The view changed as he climbed down from his chair and trotted over to Georgia. He squatted down in front of her, and without missing a beat, rubbed his hand through the spaghetti sauce in his hair and wiped it on her cheek, very, very gently.
She reared back, sputtering, and he followed her, wiping his hand down the other cheek.
“Hold still, Mommy. I’m painting you,” he demanded. “Like my dad.”
Georgia froze and Eli continued rubbing his ruined dinner all over her face and arms as if he knew exactly what he was doing. She watched him silently, and her eyes slowly filled with tears that ran down her face and over the globs of spaghetti sauce and smeared peaches.
“He wanted to paint me,” Georgia said, and I separated myself from Eli’s memory so I could be with her in the moment. “He wanted to paint me. Just like you. He knew your name. He knew you painted the story on my wall, he knew you painted the picture I framed and hung in his room, the picture you sent me . . . after you went away. But that was the first time he did anything like that. Or said anything like that.”
I didn’t know what to say, the knowledge that Georgia hadn’t withheld the knowledge of who I was from Eli left me speechless.
“That was right before he died. Right before. A day or two. Strange. I forgot all about it. He’d never shown any inclination to paint, yet he pulled that out of the blue. But I don’t think I want you to paint me, Moses,” Georgia whispered, her eyes on the graceful spine and the bowed head I’d just begun to create.“No?” I didn’t know if I could honor that request. With her so close, all I wanted to do was trace the lines of her figure and lose myself in her colors.
“No.” She kept her eyes trained on the painting. “I don’t want to be alone. I’d rather you paint us. Me and you.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “Together.”
I pulled her in front of me, her back against my chest so that she faced the canvas, and I began to draw, her head notched between my shoulder and my chin, my cheek resting against her forehead , my left arm wrapped across her chest, my right arm raised to the task at hand. Within minutes, I brought my profile into the picture, just my face and neck, bowed above hers. It was rudimentary, just outlines and suggestions, but it was still us, and my hand flew, filling in the details of the two of us together.
I forgot about Eli, sitting on my new bed, the bed I’d purchased to replace the narrow twin I’d slept in whenever I’d visited Gi, and lost myself in the sensation of Georgia close to me and the picture in front of me. And when Georgia turned in my arms and looked up at me with shining eyes, I forgot about the picture too.
I don’t remember putting my paintbrush down or whether or not I screwed the lids back on my oils. I don’t remember exactly how we got across the room, or how midnight became morning. I just remember how it felt to close the distance and bring my mouth to hers.
The kiss wasn’t hard or fast. It didn’t involve wandering hands or practiced seduction. But it was promise-laden. Heartfelt. And I didn’t move to make it more.
I could have.
It shimmered there between us, the memory of how it had felt to fall headlong into the heat. But I didn’t want more memories. I wanted a future, so I let the soft hue of hope wrap itself around us. I reveled in the sensation of mouths moving, lips touching, tongues tangling, the feel of Georgia’s hands curled against my chest, the glide of color against my eyelids as the kiss deepened from lavender to purple, to midnight blue. And when it did, I lifted my head so that I wouldn’t forget completely. Georgia’s mouth stayed lifted as if she wasn’t finished, her eyes like dark chocolate and her lids at half-mast. I wanted to dive back into those dark pools and pull the covers over us. But we weren’t alone.
And as I looked beyond her rumpled hair and sweet mouth to the child who quietly observed, I sighed and bid him a soft farewell. Time for little boys to turn in. I tugged on my watery walls and whispered as I did.
“Goodnight Stewy Stinker.”
Georgia stiffened in my arms.
“Goodnight, Buzzard Bates,” I added gently.
“Goodnight, Diehard Dan,” Georgia said quietly, and her lips trembled as her fingers twisted in my shirt, trying desperately to hold onto her composure. My arms tightened around her, acknowledging her faith and her effort.
“Goodnight, Eli,” I said, and felt him slip away.
Moses
I LAY IN THE DARK, listening to Georgia breathe beside me, and hoped Mauna and Martin Shepherd didn’t lay awake across the way, worrying about their daughter who had loved and lost before. Give me joy or go, she’d said. And I really didn’t want to go.
Georgia and I had talked for several hours, lying in the darkness of my room, watching the moonlight illuminate the stick figure story Georgia had drawn on my wall. Georgia seemed pleased that I didn’t have the heart to cover it up and promised to draw the next chapter the following morning. With her head on my shoulder, touching but not tempting, kissing but not tasting, holding but not taking, we spent our first night together in seven years, and it was markedly different from the last. Maybe it was our desire to get it right or to not repeat the mistakes of the past. And maybe it was the knowledge that even if we couldn’t see him, Eli was near. For me, he felt ever-present. For now, it was enough just to hold Georgia, and I kept the fires banked.
When I mentioned walking her home as midnight became one and then became two, Georgia wrapped her arms around my mid-section, laid her head against my chest and defiantly told me no. And I hadn’t argued very hard. Instead I’d stroked her hair and felt her fall asleep against me, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the fears that had only deepened as the hours passed. I wondered if the way I was feeling was simply a byproduct of love. Now that I had it, now that I acknowledged I needed it, I was terrified of losing it.