The Song of David (32 page)

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.

Moses

THE ARENA WAS bright flashes and swinging strobe lights, and the seats I’d garnered were just to the right of the announcer’s table on the left side of the octagon. I had it on good authority that we would be able to see Tag’s corner and he should be able to see us if I could get his attention. I would have to sell one of my lungs to recoup the cost of the tickets, but we were in. Axel, Mikey, and the rest of the guys had managed to come up with seats as well, but they were somewhere else in the arena, and I hadn’t spotted them yet.

Henry’s face was blank, but his eyes swung wildly, soaking in the celebrity sightings, the electric energy, the announcers, the ring girls, the music. Millie had her game face on, and she held Henry’s hand tightly so he could guide her through the crowd, but I was afraid the two of them were going to be swept away, so I reached down and held her other hand, the three of us linked like a line of kindergarteners in a crosswalk.

The crush of people made
me
nervous, and
I
could see. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Millie, bumping through the crowd in total darkness, senses on overload, unable to get her bearings. She gripped my hand and flashed me a smile as we wound our way to our seats. Tag’s fight wasn’t the main event, but he was the last fight before the final, and there were two fights lined up before his.

He still wasn’t answering his phone. In fact, calling his number resulted in a message that the user’s mailbox was full. We had tracked him down the best we could, and now we had to wait.

Millie had been subdued on the trip to Vegas, her face shadowed and shuttered, looking after Henry and making quiet conversation with me, and beyond the tears that had leaked out when she had listened to one of Tag’s tapes, she’d kept her emotions close to her chest. Me? I was angry. If Tag didn’t get his ass kicked in his fight, I was going to kick it afterwards. The anger kept me from being afraid. I had enough self-awareness to know that. But I didn’t understand what Tag was thinking. Not really. I didn’t understand just cutting us off and leaving. I’d seen a documentary once about how old Native Americans left their tribes when they were ready to die. But Tag was twenty-six. And he wasn’t Native American. And I refused to believe he was dying. The rage built in my chest again, and I mentally changed the subject.

Henry was tuned into the announcer’s table, more interested in the commentators than the fights themselves, and his interest drew my own. They were talking about Tag, and I felt Millie stiffen next to me.

“For our viewers who are just tuning in, Tag Taggert was not scheduled to fight tonight. But when Jordan Jones pulled out at the last minute due to a shoulder injury, fight commissioner Cliff Cordova called Tag Taggert, definitely a rising star in ultimate fighting, and asked him if he wanted to step in. Tag defeated Bruno Santos by technical knock-out in the fifth round only a month ago, which is the second time he has completely obliterated his underdog status and beaten a highly-favored opponent.

And now,
David Taggert is entering the arena wearing his signature Tag Team gear. But he’s completely alone. He has two arena security guards with him. That’s it. No corner help, no coaches, no team whatsoever. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. For a guy who has been building the Tag Team brand so aggressively, that’s a little odd.”

“Tag! Tag!” Henry was screaming and jumping up and down, trying to draw Tag’s attention, and Millie was shaking so hard I gritted my own teeth to help her stop. Tag saw Henry, saw me, and then he saw Millie. His jaw clenched, his eyes widened, and he slowed, almost stopping, before he seemed to remember where he was. He actually stepped toward us, and Henry yelled his name once more and waved theatrically. Tag’s eyes shot to mine again and he pointed at me and then pointed at Millie, as if to say “take care of her.” I could only stare back.

Then, after a nudge from security, he continued on to the edge of the octagon, pulled off the Tag Team warm-ups, stepped out of his shoes, stuck a mouth guard over his teeth, and waited for the official to call him forward. He didn’t look toward us again, and I recognized the set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin. I’d seen this Tag more times than I could count. It was game time, and sadly, this wasn’t a game.

“What’s happening, Moses?” Millie asked, the fear in her voice cutting through the roar of the crowd around us. I leaned down and put my head next to hers. I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to shout.