knowing business.”

“What don't you know, Wilson?”

“I know a lot more than I used to, Blue. What number are we on now? I've lost count. What were

some of them? I know you're brilliant. You're beautiful. You're incredibly brave. You have a

wicked sense of humor. You carve unbelievable works of art . . . not totem poles.” I relaxed

against him, smiling into his chest. “You have lousy taste in mates . . . although since I

count myself among them, I might have to amend that one.”

“Tiffa says you have terrible taste in women, so maybe we're even,” I interrupted.

“I don't have terrible taste in women. I'm mad about you, aren't I?”

“Are you?”

“Yes, Blue. I am. I am completely gone on you.”