“MILLIE!” THE HOUSE was pitch black. No light on the porch, no glow from the windows. I couldn’t get the damn gate to unlatch though I’d unlatched it without trouble before. I hurdled it and was up the walk in three flying steps, clearing the stairs in another one, bolting through the unlocked door, my heart playing a base drum, complete with bashing cymbals in my head.
It was so dark inside, and the darkness convinced me that when I found the light I would see something I didn’t want to see.
“Millie!”
I felt for the light, and my hand brushed against Millie’s stick, toppling it. If Millie’s stick was here, propped in its regular place, she was here too. I found the switch and light flooded the foyer, illuminating the drops of blood that tiptoed across the entryway and headed up the stairs, missing a step only to collect in a heavier pattern on another.
I was up the stairs and banging down the hall without knowing where I was going. I’d never been in this part of the house. I pushed doors open, flipping on lights until I found a room that had to be Millie’s. The walls were bare, the wooden floor neat—no strewn belongings or tossed clothing that Millie could trip over. There were drops of blood leading to a closed door across from her neatly made bed.
“Millie?” I said, but it came out a whisper. I couldn’t shout anymore. I was too afraid. I crossed the room and pushed open the door, bracing myself for the worst, only to find the bathroom dark, just like the rest of the house. Light from the bedroom spilled into the small space, and I found myself staring at Millie, perched on the edge of the tub in a tank top and shorts, her hair piled on her head like she was preparing to bathe and didn’t want to get it wet. Blood was smeared all over the sink and across the splash tiles in a macabre finger painting. I slid my hand along the wall beside the door and the light I switched on turned the burgundy blood into a cheery red.
Millie had ear buds stuck in her ears and her head bobbed like she was just chilling out instead of bleeding out. She had wrapped one set of fingers in a ratty washcloth and was gripping them tightly. Her eyes were opened, blankly staring, and she was completely unaware that I was there.
I yanked the earbuds from her ears and she yelped a little, clearly startled.
“Amelie,” I growled.
“David?” she cried, but her voice carried more surprise than pain.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What the hell are YOU doing?” she shot back, immediately matching my angry tone.
“The house is dark, there’s a trail of blood up the stairs, this bathroom looks like you attempted suicide, and you’re sitting here zoning out to your iPod—”
“I sliced my finger open. I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s throbbing a little, but that’s all. It was bleeding a lot, so I’m just trying to get it to stop enough to put a band aid on it.”
“Let me see.” I knelt in front of her and eased the washcloth away from her fingers. The blood immediately welled and spilled over, but not before I got a decent look at the injury on the fleshy pad of her pointer finger.
“It’s pretty deep, but you could probably get away with a band aid if you aren’t afraid of a little scar.” I wrapped her finger back up tightly and instructed her to keep it raised. “Where are the bandages?
“I thought there were some in my cabinet above the sink. I couldn’t find any. But I didn’t look very long. I was bleeding and wanted to get it stopped before I made a huge mess. Henry hates blood and I didn’t want to wake him.”
“Too late.”
“What?”
“You scared him to death, Millie. Henry came into the bar in his pajamas, babbling about blood and the number of stitches on a baseball. He was completely freaked out. I thought something terrible had happened to you. I didn’t know what I’d find.” I suddenly felt the room swim around me and I sank down onto the toilet seat before I passed out and created a whole different emergency.
“Henry did?” she asked, dumbfounded. “I thought he was in bed! I didn’t hear him. I was . . .”
“Listening to music?” I barked.
“Yes! It’s not a crime, Tag. I’m in my own home! I don’t have to explain myself to you! And my house is always dark when Henry’s asleep! I’m blind, remember? I don’t need the lights on!” Her lower lip trembled, and I groaned.
“Damn it, Amelie. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I was scared. Okay?” Scared was putting it mildly. I stood and opened the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink. I could see where Amelie had searched from the bloody fingerprints and the blood streaked items crowded on the little shelves. There were three loose band aids on the top shelf, and I pulled them down gratefully, shutting the cabinet with a mental promise to scrub it down when I was done doctoring Millie.
“Where’s Henry now?” she asked quietly.
“Axel was at the bar. He likes Axel, so I left him there until I could see what had happened. You scared the hell out of me, Amelie.” I punched a message into my phone, a quick text to Axel, letting him and Henry know that Millie was fine and I’d be back to get Henry in a little while.
“Are you calling me Amelie because you’re mad? You’re not my mother, Tag. I know it must look bad, but I’m completely capable of handling this situation. I’ve cut myself before and I’m sure I’ll cut myself again.”
“Shh, Millie. I’m not mad. I’m not mad. Just . . . come here.” I pulled her up, and positioning her in front of the sink, bandaged her finger. There were streaks of blood down her arms and some on her legs as well. I rinsed out the washcloth she’d used to stem the blood flow, wringing it out until the hot water ran clear. Then I used it to gently blot the blood away from her hands, trying not to notice the way her skin goose-pimpled as I continued up her forearms, and then up farther, wiping away a spot from her left shoulder and a smudge on the tip of her chin. The bathroom was small, the act intimate, and the frustration and fear I’d felt disappeared with the blood stains. I kept rinsing the cloth so it was warm against her skin, and when I knelt to clean her feet, she laid her hands on my shoulders for balance as I lifted one foot and washed it and then moved to the next. I stopped to rinse and warm my cloth before I moved up one lean leg and down the other and felt her fingers curl into my T-shirt, making heat curl in my stomach. I continued until every inch of her bare skin was pink from the heat of the cloth and slightly damp from my ministrations, and when I was done I wished I wasn’t. I couldn’t do anything about the blood on her black tank top or the hot pink shorts that matched her toenail polish. I touched one toenail with the pad of my thumb.
“How do you do that?”
“What? Paint them?”
“Yeah.”
“Practice.”
“So did you match the shorts and the toes on purpose?” I looked up at her to see her response.
“Of course.” She smiled, but her voice remained a whisper, almost as if she too was afraid to disturb the charged air that buzzed around us. I rose from my haunches, leaving only a few inches between our bodies.
“Why?” It seemed so unimportant, so insignificant for something that must take a lot of effort. And she couldn’t even see the results.
“It’s all about the little things . . . haven’t you learned that, big guy?” She said big guy the way I said sweetheart.
“When did your mom die, Millie?” My voice was soft, even softer than my hands had been on her body.
“When I was eighteen. She’d been sick for about two years. She shouldn’t have made it that long. But she knew she had to make it until then. I had to be a legal adult in order to be Henry’s guardian.”
“So who takes care of Millie?” I whispered.
“I don’t need to be taken care of, Tag,” she whispered back. “I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
“Need and want are two different things.” I swallowed once, trying to convince myself that I didn’t want what I wanted very, very much. When I made no move to take it, Millie stepped into me and carefully slid her arms around my waist. My heart was pounding in my chest and she laid her cheek against it, listening. I couldn’t hide from her. She was blind yet she saw every damn thing. Almost as carefully, I wrapped my arms around her too, loosely, gently, my big hands resting on her slim back.
“Can I ask you something, Tag?” Her voice was plaintive and small as if she were speaking to my heart which lay directly beneath her lips. Its galloping response should have been enough. Maybe it was, because she didn’t wait for my lips to answer. “Are you afraid to kiss me?”
“Why would I be afraid?” I was so damn afraid.
“Because kissing a blind girl is like stealing from a beggar or lying to a priest, don’t you know? Like hitting a child or drowning a kitten? It’s one of those unpardonable sins.”
I swore beneath my breath, half-tempted to laugh at her audacity, half-angry that she was so astute.
“Or maybe you think it’s like pulling on that loose string only to unravel an entire sweater. One of those things that is innocent but has dire consequences.”
“That’s not it, Millie,” I lied.
“That is it, Tag. And don’t insult me by assuming that I need some sort of guarantee just because I can’t see. If I were any other girl, you would have had my clothes on the floor by now. It’s a kiss, Tag. Not a promise signed in blood. A kiss.”
When I gently pushed her away from me, forcing her to lift her head from my chest, I could see the hurt slam across her face, and her eyelids fluttered closed as if to protect what was already lost. But she misunderstood. I was creating space to move, not distance. I slid my fingers along the sides of her face, cradled her head in my hands, and laid my lips across hers. She clutched at my wrists, a small gasp escaping from her mouth before I swallowed it up, adding it to the fear that still hummed in my chest.
Her lips were soft and her mouth was slightly sweet, and for a few seconds I was hyper-aware of the smallest details, the rasp of my whiskered chin against her smooth cheek as my mouth whispered over hers, the silky heat of her breath hitching in anticipation, a strand of her hair tickling my face as I applied the gentlest of pressures to her lips. And then she leaned into me hungrily, demanding more, and the details blurred into the heady experience of wanting and being wanted.
My stomach dipped and my hands slid from her face to her waist before my arms wrapped around her slim form, gripping her tightly, trying desperately not to lose control, trying valiantly to maintain emotional indifference as my body waved the white flag. Then my thoughts were overpowered by sensation, and I didn’t think at all.
Millie didn’t just kiss me, she traced me, holding my face to her mouth as her fingertips curled into my skin, the brush of her fingers and her mouth peeling away my resistance, sinking into my flesh until I was panting against her lips, my tongue tangling with hers, her feet dangling above the floor as I lifted her off her feet. I urged her legs around me in an attempt to get closer than we already were, and she acquiesced, her legs encircling me as tightly as my arms embraced her. Then I was stumbling out of the bathroom, gripping her to me, cradling her like a child I was desperate to protect, kissing her like a woman I was suddenly hell-bent on having, and falling across her bed like my legs had been shot out from beneath me.
My hands slid beneath her tank top, palming the satiny skin of her abdomen before pushing her bloodied shirt past the swell of her breasts and over her head, tearing my mouth from hers to yank it free, pulling the pins from her hair as I went so that it fell in dark waves across her shoulders and around her head, an inky pool against the white comforter. And my breath caught in my chest. My hands stilled and my heart tripped, thudding heavily against my ribs.
I pushed myself up and off her, bracing myself above her so I could stare down at the girl beneath me. Dark hair, smooth skin, full breasts. I swallowed, throat closing with an emotion that felt more like love than lust. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, waiting for me to come back. She didn’t cover herself or reach for me. She just waited.
A door slammed downstairs.
“Tag!” Axel bellowed. Millie jerked, and I was across the room, yanking open drawers, looking for a clean shirt to cover what I’d just unwrapped. She was suddenly there beside me, gently pushing me aside as she found what I was looking for and slid it over her head without missing a beat.
“Tag!” Axel sounded desperate, and I wondered if he was trying to hold back a panicked Henry.
“Henry needs to see that you’re okay, Millie.” But she was already headed for the door, moving with such surety and purpose that I marveled for a moment before I shook myself awake and followed her out of the room.
Axel and Henry stood at the base of the stairs, Axel holding on to Henry, trying to comfort and contain him. When they saw me and Millie above them, Axel let Henry go, cursing in relieved Swedish. Henry raced up the stairs, barreling into his sister, who heard his flight and braced herself, wrapping her thin arms around him as he flung himself against her.
“I’m okay, Henry. I’m okay. I just cut my finger. You should have talked to me, Henry, before running out of the house so late at night! I didn’t even know you were awake. You should have let me explain.”
“A baseball has exactly 108 stitches,” Henry whispered and buried his head in his sister’s shoulder.
“I don’t need stitches, Henry. I’m fine. I promise.” She smoothed her hand over his messy hair and held him tightly.
“Everything okay then?” Axel shifted his weight and reached for the door handle, as if Henry’s distress had worn him out. I descended the stairs and extended my hand to my friend.
“Yeah, Axel. Thanks. I owe you one, man.”
Axel nodded and grasped my hand, the relief still evident in his quick smile. “I couldn’t convince him everything was all right.”
“It’s okay. He’s had it tough. He had no reason to expect good news, poor kid,” I said, my voice low, meant only for his ears. Axel nodded again, and releasing my hand, slid out the door into the night, calling his goodbye to Henry, who lifted his hand but didn’t lift his head from Millie’s shoulder.
I left Henry in Millie’s consoling hands and went in search of rags and disinfectant, determined to rid the house of blood stains and bad memories. I threw myself into wiping down the kitchen, unloading and reloading the dishwasher while I was at it. Then I followed the blood trail up the stairs, through Millie’s room, and into the bathroom, trying not to think about what would have happened had Axel not arrived with Henry when he did. I could hear the sounds of Millie’s voice mixed with ESPN commentary, seeping out from beneath Henry’s door and sorted through my jumbled emotions by scrubbing the sink and taking an old toothbrush to the tiles on the bathroom floor. I removed the contents from the medicine cabinet, making careful note of how it was organized so I could return it to the same place, enabling Millie to locate everything when I was done. I finished up by cleaning the toilet and the shower for good measure.
“It smells like pine sol and sap in here.” Millie stood in the door, smiling softly.
“Ah. My signature fragrance,” I joked, though it fell flat. I’d left my good humor back at the bar, abandoned it when Henry staggered through the door in his pajamas, and I hadn’t had a chance to retrieve it. I stood washing my hands, but I didn’t turn around. My hands were red from cleaning, but my nerves were raw, and I didn’t really trust myself with Millie right now.
“Henry okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Henry’s okay. Are you?” Her voice was timid. I didn’t answer immediately, and she waited me out, listening to me wash my hands and turn off the water before I finally spoke.
“When my sister disappeared, I kept thinking I’d come home one day, and she’d be there. Just a misunderstanding. A bad dream.” I found her reflection in the little oval mirror, my eyes clinging to her face before forcing myself to look away. Tonight had made me feel like the old Tag. The sixteen-year-old Tag who lost his sister and couldn’t save her.
“I’m glad Henry’s okay.” I was glad Henry’s sister was okay too. I was so glad. So ridiculously, tearfully, gratefully glad.
I felt Millie’s hand brush my back tentatively, finding me, and then she slid her arms around my waist and laid her head against me.
“Thank you, David. I don’t know why you are so good to us. But you are. And I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to be grateful.” I felt the press of her body against my back as her arms tightened briefly. Then she stepped back, releasing me, and I bore down on the desire that whooshed through me like a blow torch, only to curse at the heat, turn on her, slam the door, and back Millie up against it.
“Damn it, Millie!” I groaned into her hair. “Why do you have to be so damn sweet?” My lips were on her forehead, on her cheeks, nuzzling her neck before I found her mouth and forgot to be gentle.
She matched my fervor, biting at my lower lip before I licked into her mouth and felt a tremor run down her body. I wanted to feel her naked skin on mine, to pull her to the floor and shove our clothes aside, but I braced my hands above her head instead, gripping the door so I wouldn’t touch her, so I wouldn’t start something I had no business finishing. And I would finish if I started. If I saw her laying beneath me again, her hair spread around her, her hands pulling me to her, I would finish. And I couldn’t go there. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Because regardless of what Millie said, insult or not, Amelie Anderson—beautiful, brave, and freaking BLIND—wasn’t the kind of girl you played. She wasn’t the kind of girl you played around with. I’d flirted. I had. But I hadn’t harmed. She said she didn’t need guarantees, but she sure as hell did. She sure as hell deserved them. And I wasn’t there yet. My body was. My body had been there and back multiple times. My body was running circles around my heart, raging at me, mocking me, begging me to get with the program.
But as ridiculously, gratefully, tearfully glad as I was that she was okay, I wasn’t there yet.
I wrenched my mouth away and buried my face in her hair.
“Are you a virgin, Millie?” I asked, my voice hoarse, my hands still braced above her head.
She froze, the hands that were curled against my chest, suddenly falling to her sides.
“Are you?” she asked primly.
I half-laughed, half-groaned at her sass and kissed the top of her head. The laughter burst the ball of tension in my gut, and I exhaled the residue in a long sigh.
“No, Millie. I’m not. Not by a long shot. Are you?” I repeated the question.
“No.”
“You’re lying. You have a little groove between your eyebrows and you’re biting your lip. Those are your tells.”
“My tells?”
“Yep. Don’t ever play poker, sweetheart.” I stepped back, my arms falling to my sides, mimicking her posture. I pulled Millie forward so I could open the bathroom door she still leaned against. “It’s got to be close to two a.m. I need to go before I get careless. I’ll say goodnight to Henry and be on my way.”
Millie’s back stiffened and her chin lifted slightly, another tell, but she followed me out without a word. I’d embarrassed her, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, so I held my tongue and kept my hands to myself. I stuck my head into Henry’s room, only to discover him asleep, sprawled across his narrow bed, the highlight reel flickering across his face from the TV on the opposite wall.
“The San Francisco Giants have won the 2012 World Series! The Giants have taken it all!” the announcer crowed, and I realized he’d been watching a replay. Baseball season was long over. I wondered if Henry hoped to catch a glimpse of his dad, Giants alumni, one of baseball’s brightest lights. Too bad he was an asshole. Too bad Henry still cared.
I closed the door softly and made my way down the stairs, suddenly weary, my muscles achy, my neck stiff, my mind troubled. “He’s never called, never contacted you? Not even since your mom passed away?”
Millie knew who I was referring to, though I had asked the question without clarifying. She shrugged as if it meant very little to her. “No. His lawyer called once, verifying that Henry and I were still here. Verifying that I was Henry’s guardian. After that, the money doubled. He just sends money. Month after month, we get a check. I’m sure it makes him feel better about himself. Some people can’t handle it, you know. The disappointment, the baggage, the responsibility that comes with having children with disabilities. He couldn’t.” Millie’s voice was cool and her posture was straight as a board.
“Huh.” I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Millie.” I let myself out, and was halfway down the street before I realized Millie probably thought I was one of those people—the people who couldn’t handle it.