MILLIE OPENED THE door to greet me, a smile on her lips, my name on her tongue, but I didn’t wait for her to release it. I wanted her to keep it, savor it, and never let it go. I needed my name to stay inside her so that I wouldn’t float away like a word that’s already been spoken. So I pressed my lips to hers and swung her up in my arms like a man in a movie, and my name became a cry that only I heard.
I felt slightly crazed, and my kiss was frantic as I barreled up the stairs with Millie in my arms. My legs didn’t shake and my mind was clear, as if in its health my body was rebelling too. I wanted to roar and hit my chest. I wanted to shake my fists at the heavens, but more than anything I wanted Millie. I didn’t want to waste another second with Millie.
Then we were in her room, the white comforter pristine and smooth, like Millie’s skin in the moonlight, and I laid her across it, falling down beside her. I was anxious. Needy. I wanted the safety of her skin, the absolution of her flesh, and the promise that came with it. I wanted to take. I wanted to cement myself in her memory and leave my mark. I needed that. I needed her. She matched my fervor like she understood. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. But she didn’t slow me down or beg me for reassurance.
My hands were in her hair and tracing her eyes, fingering her mouth, pausing in the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch every single part of her. But even as I lost myself in the silk of her skin and the sway of her movements against me, I felt the horror rise up inside of me and shimmer beneath my skin. It wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be enough, and I knew it, even as I closed my eyes and tried to make it be enough. I couldn’t breathe and my heart raced, and for a moment I thought I would tell her everything.
She must have mistaken my fear for hesitation, the cessation of my breath for something else, because she cradled my face in her hands and pressed her forehead to mine. And then she whispered my name.
“David, David, David.” It sounded like a song when she said it. And she kissed my lips softly.
“David, David, David.” She chanted my name, like she couldn’t believe it was true, like she liked the way it felt in her mouth.
“I love the way you call me David,” I said, and remembered the line from my silly song, the line that had no rhyme.
“I love that you are mine,” she breathed, and the fear left me for a time. It tiptoed away and love took its place, love and belonging and time that can’t be stolen. Millie said she had to feel to see, and she saw all of me. Her fingers traced the contours of my back like she was reading a map, following a river to the sea across a long expanse, over valleys and hills. She was thorough and attentive, her lips and cheeks following her fingers, her tongue testing the textures that needed more attention. When Millie made love she actually made love. She created it, drew it, coaxed it into being. I’d always hated that term and preferred a little baser description, maybe because it felt more honest. But with Millie, nothing else fit. And she didn’t just make love, she made me love. She made me listen. She made me feel. She made me pay attention. I didn’t hurry or take. I didn’t rush or push. I closed my eyes and loved the same way she did, with the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands, and I saw her so clearly that my eyes burned behind my closed lids.
She was confident in a way she shouldn’t have been, confident in a way that is born from knowing you are loved, and I reveled in that. She wasn’t the girl in sexy lingerie, wondering if she should pose her body this way or that. She was a woman deeply in love and completely lost in the experience. She didn’t ask me what I liked or what I wanted. She didn’t hesitate or hold back. She didn’t plead for pretty words or reassurance.
But I gave them anyway.
I gave them because they fell from my mouth, and I pressed them to her ears, needing her to know how much I loved her, how perfect I found her, how precious the moment was. And she whispered back, matching each expression with affection, gifting words with caresses, until the effort to speak became too great and the words felt inadequate. When she reached the peak she pulled me over the edge with her, and I wished we could just keep on falling and never stop. Falling would feel like flying if you never hit the ground. But the landing was soft and our breathing slowed, and I pulled her in tight as the world righted itself. Or wronged me. I wasn’t sure which. Millie was pliant and sleepy in my arms, and I felt her drifting off.
“I love you, Millie. Do you know that?” I said.
“Yes.” She said the word on a long, satisfied sigh, as if the knowledge was wonderful.
“You have your favorite sounds, and now, so do I. I love it when my back is turned, and I hear you coming. I love the sound your stick makes. When I hear it, it makes me smile. I love your voice and the way you laugh from your chest. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. That laugh.” I felt her smile, her lips moving softly against my throat.
“I love that little breath, the little gasp in your throat when I touch you here.” I pressed my hand to her lower back and pulled her tightly against me. Her breath hitched on cue. “That’s it. That’s the sound.”
Millie kissed my chest but didn’t speak. I counted to sixty slowly, and then I continued, whispering so softly and so unhurriedly she was sure to fall asleep.
“And you hum. You hum when you’re happy. You hum when you run your fingers through my hair and when you’re falling asleep. You are almost humming now.”
There was silence in the room, and I knew she’d slid under the downy blanket of slumber. It was what I’d intended. I’d waited until she was gone.
“I want to hear that sound every night of my life.” I felt the panic rise up in my throat, not knowing how many nights I would have and not wanting to think about that when I was holding her. With the panic came tears, and they leaked out the corners of my eyes and dripped into my ears.
“I love you, Millie. And it’s the most amazing feeling, the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. I can’t hold it in my chest, that feeling. So it spills out of me whenever you’re around. It spills out of my mouth and my eyes and my ears. It spills out of my fingertips and makes me walk faster and talk louder and feel more alive. Do you feel like that, Millie? Do I make you feel more alive?”
Her deep, soft breaths were my only response, and I kissed the top of her head.
“How can I possibly be dying when I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before?”
I CREPT INTO Henry’s room at about dawn. I wanted to see him, just in case. Just in case the news was bad and I didn’t come back. I wanted to say goodbye, even if it was temporary, even if he couldn’t hear me. He looked big in the small bed, his long feet and knobby knees sticking out from beneath the covers. He needed a new bed. I made a note to tell Millie and then stopped myself. What had Millie said? She’d been taking care of herself before she met me, and she’d be taking care of herself, and Henry, after I was gone. They’d been taking care of each other.
I didn’t want to wake him, and I moved to go, my eyes skimming over his desk, over the book about giants that had once scared him. Moses had mentioned Millie’s dead mother and that book, and it had gnawed at me for a week as I tried to figure out how to approach the subject without upsetting anyone. I had shared Moses’s abilities with Millie in broad strokes, but knowing someone could see the dead and having someone see your dead were two different things. I knew that first hand. But it bothered me enough that I finally asked Henry about it.
“You wouldn’t have a book about giants, would you Henry?” I inquired hesitantly. It wasn’t very subtle, but apparently, Henry didn’t need subtlety. He’d known immediately what book I was referring to. He also knew where to find it. He had clattered down the stairs to the storage bins that were neatly stacked and labeled, and within a few minutes, returned with a handful of old treasures, including a book that was well-worn and obviously well-read. It was called When Giants Hide. Henry had shown me the pictures and made me find each giant before turning to the next page.
“My dad’s name is Andre,” he’d said abruptly.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Like Andre the Giant,” he added.
I nodded. One Andre was a giant, one Andre played for the Giants. Interesting. I hadn’t made the connection, but Henry obviously had.
“Andre the Giant was over seven feet tall and weighed five hundred pounds,” Henry continued as we turned the page, our eyes resting on a giant who blended into the trees, his hair a huge, leafy afro, his skin weathered and brown.
“He was a professional wrestler. I used to watch old highlight videos of him wrestling Hulk Hogan,” I said.
“Who won?” he asked, looking up from the book.
I laughed. “You know what? I don’t remember. I just remember thinking how big Andre was, and how much I wanted long hair and a big gold belt like Hulk Hogan.”
“This book used to scare me.”
“Not anymore?”
Henry shook his head. “No. But I still look for giants sometimes.”
“Giants . . . or just one giant?” I asked quietly. I thought maybe I’d figured out why Millie’s mother had shown Moses the book.
“Andre the Giant died,” he said soberly. “I’m not looking for him anymore.”
I had sensed Henry knew exactly who I was referring to, but I let the subject drop.
Now, looking down at the book on Henry’s desk, the doctor’s words rang in my head.
“You have a giant mass on your frontal lobe.”
A hiding giant no one had seen. Until now.
“Giants don’t make good friends.”
Henry was right. Giants were something to be afraid of.
“When Giants Hide,” I read the title again, and Henry tossed a little, murmuring in his sleep. I placed the book back down and noticed the old tape recorder Henry had unearthed along with the book. There was a shoebox of tapes too, some used, some new. Apparently, Henry had once used them to record his own sportscasts. He had a digital recorder now, but he’d been excited by the discovery of his old collection.
The tapes and the recorder gave me an idea, and I felt a little sliver of relief, a tiny lifeline. I would use the tapes to leave Millie a message. I lifted them carefully from the desk, treading quietly as I eased back out of the room with my hands now full. I would give it all back, I promised Henry silently.
(End of Cassette)
Moses
WE LEFT FOR Vegas early the next morning. Georgia stayed behind with Kathleen, but Millie refused to be left behind. She apologized for insisting yet insisted anyway. And Henry couldn’t stay home alone. So it was the three of us in the cab of my truck, heading to Vegas with our stomachs in knots and our thoughts turned inward. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. We’d passed awkward a long time ago and were well on our way to being friends.
Tag’s team left at about the same time, but we had no plans to meet up. It was divide and conquer. That was the plan, though the plan lacked specifics. My goal was just to get to Vegas and get into the fight. I’d worry about the rest later.
There wasn’t a cassette player in my truck. They didn’t make them that way anymore. But Millie brought the tape player and the box of tapes, and she sat with them in her lap as if she couldn’t bear to part with them. They were a lifeline. A Tagline. Since the day before, when Tag revealed the results of his MRI, Millie hadn’t shared the contents of the remaining tapes with me or Georgia, and I hadn’t asked to listen. I didn’t want to listen. The conversation had grown too personal, the love story too ripe, the feelings too raw, and the story was for Millie’s ears alone. I wasn’t sure if she had continued listening after we parted, but I was guessing from the way she held them, she’d done little else.
About halfway into our trip, she pulled out a cassette and put in some earphones. I was impressed that the tape recorder even worked with earphones. She turned away slightly, drawing her knees to her chest, and lost herself in Tag’s voice.
It wasn’t until a half hour later that she started to cry. She’d been so resilient. So composed. But now—now she wasn’t. Something on the cassette had set her off. Tears dripped down her face, and her lids were tightly closed, clearly an attempt to hold them in.
I needed Georgia. I didn’t know what to do. And Henry sure as hell didn’t know what to do. He caught sight of his sister’s tears and immediately started fidgeting and pulling at his seatbelt, reaching for Millie and then turning away from her.
“Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Hank Greenberg, Eddie Murray, Buck Leonard . . .” Henry started muttering and rocking, “Mark McGwire, Harmon Killebrew, Roger Connor, Jeff Bagwell . . .”
“Millie!” I raised my voice in an effort to be heard over the earphones that covered her ears.
Millie yanked the earbuds from her ears and immediately tuned into Henry.
She slid the cassette player to the floor and climbed over the seat without hesitation. She swiped at her wet face with one hand as she pulled Henry into her arms.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m okay.”
“Cap Anson, Bill Terry, Johnny Mize,” Henry mumbled.
“Baseball players?” I asked, recognizing a few.
“First basemen,” Millie supplied. Her lips were tight, and I could see she was still trying to force back the grief that had gotten to her in the first place. Henry’s forehead rested on her shoulder, his eyes hidden from her tear-stained face, giving her a moment to pull it together.
“Andre Anderson,” Henry added, but didn’t continue listing names.
It took me a minute to put it all together. Baseball. First basemen. Andre Anderson. Henry and Millie’s dad.
“Rookie of the Year, Gold Glove, Silver Slugger.” Henry pulled out of Millie’s arms and touched her cheek. I was getting dizzy watching the road and watching my rear view mirror and the drama in the backseat.
“Rookie of the Year, Gold Glove, Silver Slugger, lousy father,” Millie said firmly. “I am not crying over dad, Henry.”
“Tag Taggert, light heavyweight contender, nineteen wins, two losses, eleven knockouts, lousy boyfriend?” Henry asked.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I did neither. But my throat ached from the effort of doing nothing. Millie laughed, but a quick glance in my rearview confirmed that tears streamed down her cheeks once more. It was tragically funny.
“No, Henry. It’s not the same. It’s not the same at all. Tag didn’t leave us. This isn’t about us, Henry. This is about Tag.”
I felt a rush of awe for Millie Anderson. People didn’t impress me very easily. I could count on one hand the people who had exceeded my expectations, but Millie had just joined the ranks.
“He’s still gone,” Henry insisted, making me flinch. Millie said nothing. I just continued to drive.