The Song of David(95)

And it came to pass, when Goliath arose, and came, and drew nigh to meet David that David hastened, and ran toward the army to meet Goliath. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote Goliath in his forehead that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. So David prevailed over Goliath with a sling and with a stone, and smote Goliath, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of David. Therefore David ran, and stood upon Goliath, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and cut off his head therewith.



Moses had underlined the part where David ran to meet Goliath. Eager little beaver, that David. The biblical David apparently enjoyed fighting too. I sighed and shut the book. I wasn’t terribly inspired. I knew what Moses wanted, but deep down, I wasn’t convinced, and I wished he would hear me out. Moses was all about seeing, but he could stand to listen every once in a while.

I could hear Georgia and Henry outside my bedroom window. The room overlooked the round corral, and Georgia was walking Sackett in slow circles, Henry perched happily on his back, chatting away like talking was his favorite thing and not something he struggled with at all. Georgia was damn good at what she did, and I marveled at the little miracle that Henry was here, enjoying the benefits of my friendship with Georgia and Moses. If nothing else, that was something I could hold onto. I hadn’t messed everything up. It wasn’t all bad.

It was just mostly bad. Including the way I smelled. I desperately needed a shower. In addition to the bed, Moses had a huge sink and a toilet tucked away above his work space, but no shower. I would have to brave the rest of the house for that, and it couldn’t be put off any longer.

When I slipped into the house through the garage entrance, I stopped to listen. I could hear someone upstairs—Moses, by the sound of the footfalls—but nobody seemed to be downstairs. The big guest bathroom on the main floor was connected to the room Millie had slept in, but the bed was neatly made and Millie was nowhere to be seen. I released my breath and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door and making use of the shower.

But Millie was waiting for me when I came out. She sat primly on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, just waiting.

“You smell good, David,” she said with a smile, and I felt a pang at the memory those words invoked. She stuck out her hand toward me, like she’d done the night we met, as if waiting for me to shake it.

“Hi. I’m Amelie. And I’m blind.”

I couldn’t deny her. I stepped forward and took her hand in mine and said my line.

“Hi. I’m David. And I’m not.” I didn’t release her, and she didn’t pull it away. I ran my thumb over the silkiness of her skin, my eyes riveted to our joined hands. God, I loved her so much! I wanted to shut the door, lock it, and push her back onto the bed and just let it all go. Just for a while. I wanted that so badly.

“Now that we’ve introduced ourselves again, maybe you’ll talk to me,” she suggested gently.

“I don’t want to talk, Millie,” I whispered.

She tilted her head sideways, catching the heat in my voice. The ode. The freaking ode that was still thrumming between us, the song on constant repeat.

She stood up slowly, and she was so close that her body brushed mine. I felt her breath at my throat, a little flutter of the melody that I couldn’t get out of my head, out of my heart. I brought one hand to her face and tipped her chin up, until her lips were directly beneath mine. And then I kissed her. So lightly. So gently. Trying desperately not to turn the song into a symphony, the ode into a cymbal-crashing orchestral arrangement.

She responded, but she didn’t increase the tempo. Our lips met, merged, and retreated only to meet again and repeat the motion. When I urged her lips apart and tasted the wet sweetness of her mouth, it was all I could do not to moan in defeat. And then we were tumbling back onto the bed, her hips in my hands, my shirt clutched in her fists, and the kiss roared to an inevitable, if sudden, crescendo.

And that’s when she pushed me away.

“David. Stop,” she whispered, her mouth seeking me even as she asked me to quit. I pressed my forehead to hers to rein myself in and bit back a curse when my still-tender flesh protested the contact. She took my cheeks in her hands, and ran her fingers over my face, as if trying to read my expression.

“We don’t have to talk. But you can’t kiss me and then leave again. You can’t do that to me, David.” There was steel in her voice, though it was wrapped in velvet, and I knew she meant it.