The Song of David(64)

“I’m in love with you,” Millie confessed softly. I felt her words on my lips and the shape of them in my head, and we both stood completely still, letting them whirl around us. The air was suddenly blooming, alive, a riotous explosion of color and sound. The world was magic, and I was king.

“I’m in love with you too,” I said, no hesitation whatsoever. The words slid out of my mouth with the absolute ease of total truth.

Holy shit.

I was in love with Amelie Anderson. I was in love with a blind girl, and everything was in sharp focus.

Millie drew back and smiled, a big, dazzling grin that had me smiling too.

“Does this mean you’ll wear my T-shirt?” I asked.

“Proudly,” she answered.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, the streetlight creating a pool of soft white around us, I kissed Millie with every intention of never letting her go. Ever.

I walked her back home and there was no more talk of Taggersons or Anderts that night. Millie sternly informed Henry that he was too young for marriage, and he would just have to be happy with the T-shirt. He’d seemed a bit irritated by that, and I shrugged at him, like it wasn’t my decision. I made sure he had a T-shirt for every day of the week, and one for Ayumi too, and that seemed to appease him slightly.

But the seed had been planted.

I’d only known Millie for two months, yet I was surer of her than I’d ever been of anything in my life. I was halfway down the aisle and just waiting for her to catch up with me.





IN THE DAYS that followed the Santos fight, things got more hectic, not less, and the frenzy had me running on empty. I was tired for the first time in my life. It was kind of a strange sensation. I found that I really just wanted to be with Millie and Henry, and I spent more time at their place than my own. In fact, it started to feel like home. So much so that I fell asleep on the couch one night watching a game with Henry, and woke up to music.

Millie sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, her back to me, and her guitar cradled in the well of her folded legs. The game was clearly over, and Henry had obviously given up on me and gone to bed. I would have to make it up to him, though I didn’t mind missing the game. I’d never been much of a spectator anyway. I preferred to play.

I watched Millie pick her way through a couple songs, her head tilted toward the guitar like she liked the way the strings squeaked. She held the guitar upright, the neck almost vertical, and I listened, not commenting, letting her think I was still sleeping. She was always surprising me. I knew she could play, but she was pretty damn good.

“Why haven’t you ever played for me before?” I asked quietly, my voice drowsy and content.

“You’re awake,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m awake, you’re beautiful, and you need to come here.”

She ignored me, her fingers finding their way across the strings. “If you were a chord, David, what chord would you be?” she mused, playing one chord after another.

I listened as she experimented.

“Oh, here’s a good, sad one,” she said, strumming softly.

“You think I’m sad?” I asked.

“Nah. Definitely not. That’s not your chord. No minor chords for you.”

“Absolutely not. I’m a major chord all the way. A major chord and a major stud.” She laughed and I sighed. I didn’t know what time it was, but the golden glow of the nearby lamp and the warm strings made my eyes heavy and my heart light.

“This is Henry’s chord.” Millie played something dissonant and curious, and I laughed out loud because it made total sense. “But you would be something deeper,” she added.

“Because I’m a sexy man,” I drawled.

“Yep. Because you’re a sexy man. And we would want something with a little twang to it.”

“Because I’m a sexy Texan.”

“A sexy Utah Texan.” She tried a few more, laughing and scrunching up her nose as she tried to find just the right chord. “And we need something sweet.”

“Sweet and violent?” I asked.

“Sexy, twangy, sweet and violent. This might be more difficult than I thought,” she said, still giggling.

She strummed something full and throaty, picking over each string and then strumming them together. “There it is, hear that? That’s Tag.”

“I like it,” I said, pleased.