The Song of David by Amy Harmon Page B

dropped his head to her shoulder and closed his eyes, completely tamed.
    “Don’t fall asleep Henry. We have some kites to fly.”
    Millie threw back her head and laughed, her hands dropping to her sides.
    “Oh, you didn’t miss that not-so-subtle suggestion, huh?” she snickered.
    “Nope. I got it loud and clear. We got you a pink one. Henry picked it out.”
    “He knows me well. Pink’s my favorite color.”
    “Oh yeah? Why?”
    “Because it has a smell. It has a flavor. Every time I taste something pink I can remember the color. It floods my memory for a second before I lose it again.”
    “Huh. I thought you were going to say it’s because you love rugby.”
    “Ah, the pink jerseys?” Millie asked.
    “Henry needs to get out more,” I answered, laughing.
    “Let’s go!” Henry shouted, running for the door, as if taking my advice to heart.
    The street was tree-lined, the front yard too small, and the traffic a little too steady to give us an open place to put our kites in the air. We piled back into my truck, Millie in the middle, straddling the gear shift, and Henry sitting by the door, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
    Moses hates my bench seat. He says it’s irritating not to have an arm rest. But Mo isn’t the smartest man, sometimes. I was never more grateful for the bench seat than I was at that moment with Millie pressed up against my side, my right tricep brushing against her breasts every time I shifted. She smelled like fruit. Strawberries or watermelon. She smelled . . . pink. The thought made me smile. She felt pink too. Pink and soft and sweet. Damn. I decided then and there that pink was my favorite color too.
    I drove to Liberty Park, just south of downtown, and within minutes, Henry had his kite out and was urging LeBron James into the air.
    “He’s done this before,” I said in surprise.
    “Not in forever. I can’t remember the last time, actually,” Millie replied. “Is he doing it?”
    “Listen,” I said. “Can you hear it?” I listened with her, straining for a sound that would connect her to the visual. Then the kite dipped, caught the wind again, and lifted, making a soft, wop wop in the air, like laundry on a clothes line, flapping in the breeze.
    “I hear it!”
    “That’s Henry’s kite. He’s a natural.”
    “Will you help me get mine in the air? I could take off running, but that might be dangerous. I don’t want to run head first into the pond. There is a pond, isn’t there?”
    “Just run away from the sound of the ducks.”
    Before long I had our kites airborne, and LeBron James, Elmo, and Millie’s bright pink triangle were dipping and darting, enlivening the pale afternoon sky.
    “Give it some slack, Millie!” I hollered as her kite veered downward, tethered too close to the ground. “Let it fly!”
    Millie squealed, panicked, but immediately followed my instructions, and her kite corrected itself, catching a draft and soaring higher.
    “I can feel it climbing!” she shouted, ebullient. Henry wasn’t the only one who was a natural. He was running back and forth, the kite streaming behind him, his hair falling in his eyes, his cheeks ruddy in the tepid February sunshine.
    “If you could go anywhere, just holding onto the tail of that kite, where would it be?” I asked Millie, my eyes on the sky, thinking about the places I’d been. “Or is traveling kind of a scary thought?”
    “No. It’s not scary. Just unrealistic. There are lots of places I’d like to go even though I wouldn’t be able to see them. I could still press my hands against the walls and soak them in. Buildings soak up history, you know. Rocks do too. Anything that’s been around a while.” Amelie paused as if waiting for me to snicker or argue. But my best friend can see dead people. I have no doubt that there is a lot we don’t understand. And I can accept that. It’s easier than trying to figure it all out.
    “It’s true!” Millie added, even though I hadn’t