The Song of David(99)

“Are we Tag’s team?” he asked.

I started to explain what Tag Team was, the label, the fighters, the gym. And then I stopped myself. “Yeah. We are. We’re Tag’s team.”

“Because we love him?”

“Yeah,” I said, getting choked up all over again. I was so tired of being overcome with emotion. But Henry had a way of sneaking up on me and saying the obvious, and saying it in such a way that it seemed profound. In Vegas, Millie had explained Tag’s condition to him the best she could, and he had come to me asking to go to a barber so he could get his hair cut like Tag’s. I hadn’t really known why he’d wanted to. I’d just thought it was just a case of hero worship. But Millie had been stunned by Henry’s desire to cut his hair. Apparently it wasn’t something that came easily to him. I realized now that it was his way of lending moral support, of being part of Tag Team. I watched as Georgia climbed over the fence and started toward us, grateful that I’d have her moral support momentarily.

“There is an ‘i’ in David, though,” Henry said simply, as if that negated the whole “I in team,” argument.

I laughed—a loud bark of relief that had him tipping his head toward me in curiosity. “You were doing so well, kid. I thought you were going to inspire me,” I snorted, still laughing, and relieved to be doing so.

“There isn’t an ‘i’ in Henry,” he said blandly.

“Or Moses,” I added, unable to stop chuckling. “We’re the selfless ones,” I explained.

“There’s an ‘i’ in Georgia,” Henry said, as Georgia joined us on the deck.

“Yep. And don’t I know it. Me, me, me. All the time,” I said, pulling on Georgia’s hand and bringing her in close to me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my lips gently.

“Where’s Millie?” she asked, not taking my bait.

“She’s with Tag,” Henry volunteered. “And we’re leaving them alone.”

Georgia’s eyes shot to mine and her eyebrows rose.

“Oh yeah?” There was hope in her voice.

“Yeah. And Millie wasn’t being gentle,” I added softly. But Henry still heard.

“There’s no such thing as a timid fighter,” Henry parroted. “That’s what Tag says. And he says Amelie fights every damn day.”

“Hallelujah and praise the Lord for that,” Georgia said, sounding just like my great-grandma Kathleen. They were both small-town Levan girls who had spent a good deal of their lives as neighbors. So I guess it wasn’t surprising.

“Amen,” I agreed.

“Muhammad Amelie,” Georgia joked. “Floats like a butterfly . . .”

“Stings like a bee,” Henry and I finished.

“I’m going to go check on Kathleen,” Georgia said, easing away from us. I knew she was going to eavesdrop at the guest bedroom door on her way to Kathleen, but I didn’t call her on it, hoping she’d report back. Henry stood too and wandered back out to the corral to commune with Sackett, who walked to the fence to greet him.

From the corner of my eye I saw a pulse, a shimmer, like the air above the black top on a sweltering day. My neck got hot, and instead of resisting, I opened myself up to the summoning flicker, curious instead of afraid. It wasn’t Molly this time.

I recognized her, though I’d only seen her once before. She showed me lace. Just lace. A billowing swath, and then she was gone. But I understood, and for the first time since Tag disappeared, the vise around my heart eased slightly.





I TRADED ONE room for another, holing up in different parts of my best friend’s house. But this time, I wasn’t hiding. I was healing. Or hoping. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was allowing myself to hope.

No one came knocking. No one brought food or slid notes under the door. Even Henry. He was taken care of, and Millie and I both knew it. So we stayed locked away, together.

Darkness descended outside, and the stars came out. Millie couldn’t see them, but I told her they were there, fat and bright in the sky outside the big bay window in the guest room. I told her how I’d lain beneath those stars as a boy, sleeping out on the trampoline in my backyard in Dallas. I told her how, ten years later, Moses and I had stretched out on the deck of a boat going down the Nile River in Africa. I’d looked up at that never-ending expanse, and I’d recognized that old feeling. The very same feeling I’d had as a kid. I didn’t feel insignificant under the stars. I felt huge, like the heavens revolved around me. I was bigger than the stars. I was bigger and brighter, and the world was mine. I was so enormous I could hold up my thumb and completely blot one out, hold up my hand and obliterate a whole section of the sky. Such power. Such size. I wasn’t David, I was Goliath.