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People love babies, even sick babies. Even crack babies. But babies grow up to be kids. Nobody really wants messed up kids.
Even then I was chasing him.
Whatever it was, when Moses came to Levan, he was like water—cold, deep, unpredictable, and, like the pond up the canyon, dangerous, because you could never see what was beneath the surface. And just like I’d done all my life, I jumped in head first, even though I’d been forbidden. But this time, I drowned.
“Just keep telling yourself that, Georgie Porgie. I’ll keep telling myself that too.”
“See? The moment you quit chasing him, that’s when he wants you. He looks jealous. He thinks he’s been replaced.”
“I’m a very ordinary girl, Moses. I know that I am. And I always will be. I can’t paint. I don’t know who Vermeer is, or Manet for that matter. But if you think ordinary can be beautiful, that gives me hope. And maybe sometime you’ll think about me when you need an escape from the hurt in your head.”
“Nah. That’s not it, Moses. I don’t want your house. I just want you.”
He’d been lingering to take me home.
I’d turned into a crier. After years of controlling the waters, they seemed to be controlling me.
And from the corner of my eye I saw him too. Just a glimpse. Just for a moment. And I caught a flash of that smile.
