The Law of Moses (The Law of Moses, #1)(38)
He supplied the information so matter-of-factly, but his hands shook as he stroked his beard.
Somewhere during the tragic recount, Tag lost his fury. He stared from me to Dr. Andelin in confusion and compassion. But Cora Andelin wasn’t done—it was like she knew I had the doctor’s attention and she wasn’t wasting any time.
“Peanut butter, Downey fabric softener, Harry Connick, Jr., umbrellas . . .” I paused because the next image was so intimate. But then I said it anyway. “Your beard. She loved the way it felt, when you . . .” I had to stop. They were making love and I didn’t want to see this man’s wife naked. I didn’t want to see him naked. And I could see him through her eyes. I stood up abruptly, needing desperately to move. Way too much information, Cora Andelin. Way too much.
The orderly got nervous and immediately shoved my shoulders, urging me to sit back down. I considered swinging on him and then sighed. The moment had passed, and no one wanted to tussle anymore. Not even Tag, who looked as though his brain had been wiped clean. He was looking at me with a dazed expression.
But Dr. Andelin was dialed in, his blue eyes intense and full of his own memories, and something else too. Gratitude. His eyes were full of gratitude.
“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. The room had windows that faced west, and though I had my complaints about Utah, the sunsets weren’t one of them. Cora Andelin became part of the sunset. I didn’t think I would see her again. And I hadn’t even needed to draw.
“If you know all that—about Dr. Andelin’s wife—then I want you to tell me about Molly,” Tag whispered, straightening in his chair and swinging his gaze from Dr. Andelin back to me.
Noah Andelin rose to his feet. I didn’t look at his face. I didn’t want to see if I’d destroyed him. I’d disappointed myself a little. Where was the badass I had decided to be?
“Tag. I promise we’ll revisit this. But not now. Not now.” And with a nod to the orderlies, who seemed as shaken as he was, we were all ushered out of the room.
Georgia
IT WAS WEIRD, the things I missed. I missed his mouth and his green eyes and the way he could be sweet without knowing he was being sweet. I missed the smooth length of his throat, the place my nose would settle when I was close to him. I missed the paint brush twirling through his fingers and the way one side of his mouth curled slightly higher when he smiled. I missed the flash of white teeth and the sparkle of the “devil in his eye.” That’s what his grandmother had called it. And she was right. He had a naughty twinkle in his eyes when he was relaxed or laughing or teasing me back. I missed those things desperately.
The worst part was, I couldn’t grieve for him. I had to hide all my feelings, which I’d never been good at. My family had a saying, “Georgia ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” And I wasn’t happy. I was devastated. The whole town was still in shock over Kathleen’s death, and even though Moses hadn’t smothered her in her sleep or slashed her throat, the town still acted as if he had. My parents weren’t much better. Moses had been weird. And weird was easily suspect. Weird was frightening and unforgiveable. But I found I missed that too—he was weird and wonderful and totally different from anyone I knew. From anyone I would ever know. And he was gone.
I got asked to my senior ball, which was held the last Saturday in January. Terrence Anderson asked me, of all people. I guess he’d decided he liked tall girls after all. Or maybe he just wanted to make Haylee jealous since they had broken up just after the school year started. I considered telling him no. Lord knows I had plenty of excuses. But Mom told me it was bad manners and that I should be grateful, after all that had happened, that people were moving on. I had laughed hysterically at that and Mom had sent me to my room, convinced I was sick. I cried myself to sleep and felt no better the following day.
I accepted Terrence’s invitation to the dance, but I wore a black dress because I was in mourning, and the highest heels I could find just to make him feel stupid. If he was going to use me that was fine. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. And that night, sitting on the bleachers in the high school gymnasium, watching couples dance and sitting beside a seething Terrence, I missed Moses most of all. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he would look in a tux or a nice suit, I could have worn four inch heels and he would still be taller than me, and I had a feeling he would have liked my black dress and the way my body was changing.
Terrence just stared at my fuller chest with a sneer and I realized that my plan had backfired a little. The heels practically put my boobs at his eye level. I ended up taking them off and resigning myself to dancing in my bare feet and pretending Terrence Anderson was Kenny Chesney—Kenny was a little guy and a famous country singer, and he was plenty hot. Sadly, I found my tastes had changed dramatically, and cowboys and country singers, however hot, had taken a backseat to eccentric artists in mental institutions.