The Song of David(94)

(End of Cassette)





Moses




I DIDN’T KNOW what to do with my passengers. I didn’t dare take them back to Salt Lake. Tag’s apartment and the apartment above it were under contract—he had a buyer all lined up before he left for Vegas. Plus, he shouldn’t be alone. He wasn’t well, and I didn’t trust him not to do something ridiculous. Again. I could take Millie and Henry home to Salt Lake and insist Tag come home to Levan with me, but I knew Millie wouldn’t want that. I didn’t think she and Tag had had a chance to air things out. And they needed to. Tag needed to make it right, if that was even possible. I’d watched them in the rearview mirror, Tag finally giving in and letting Millie hold onto him for the last stretch of the trip. She would forgive him, if she hadn’t already, but I didn’t know if he would let her. The whole thing was seriously messed up. All of it, and I felt the anguish boil up in me again. I had no idea what to do.

Tag had an appointment with his oncologist in Salt Lake in one week. I’d made him call Dr. Shumway in my presence, and he put the doctor on speaker. Dr. Shumway had been briefed by the Vegas medical team on Tag’s fight, on the hemorrhage and swelling that had caused the seizure, and on Tag’s present condition, which was surprisingly good, considering. Apparently, after a craniotomy, it’s typical to wait at least a month to let the patient heal before embarking on a course of treatment, in other words, radiation and chemotherapy. It had been three weeks, so Tag’s treatment hadn’t been delayed by his decision to bolt, but Dr. Shumway informed Tag that it was unlikely, with the injury he’d “suffered”—Dr. Shumway was remarkably diplomatic—that treatment for the cancer would begin next week.

Tag would need more time to heal now, and the knowledge made me angry all over again. I wanted the cancer on blast. I didn’t want Tag waiting any longer. He didn’t seem upset by the delay whatsoever. Just subdued. Troubled. Unsure of himself. He watched Millie with such hunger and regret that it was hard to stay angry with him. But I managed.

“You’re all coming home with me. At least for the next few days,” I insisted, arriving at the only solution I could come up with. We were nearing the Levan/Mills exit, an exit that boasted a few abandoned vehicles, several stray cows, and a man-made reservoir that wasn’t much to look at. The freeway bypassed Levan completely, and the one exit, several miles from the town, was the only way to access it without backtracking from Nephi. Funny, Levan was just a blip on the map, a speck, but Georgia and Kathleen were there, and suddenly I was incredibly homesick for the town I once hated.

I caught Tag’s gaze in my rearview mirror, and he stared back at me steadily. He’d lifted his head from Millie’s lap and straightened to a sitting position.

“You’re all coming home with me,” I repeated firmly.

He broke eye contact and turned to Millie, but she was already nodding.

“Okay,” she said easily, and I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Henry was the only one smiling. “Did you know the average jockey weighs between 108 and 118 pounds?” he asked. Apparently, he was looking forward to riding again. “But a jockey has to be strong,” he added. “Because the average racehorse weighs twelve hundred pounds and can run forty miles per hour.”

I pressed the pedal down, flying toward home, leaving the average racehorse in the dust.





I SPENT THE first three days at Moses and Georgia’s house holed up in my room. Georgia brought me food that I didn’t want to eat, and I slept as much as I could. But on the fourth day, I was restless, irritatingly restored, and I couldn’t hide in the room over Mo’s studio forever. Even though I wanted to. They’d put Henry in the single bed in the baby’s room—Kathleen still slept in a cradle in her parents’ room—and Millie took the guest room on the main floor. It was a big house, a nice house, and I loved the people in it, but I had purposely avoided them.

Moses had stomped in that morning with the painting he’d done of David and Goliath and set it down on an easel facing my bed. Then he plunked down a huge bible, just tossed it in front of me, and opened it to a section that he had highlighted in red pencil.

“David kills giants. Giants don’t kill David,” he barked, slapping the book. “Read it.” He stomped back out again.

I picked up the book, liking the heft in my hand, the silkiness of the pages. It had gold lettering engraved on the cover—Kathleen Wright—Moses’s great-grandmother, the grandmother his daughter was named for. From the looks of it, her bible had been a trusted friend. It surprised me that Moses read it, but he obviously had, at least long enough to find the passage of scripture he wanted me to read. I turned back to the opened page and read the highlighted sections.