The Song of David(63)

“Statistically, athletes with solid family units have better stamina, more purpose, better mental health, and overall improved performance than athletes who are either divorced or unmarried,” Henry rambled off robotically, and I tore my gaze from Millie’s stunned face.

“Did you make that up, Henry?” I grinned.

Henry looked confused, as if making up sports trivia to support his arguments was impossible. Maybe it was. Maybe in Henry’s world, where lines and facts were clearly drawn, lying wasn’t even feasible.

“You’re already part of Tag Team, Henry,” I said gently. “You’ve got the shirt to prove it. I’ll get you as many as you want, in every color, and you can be in my corner any time.”

Henry tilted his head to the side, considering my offer, but the disappointment was evident in his expression. Millie turned around and, fumbling for the front door, exited the house in a rush.

“Millie!” I called after her, but she didn’t hesitate, and I could hear her stick clicking and clacking down the sidewalk in front of the house.

“Ah, Henry. You’ve gone and done it now.” I laughed, and my laughter surprised me. So did my relative non-reaction to the ‘M’ word. When girls started dropping hints about any type of commitment, it was always the last time I asked them out. Always. I was great at playing tag. No one ever caught me.

I guess I’d always thought I would marry someday. When I was eighty. Yet Henry was proposing, and it didn’t alarm me in the slightest. In fact, the thought of marrying Millie made my pulse quicken. It made my palms tingle. It made my heart smile so big I could feel the edges of the grin poking me in the ribs. That, or I was starting to feel the hurt from the Santos fight.

“Because they both lost so many players to WWII military service, the Pittsburgh Steelers and Philadelphia Eagles combined to become the Steagles during the 1943 season,” Henry recited.

“What? The Steagles?” My eyes were on Henry, but I needed to chase Millie down.

Henry nodded, straight-faced. “We could do that. We could combine. We could be the Taggersons.”

“That’s a very interesting idea, Henry.” I nodded, biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. “But I need to convince Millie. I’m not sure she wants to be a Taggerson just yet.”

“Andert?” Henry offered another combination, wrinkling his nose, and then shaking his head, as if it didn’t have the same ring.

“Give me a minute to see what Millie thinks. Okay?”

Henry gave me a solemn thumbs up and sat down on the bottom stair to wait for the verdict.

I ran out the door and down the walk to the street, looking right and left down the sidewalk, hoping Millie hadn’t gone beyond where I could easily find her. I spotted her about half a block down.

“Millie!” She looked like she was headed for the church, and I loped to catch up, calling after her, feeling every single blow I’d taken that night as I chased her down.

“Millie! Wait, sweetheart. You’re killing me.” She stopped but didn’t turn around. She held herself stiffly, holding her stick vertically the way she’d held it the very first time I saw her outside the bar, the silent shepherdess once more.

“Millie.” I slowed to a walk and approached her, wrapping my hands around hers so we both clung to her stick, like two people on a subway, sharing the same pole. Then I pulled gently, taking the stick from her hands, so she would hold onto me instead.

“Why you runnin’ away?”

“The question is, why aren’t you?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Do you want to be a Taggerson, Millie?” I whispered, freeing her lip with my teeth and kissing it better.

“A what?” she breathed.

“Or maybe an Andert?” I brushed my mouth over hers again, and her lips opened slightly, waiting for me to apply a little pressure.

“Henry seems to think we should merge our names,” I explained.

Millie groaned, and I could feel the embarrassment coming off her in waves.

“Henry really needs to quit asking grown men to marry him,” she complained.

“Yeah . . . he’s a little young for that kind of commitment.” I pressed another kiss on her upper lip, then one on her lower lip, soothing her, reassuring her, and for several long minutes there was no conversation at all.

“David?” she whispered when I finally let her breathe.

“Yeah?” I sank back into her, not able to help myself. She tasted like cold water and warm wishes, and I was drowning and basking, my fight forgotten, the swelling on my cheekbone and the tenderness in my ribs completely non-existent.