The Song of David(44)

“Where’s Henry now?” she asked quietly.

“Axel was at the bar. He likes Axel, so I left him there until I could see what had happened. You scared the hell out of me, Amelie.” I punched a message into my phone, a quick text to Axel, letting him and Henry know that Millie was fine and I’d be back to get Henry in a little while.

“Are you calling me Amelie because you’re mad? You’re not my mother, Tag. I know it must look bad, but I’m completely capable of handling this situation. I’ve cut myself before and I’m sure I’ll cut myself again.”

“Shh, Millie. I’m not mad. I’m not mad. Just . . . come here.” I pulled her up, and positioning her in front of the sink, bandaged her finger. There were streaks of blood down her arms and some on her legs as well. I rinsed out the washcloth she’d used to stem the blood flow, wringing it out until the hot water ran clear. Then I used it to gently blot the blood away from her hands, trying not to notice the way her skin goose-pimpled as I continued up her forearms, and then up farther, wiping away a spot from her left shoulder and a smudge on the tip of her chin. The bathroom was small, the act intimate, and the frustration and fear I’d felt disappeared with the blood stains. I kept rinsing the cloth so it was warm against her skin, and when I knelt to clean her feet, she laid her hands on my shoulders for balance as I lifted one foot and washed it and then moved to the next. I stopped to rinse and warm my cloth before I moved up one lean leg and down the other and felt her fingers curl into my T-shirt, making heat curl in my stomach. I continued until every inch of her bare skin was pink from the heat of the cloth and slightly damp from my ministrations, and when I was done I wished I wasn’t. I couldn’t do anything about the blood on her black tank top or the hot pink shorts that matched her toenail polish. I touched one toenail with the pad of my thumb.

“How do you do that?”

“What? Paint them?”

“Yeah.”

“Practice.”

“So did you match the shorts and the toes on purpose?” I looked up at her to see her response.

“Of course.” She smiled, but her voice remained a whisper, almost as if she too was afraid to disturb the charged air that buzzed around us. I rose from my haunches, leaving only a few inches between our bodies.

“Why?” It seemed so unimportant, so insignificant for something that must take a lot of effort. And she couldn’t even see the results.

“It’s all about the little things . . . haven’t you learned that, big guy?” She said big guy the way I said sweetheart.

“When did your mom die, Millie?” My voice was soft, even softer than my hands had been on her body.

“When I was eighteen. She’d been sick for about two years. She shouldn’t have made it that long. But she knew she had to make it until then. I had to be a legal adult in order to be Henry’s guardian.”

“So who takes care of Millie?” I whispered.

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Tag,” she whispered back. “I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

“Need and want are two different things.” I swallowed once, trying to convince myself that I didn’t want what I wanted very, very much. When I made no move to take it, Millie stepped into me and carefully slid her arms around my waist. My heart was pounding in my chest and she laid her cheek against it, listening. I couldn’t hide from her. She was blind yet she saw every damn thing. Almost as carefully, I wrapped my arms around her too, loosely, gently, my big hands resting on her slim back.

“Can I ask you something, Tag?” Her voice was plaintive and small as if she were speaking to my heart which lay directly beneath her lips. Its galloping response should have been enough. Maybe it was, because she didn’t wait for my lips to answer. “Are you afraid to kiss me?”

“Why would I be afraid?” I was so damn afraid.

“Because kissing a blind girl is like stealing from a beggar or lying to a priest, don’t you know? Like hitting a child or drowning a kitten? It’s one of those unpardonable sins.”

I swore beneath my breath, half-tempted to laugh at her audacity, half-angry that she was so astute.

“Or maybe you think it’s like pulling on that loose string only to unravel an entire sweater. One of those things that is innocent but has dire consequences.”

“That’s not it, Millie,” I lied.

“That is it, Tag. And don’t insult me by assuming that I need some sort of guarantee just because I can’t see. If I were any other girl, you would have had my clothes on the floor by now. It’s a kiss, Tag. Not a promise signed in blood. A kiss.”