Part 42 (2/2)

I stand there helpless.

He whispers, ”If I turn blue in the middle of the night, buzz for Meg.”

”You're already blue, babe.”

”Bluer.”

”That's not funny.” I want to hit his arm, but I don't dare. ”I'm not staying if you're going to do that.”

”But Mum's counting on you.” He's not joking. ”She needs a break. I knew you were bluffing.”

I go over to the door and look up and down the hall. It's empty. I turn around. ”They're leaving us together-all night? Is that allowed?”

”I'm kind of helpless here. I'm sure they figure you're safe.”

”What about you?” I shut the door, lean against it with my hands pinned behind my back. ”You're too weak to run away from me again.”

”You ran away from me.”

My eyes drop to the floor.

”I don't blame you, Beth. Who'd want this?”

I cross the room to his bed. ”I won't this time.” I plant my lips on his salty neck.

He whispers in my ear, ”Probably a bit more excitement than I can survive.”

I pull back-am I hurting him?

He manages a weak smile. ”But that would be a good way to go. Do you want to take out my catheter or should I?”

I'm not sure if I'm laughing or crying. ”You're gross.”

”I tried to protect you as long as I could.”

I slide back in the chair and try to get comfortable, cross my arms, and prepare to stare at him all night.

”What are you doing?”

”Settling in to watch for blueness.”

He slides over in his bed. ”I'll share.”

”What if I get tangled up in your catheter?”

”Stay on your side.”

I climb onto the bed and lie down next to him, roll on my side so I can study his face.

He pushes a b.u.t.ton and the lights go out.

I kiss his forehead. ”Good night.”

”I can't sleep. Do you think-”

”I'm not touching that catheter.”

”Could you sing to me?” He caresses my face.

I close my eyes. And sing.

I take me down to the river,

The sweet, sweet river Jordan,

Stare across the muddy water,

And long for the other side.

His fingers trace my cheekbones and eyebrows, they play over my lips while I sing, Take me home, sweet, sweet Jesus. / And wrap me in your bosom- His hand draws away. I pause, open my eyes, he nods, and I sing, Lord, I long for the other side.

Does he long for release like that slave girl? Is that why he loves this song? Is that why he loves my voice? Take me home, take me home, take me home.

No. Not allowed. He's not going anywhere. I change my tune, hum our duet. Sing to him, It's gotta be, it's gotta be about you, you, you, you. . . .

I raise a kaleidoscope up to my eye,

Twist it once and watch the bright colors fly, and the picture is so

clear-

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