A Different Blue(167)

sacrifice everything for a cause, we tend to become a spokesperson instead of a lover, an

organizer instead of a wife, a mouthpiece instead of a mother. I gave everything else away in

the name of a greater good, but look how many people I hurt. Look at the ripple effects of

thinking my life's work was more important than the people in my life.”





“I've been thinking about that story, the one you told me when Melody was born,” Wilson

himmed, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed. He had been practicing his cello in my tiny sitting

room, the way he did every night, unless I was carving, in which case we filled the basement

with sweet strings and sanding. The days of listening under the vent were long gone.

“The one you said sucked?” I murmured, wishing he would play another song. I was half-asleep

in my recliner, the deep tones making me mellow and drowsy. It was like an elixir, and I was

addicted to both the man and his music.

“Yes. That's the one. It was horrible. And to think you eschewed Ivanhoe. What was the hunter's

name again?”

“Waupee. White Hawk.”

“That's right. White Hawk loved a star girl, they were happy together, but she decided to takes

their child and float up into the sky, leaving him behind.”

“So why have you been thinking about it?” I yawned, concluding that he wasn't going to play

anything else until he had worked through whatever was bothering him.

“I just realized that it's Jimmy's story.” Wilson plucked his strings absentmindedly, his

luminous eyes unfocused, distracted by his thoughts. “Stella floated away and took his child.

Even the name is similar.”

I hadn't thought of that. But Wilson was right. It was very like Jimmy's story. Except Jimmy

didn't get a happy ending.

“But the star maiden came back to White Hawk, Wilson. I didn't ever finish the story. Her son

missed his father, so the star maiden came back for him–”

“Did you know that Stella means star?” Wilson interrupted, as if he'd just stumbled over the

realization.

“It does?”

“Yes. So we have a Hawk and a Star. And a Sapana.” Wilson counted each name on his fingers. “

It's his story,” he marveled.

I shook my head, disagreeing. “Jimmy didn't ever get his family back. The star maiden's father

turned his daughter and Waupee and their son into hawks so they could fly between heaven and

earth and be together. But none of us ever got to be together.”

“But you came back to Jimmy, Blue. You and he were together.”

“I guess I did,” I agreed. “But Sapana isn't in that story, luv.” I smiled at him tenderly,

using his own term of endearment. “She has a story all her own.”

Wilson laid down his cello and stood, leaning over the recliner until he hovered only inches

above me, grey eyes on blue, his mouth on mine. He spoke against my lips.

“Of course she does . . . Savana Blue. And it's a story just waiting to be told.”

“A little blackbird, pushed from the nest?” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Or placed there. It's all in the way you tell the story.”





“Once upon a time there was a little bird who was placed in a nest. Wanted. Cherished.