The Song of David(56)

“I wonder if he enjoys touching as much as I do,” Millie mused. “I want him to touch me, and I want to touch him. But I want him to actually like me, the way I like him, and not just the beautiful parts of me. All of me. Blind eyes, knobby knees, big ears, pointy chin. All of me. So that when he does touch me, and I touch him, it will be wonderful and not weird.”

I wished more than anything that Robin was not standing between us at that moment. I wished I could walk over, wrap my arms around Millie and kiss that pointy chin and whisper assurances in the ears that were a little big, now that she mentioned it. I slid back around the corner and sat down on the bottom stair, resting my head in my hands.

She’d laid it out. And I’d been lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to hear it. I was lucky because Amelie Anderson was falling in love with me. I was unlucky because I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t know. I’d refused to listen to Moses when he’d called me out on Saturday. I’d refused to examine the kiss in the bathroom or the line I’d already crossed when I’d lain Millie across her white comforter, a comforter I still saw every time I closed my eyes.

But standing there, listening to Millie spell it out, I couldn’t ignore it any more. I couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend that I had more time to decide. Time was up, and I had to choose.

I didn’t question my feelings. The feelings had been there from day one. From day one. I’d seen her standing like a shepherdess in the night, her head tilted back, her tongue catching snowflakes, and I’d felt something shift. Three days in, and I’d looked down into her face and felt the ode, a feeling no other girl had ever inspired. And I’d known. Since that day, I had found myself saying things, feeling things, doing things that I’d never done before. Millie had become my favorite sight, my favorite smell, my favorite taste, my favorite sound. My favorite. But that was never what any of this was about.

It was about me.

Millie called it the night I’d cleaned the blood from her skin and kissed her silly. Silly Millie. She wasn’t silly at all. She knew the score. And she was waiting for me to decide if I was man enough to love a blind girl.

Kissing a blind girl is an unpardonable sin, she’d said, taunting me. But she was wrong about that. Kissing a blind girl wasn’t unpardonable. Loving her wasn’t unpardonable either. But loving her and letting her down . . . that was unpardonable to me. That was unforgiveable. That was the part I struggled with.

The music resumed, but this time the melody was slower, sadder—music for listening rather than dancing. It was a Damien Rice song called “The Blower’s Daughter” and it pleased me that Millie knew it too, the discovery making me feel hopeful in an ‘if-we-love-the-same-music-our-hearts-must-match’ kind of way. I rose, grateful for the noise to cover my ascent, but Robin rounded the corner before I could take a single step.

When she saw me she squeaked and jumped a foot in the air. I held a finger to my lips, shaking my head vigorously. Millie didn’t need to know what I’d heard.

I turned and climbed the stairs, hoping Robin was following me, hoping Millie wasn’t.

I walked into the laundry room with Robin at my heels. I shut the door carefully behind her and shoved my hands into my front pockets, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.

“I want you to yell down the stairs. Tell her that I’m here. Tell her I’m coming down,” I demanded.

“But . . . you . . . how long were you there?” she stuttered.

I waited, not answering, and Robin’s face twisted into a scowl.

“You’re right about me, you know,” I said, giving her an indirect answer. “I do like women. I like them a lot. Especially beautiful women. And I’ve never been interested in having just one. I’ve never even had a girlfriend. There’s never been a girl that’s kept my attention. Until now.”

Robin’s scowl evaporated instantly, and her pursed lips slid into a smile. Without another word, she turned, opened the door, and bellowed down the stairs.

“Amelie! You’ve got company!”

I slid past Robin, winking as I headed back down the way I’d just come.

“Don’t screw this up!” she hissed. “She’s had too much shit in her life, and she doesn’t need more, Tag Taggert. Sunshine. Roses. Kisses. Adoration. That’s your job! No shit allowed!”

I couldn’t promise a future with no shit. I couldn’t even promise I wouldn’t cause some. I couldn’t alter my DNA, and I was sure I had strands that were soaked in the stuff. But I was bound and determined to shelter Millie from as much as I could. I shot a look over my shoulder and nodded once at Millie’s protective cousin, an acknowledgement that I’d heard her, and Robin closed the door, giving us the privacy I hadn’t afforded them.