I could count, but Amelie’s cheeks pinked and her chin dipped almost shyly. People must not call her sweetheart very often. “My dad didn’t handle it very well when I went blind. Two kids with issues was one too many for him, apparently.
“So you take care of Henry . . . by yourself?” I was stunned and tried not to let it show, but she heard it anyway, from the set of her chin and the stiffening of her back.
“Do you really want to know, or are you doubting me?” She turned her face toward me, as if confronting my question head on, and when I stared down at her, I felt a quaking in my chest that was instantly familiar. It was a jumping-off-a-cliff kind of feeling, a heart-swelling, chest-bursting sensation, and I’d stumbled across it a few times in my life.
I felt it when I watched Moses hold his new baby girl for the first time. He and Georgia were so happy, so deserving, and the joy in his face had spilled over and filled my heart with wonder. I felt it two years ago when I came back in the fifth round to win my first big fight. I’ve actually felt it a lot of times over the last few years, seeing Moses at work, seeing people weep at his gift. But the first time that feeling took my breath away was in Venice. It was a year after I’d gotten out of Montlake, eight months since Moses and I had taken off across the globe. I’d been so sad and so lost for so long that I’d gotten used to not feeling anything else. But there, in a little boat in Venice, as I watched the sun set—a fiery, hellish, red ball turning the water and sky into shades of heaven—my eyes had filled up with tears at the violent beauty of it all. In that moment, I realized I wanted to live again. For the first time in a long time, I was glad to be alive.
Looking down into Amelie Anderson’s heart-shaped face, her mouth set in a stubborn line, I had that feeling again. It rushed through me, taking my breath with it.
“I really want to know,” I said, and it came out in a husky whisper.
“We take care of each other,” she said simply. “He helps me with the stuff I have a hard time doing. He even cooks sometimes. I mean, not gourmet, but between the two of us, we get by. I may never truly know if my clothes match, or if the house is actually clean, or if there’s a fly in my soup, but Henry takes as good a care of me as I take of him.”
Right. It was pretty obvious who played parent and who played child. This girl was a surprise a minute.
“Henry and I are a team. You’ve got Tag Team, right? You understand. Everybody contributes something different.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He’s the eyes. I’m the heart. He’s the hands, and I’m the head. That’s what my mom used to say.”
We were silent then, my mind reeling, Henry back to fighting an epic battle with the huge punching bag, and Amelie standing straight and still, listening, as if by doing so she could actually see her brother’s attempt to take down an impossible opponent. What she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that she’d leveled me. I may have been standing next to her, but I was already falling.
(End of Cassette)
Moses
HE’S THE EYES. I’m the heart. He’s the hands, and I’m the head. The words rang in my ears. Millie could have been describing me and Tag. I was the eyes and the hands—the artist who could see what others could not, what Tag could not. But he was the leader, the head and the heart, and his head and his heart had provided for my eyes and hands time and time again. Tag was all heart, and sometimes it got him in trouble, it got us in trouble, but more often than not, it led us in the right direction. He’d taken care of me. I don’t know if I had taken care of him, though. I hadn’t thought I needed to.
“Why did he leave, Moses? Where did he go? Nobody’s seen him for two weeks. Nobody knows anything. If he was falling for me, like he says, then why did he leave like that?” Millie was
“So you take care of Henry . . . by yourself?” I was stunned and tried not to let it show, but she heard it anyway, from the set of her chin and the stiffening of her back.
“Do you really want to know, or are you doubting me?” She turned her face toward me, as if confronting my question head on, and when I stared down at her, I felt a quaking in my chest that was instantly familiar. It was a jumping-off-a-cliff kind of feeling, a heart-swelling, chest-bursting sensation, and I’d stumbled across it a few times in my life.
I felt it when I watched Moses hold his new baby girl for the first time. He and Georgia were so happy, so deserving, and the joy in his face had spilled over and filled my heart with wonder. I felt it two years ago when I came back in the fifth round to win my first big fight. I’ve actually felt it a lot of times over the last few years, seeing Moses at work, seeing people weep at his gift. But the first time that feeling took my breath away was in Venice. It was a year after I’d gotten out of Montlake, eight months since Moses and I had taken off across the globe. I’d been so sad and so lost for so long that I’d gotten used to not feeling anything else. But there, in a little boat in Venice, as I watched the sun set—a fiery, hellish, red ball turning the water and sky into shades of heaven—my eyes had filled up with tears at the violent beauty of it all. In that moment, I realized I wanted to live again. For the first time in a long time, I was glad to be alive.
Looking down into Amelie Anderson’s heart-shaped face, her mouth set in a stubborn line, I had that feeling again. It rushed through me, taking my breath with it.
“I really want to know,” I said, and it came out in a husky whisper.
“We take care of each other,” she said simply. “He helps me with the stuff I have a hard time doing. He even cooks sometimes. I mean, not gourmet, but between the two of us, we get by. I may never truly know if my clothes match, or if the house is actually clean, or if there’s a fly in my soup, but Henry takes as good a care of me as I take of him.”
Right. It was pretty obvious who played parent and who played child. This girl was a surprise a minute.
“Henry and I are a team. You’ve got Tag Team, right? You understand. Everybody contributes something different.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He’s the eyes. I’m the heart. He’s the hands, and I’m the head. That’s what my mom used to say.”
We were silent then, my mind reeling, Henry back to fighting an epic battle with the huge punching bag, and Amelie standing straight and still, listening, as if by doing so she could actually see her brother’s attempt to take down an impossible opponent. What she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that she’d leveled me. I may have been standing next to her, but I was already falling.
(End of Cassette)
Moses
HE’S THE EYES. I’m the heart. He’s the hands, and I’m the head. The words rang in my ears. Millie could have been describing me and Tag. I was the eyes and the hands—the artist who could see what others could not, what Tag could not. But he was the leader, the head and the heart, and his head and his heart had provided for my eyes and hands time and time again. Tag was all heart, and sometimes it got him in trouble, it got us in trouble, but more often than not, it led us in the right direction. He’d taken care of me. I don’t know if I had taken care of him, though. I hadn’t thought I needed to.
“Why did he leave, Moses? Where did he go? Nobody’s seen him for two weeks. Nobody knows anything. If he was falling for me, like he says, then why did he leave like that?” Millie was
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