FRIENDS OR NOT, I found myself in front of Amelie’s door at a quarter to eleven. I knocked and waited, wondering if Millie had changed her mind. The friend comment had been insulting—I knew it as soon as it left my lips—but I had to make sure I wasn’t leading her on until I knew where I was going. I was dressed in my navy blue suit jacket and a starched white shirt, but I’d left the tie at home and pressed my Wranglers instead of wearing slacks. I could dress up when I needed to, but I was hoping my pressed Wranglers and shiny boots were good enough. I’d slicked back my shaggy hair and told myself I didn’t need a haircut. I’d never been attached to my hair, I just never got around to taking care of it. But it made me look a little unkempt, so I wetted it, threw some goop in it, and slicked it back. I looked like one of those shirtless guys in a kilt on the cover of a romance novel, the kind my mom used to read and collect. It didn’t matter. Millie couldn’t see my long hair or the way it curled well over my collar. She couldn’t see my jeans for that matter, so I didn’t know why I cared.
The front door swung open and Henry stood there with wide eyes and a baseball bat.
“Hey, Henry.”
Henry stared. “You look weird, Tag.”
Said the guy with the bat and the hair that looked like a burning bush.
“I’m dressed up, Henry.”
“What did you do to your hair?” Henry hadn’t moved back to let me in.
“I combed it. What did you do to yours?” I asked, smirking.
Henry reached up and patted it. “I didn’t comb it.”
“Yeah. I can tell. It looks like a broom, Henry.”
We stared at each other for a few long seconds.
“They use brooms in the sport of curling,” Henry said.
I bit my lip to control the bubble of laughter in my throat. “True. But I’m thinking you would look more like a baseball player with less hair. That’s your favorite sport, right?”
Henry held up the bat in his hands, as if that were answer enough.
“I was thinking . . . I was thinking that you and I should maybe head over to my friend Leroy’s and get a trim tomorrow. Leroy owns a barbershop. Whaddaya say? Leroy is nice and there’s a smoothie shop next door. It’ll be a man date. A date for men.” I might as well kill two birds with one stone.
“A mandate?” Henry ran the words together.
“Yes. I am mandating that you get your hair cut. We’ll go to the gym afterwards, and I’ll show you some moves.”
“Not Amelie?”
“Do you want Amelie to come?”
“She’s not a man. It’s a man date.”
Amelie chose that moment to gently push Henry aside.
“I am definitely not a man, but Henry, you really should have invited Tag inside.”
Amelie was wearing tan boots and a snug khaki colored skirt that came to her knees, along with a fitted red sweater and a fuzzy scarf that had streaks of red and black and gold in the weave. I wondered how in the world she coordinated it all. Judging from Henry’s hair, he couldn’t be much help.
“On February sixth, 1971, Alan Shepard hit a golf ball on the moon,” Henry offered inexplicably, and moved aside.
“And today is February sixth, isn’t it?” Millie said, clearly understanding Henry’s thought processes a whole lot better than I did.
“That’s right,” I said. “So February sixth a golf ball was hit on the moon and on February seventh, 2014, Tag Taggert and Henry Anderson are going to get haircuts, right Henry?”
“Okay, Tag.” Henry ducked his head and headed up the stairs.
“Call me if you need me, Henry,” Millie called after him. She waited until she heard his door shut before she addressed me.
“Henry has an attachment disorder. He doesn’t even like it when I cut my hair. If my mom had allowed it, he would be the biggest pack rat in the world. But hoarding and blindness don’t mix. Everything has to be in its place or the house becomes a landmine. So he wears the same clothes until they’re threadbare, won’t cut his hair, still sleeps with his Dragon Ball Z sheets he got for his eighth birthday, and has every toy he has ever been given stored in plastic bins in the basement. I don’t think he’ll go through with the hair cut. He’s only let Robin cut it twice since my mom died, and both times he cried the entire time, and she had to put the clippings in a Ziplock bag and let him keep them, just to get him to calm down.”
I was slightly repulsed, and I was glad Millie couldn’t see my expression. “So he has bags of hair in his room?”
“I’m assuming he does though he won’t tell me where. I pay my next-door neighbor to come in and clean once a week, and she hasn’t found it either.”
“Well, Henry said okay. So I’m planning on it. But we won’t be bringing any bags of hair back home.”
Millie’s brows furrowed and she looked as if she wanted to argue, but stepped toward me instead, felt for her walking stick that was leaning against the wall, and changed the subject. “Did you drive? Because I’m thinking we should walk. The church is around the corner.”
I eyed my shiny red truck wistfully and then forgot it when Amelie slid her hand around my arm.
Other than a few scattered snow flurries that dumped in the mountains and frosted the valleys, Salt Lake City was enjoying the mildest winter we’d had in years, and though the temperatures plummeted here and there, in comparison to normal February temperatures, it was almost balmy.
We walked east towards the mountains that ringed the valley. The mountains were the first thing I noticed about Utah when my family moved from Dallas my junior year in high school. Dallas didn’t have mountains. Salt Lake City had staggering, snow-covered mountains. I’d spent more than a few weekends in them skiing, though I was careful about how much skiing I did when I was training. Unfortunately, I always seemed to be training.
Amelie lifted her face as if to soak up the sun.
“Can you see anything at all?” I wondered if the question would offend her.
“Light. I can differentiate light from darkness. That’s about it. I can tell where the windows are in the house, when the door is open, that sort of thing. Natural light is easier for me than artificial light. And the light doesn’t illuminate anything else, so it’s really only good for orienting me in a room with windows, if that.”
“So if I danced around in front of a spotlight, you wouldn’t be able to see my outline?”
“Nope. Why? You thinking about doing a little pole-dancing at the bar?” she said cheekily.
“Yes. Dammit! How did you know?” I exclaimed, and she tossed back her head and laughed. I admired the length of her throat and her smiling mouth before I caught myself and looked away. I stared at her way too often.
“You look nice, Millie,” I said awkwardly, and felt like an idiot for the understatement.
“Thanks. I’d say the same thing to you, but, well, you know. You smell nice, though.”
“Yeah? What do I smell like?” I asked.
“Wintergreen gum.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“You also smell like a pine-based aftershave and soap—”
“New cologne called Sap,” I joked.
“—with a hint of gasoline.”
“I stopped to fill up on the way. Guess I didn’t need to, since we’re walking.”
“We’re walking because we’re practically there.” An old church that looked like it had been built around the same time as Millie’s house rose from a circle of trees at the end of the block. “There’s been talk that they are going to tear it down. Then I’ll have to find somewhere else to go.”
As we closed the distance, I could see that the church was a pale brick with a towering white spire and soaring windows on the tallest end. A creek ran to the north of the building and Amelie and I crossed a sturdy bridge that ran adjacent to the road.
“No water in the creek?” She asked as if she already knew the answer.
“No.”
“Soon. A couple of months and I’ll be able to come hear two of my favorite sounds at once.”
“You like the sound of the creek?”
“I do. When spring comes, I stand on this bridge and just listen. I’ve been doing it for years.”
When I began to veer across the grass on the other side of the bridge, heading for the wide double doors that were clearly the entrance to the church, she pulled against my arm.
“Aren’t we going in?” I asked.
“No. There’s a rock wall. Do you see it?”
Ahead was a crumbling, twenty-foot wedge of piled rocks cemented into a divider that rimmed the side of the church, separating it from the grassy slope that led down to the dry creek bed. I led Millie to it, and she dropped my arm and felt her way down it a ways before she sat and patted the spot next to her.
“Are the windows open?” she asked
“It looks like one is, just a bit.”
“Mr. Sheldon usually remembers. He leaves it cracked for me when the weather’s good.”
“Do you listen from out here?” I was incredulous. I could hear muted men’s voices and then laughter, as if there was a meeting of sorts going on behind the windows.
“No. Not exactly.” She listened for a second. “They’ve started earlier today. It fluctuates. Sometimes it’s eleven-fifteen or eleven-thirty. They like to visit and are slow to begin sometimes. But I don’t mind waiting. This is a nice spot, and when it’s not too cold I’m happy to just sit on this wall and think. When it’s warm Henry comes with me and we have a picnic. But he gets bored, and I don’t enjoy it as much when he’s here. Maybe because I can’t relax.”
The piano began playing and Millie sat up straighter, tipping her head in the direction of the music.
“Oh, I love this one.”
I could only stare at her. This was one of her favorite sounds? Then voices were raised, and the sound seeped out the slim opening and floated down to the place where we sat, and I forgot about the fact that my suit coat was a little tight across the shoulders and my knuckles were sore from yesterday’s sparring session. I forgot about all of it because Amelie’s face was lit up by the sound of men’s voices, singing in worship, mellow and smooth, lifting and lowering over the words. They weren’t professional. It wasn’t a barbershop quartet or the BeeGees. There were more voices than that, probably twenty or thirty male voices singing praises. And as I listened I felt it deep in my belly.
“There is no end to glory;
There is no end to love;
There is no end to being;
There is no death above.
There is no end to glory;
There is no end to love;
There is no end to being;
There is no death above.”
When they finished, Amelie sat back and sighed. “I’m all about girl power, but there is nothing like men’s voices. They knock me out every time. The sound makes my heart ache and my bones soft.”
“Is it the words you love? It was a beautiful song.” I was still thinking about the words.
“I love that particular one. But no. It wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, and there have been days when Mr. Sheldon doesn’t attend or he forgets to open the window, and the music is muffled, even more than it was today. And I still love it. I can’t explain it. But love is like that, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“Did you like it? Now you’ve heard two of my favorite sounds.”
“I liked it a lot. I wish I would have worn my sweats instead of this damn suit coat. But hey, at least I didn’t have to actually go to church.”
Amelie reached toward me, feeling along the lapels of my coat and up to my collar. “Yep. I got you good. I can’t believe you agreed to come.”
“You’re wearing a skirt!”
“Yep. If I’d worn pants you would have known something was up.”
I stood and pulled her up with me. “You’re a smart aleck and a tease. I don’t know if I like you, Silly Millie.” I was smiling as I spoke, and she grinned with me before reaching for my lapel once more, as if asking me to wait.
“I want to feel you smile. I can hear when you’re smiling. I love the way it sounds. But I want to feel it. Can I?” she asked sweetly.
I brought her hands to my cheeks and laid them there, dropping my hands to my sides.
“Are you smiling?” she asked.
I realized I wasn’t, not anymore. But she was, her pink lips parted slightly over pearly teeth, her eyes on a distance she would never see. I smiled down into her face, accommodating her, and her hands immediately fluttered over my lips and her fingers traced the grooves in my cheeks. I’d always used those grooves to my full advantage. When her left thumb slid into the notch on my chin, her smile grew even wider.
“You have dimples in your cheeks and a cleft in your chin.”
“My mother dropped me on my face as a child. I’m severely dented. What can I say?”
“Ah. I see.” One hand flitted up and traced the bridge of my nose. “Is that what happened here, too?” she asked, tracing the bump that I’d earned over and over again.
“Nah. My mama’s not to blame for that one. That’s a product of my favorite pastime.”
Her hands moved to cradle my face, melding to the shape of my cheekbones and my jaw. As she pulled her hands downward, the tips of her fingers touched the hair that brushed my neck on either side, and she paused in her exploration. She fingered the curls thoughtfully and a groove appeared between her dark brows.
“Haircuts with Henry tomorrow, huh? That’s very sweet of you. But don’t cut it all away, okay?”
“You like the Scottish highlander look?” I tried for a Scottish brogue, but didn’t quite make it. My heart was pounding and I wanted to close my eyes and lean into her hands. Her explorations were erotic without meaning to be, sensual without sexual intention, but my body didn’t seem to know the difference.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m not sure what a Scottish highlander looks like. But I like your face. It’s strong . . . full of character. And the hair suits you.” She was staring up into my face, describing me, and yet she couldn’t see me at all. I stared at her mouth and wondered what she would do if I pressed my lips against hers. Would it startle her or would she recognize the sensation immediately? Had she ever even been kissed? She wasn’t shy and she was beautiful, and at twenty-two she should have had her fair share of boyfriends and kisses. But she was blind, she had a dependent brother, and she spent her free time listening to men’s choirs and babbling brooks. Somehow I suspected she wasn’t all that experienced with men. She dropped her hands and stepped back from me, almost as if she could hear my thoughts.
“Let’s get some ice cream,” she said, and I shook myself awake, pushing away thoughts of kisses and linking her arm back through mine.
(End of Cassette)
Moses
“I WANTED HIM to kiss me. But he didn’t. And I was convinced that he didn’t like me that way,” Millie said sheepishly, her face flushed. I kept expecting her to turn off the tape recorder and ask us to leave. Hearing Tag’s inner thoughts and feelings was downright embarrassing, and when I saw him again, I was going to punish him for making me sit through it.
We were at Millie’s now, parked in her living room so that she would be there when Henry got home from school. It had been forty-eight hours since Millie had called me, forty-eight hours since my world had shrunk to one priority, everything else pushed aside or postponed.
“Tag went to church with you?” Georgia’s voice was incredulous. Millie and I had brought Georgia up to date, and her presence calmed me, reminded me that regardless of the priority, regardless of my fear, she was with me. She was mine. That part of my world was intact. She’d arrived last night with baby Kathleen, and we’d rented a hotel room, unwilling to stay in Tag’s apartment, though I had a key. There was a freaking “For Sale” sign in the window, and I didn’t want to be sleeping in Tag’s bed only to have a realtor show up with buyers in tow.
The thought made me angry, even as Georgia’s question made me laugh. Tag and church didn’t really mix. The thought of him sitting in a suit coat, his hair slicked back, listening to hymns with Millie was almost too unbelievable to imagine.
“Moses?” Georgia’s lips quivered, the seriousness of the situation making her hesitant to join in.
“I had to drag his ass into dozens of churches throughout Europe. I don’t think he ever went willingly, and we were just looking at the ceilings and the sculptures, no singing involved.”
“He loves music. Have you ever heard him sing? I love hearing him sing.” Millie smiled and then her smile immediately fell, as if reality had slapped her back down and whisked away her joy.
“I’m still stuck on the fact that he volunteered to get a haircut,” Georgia smirked, giggling in spite of her attempts to be appropriate.
“Well . . .” Millie hedged. “That didn’t quite go according to plan.”