Page 83 of Finding Denver
“Oh, I will. Siri, play ‘Die With A Smile.’”
“Bruno Mars fan?”
“Who isn’t?”
And of course, he is a good dancer. Far better than me, but that isn’t hard. It’s also incredibly annoying that he sings along, and his voice isn’t half bad, either. He spins me and I squeal excitedly before he pulls me close again.
“I hate that you’re good at everything.”
“It’s a curse.”
He spins me again, gliding us around the couch as if the suite is our own personal dancefloor. I laugh, my hair lifting as he twirls me, and we both sing along.
“Del can sing!” he says happily.
“You’re not the only one good at things.”
Our singing fills the suite, louder than the music, interspersed with laughter when we attempt notes we can’t hit. He holds me close during the verses, somehow making me seem like a better dancer than I am, and the moment the chorus hits, he spins me, twirls me, has me laughing before pulling me to his chest again.
“I think any and all deals between Harlands and Luxes should be done while dancing,” I say.
“I like that idea. What deals are we making?”
“Lifelong friendships.” He dips me, holding me just above the ground.
He searches my face. “With me?”
“My equilibrium is off.”
“Huh?”
I nod at our position, and he stands us up. “Yes, with you. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t say anything. I’m a little breathless from the dancing, and that must be why my cheeks are warm. I step back and sit on the sofa again.
“Next time, I pick the song. ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ specifically.” I take a deep breath. “You really are a good dancer.”
He sits beside me. “I can’t really take credit. Callie and I took lessons before we got married, and we kept them up. We only stopped when she got too pregnant to see her feet.” He exhales. “Fuck, I miss her.”
“What was she like?”
He drops his head back. “She kicked my ass, and maybe that’s why I fell in love with her. I was so used to women falling at my feet, and she made me kneel at hers.”
I smile as I watch him talk. “A woman after my own heart.”
“You two would have ruled the fucking world.” His smile fades slightly, and he looks at the television, the movie still playing on mute. “The last thing she said to me was, ‘We get to meet her.’ She squeezed my hand, and she was exhausted, but she smiled and said that. ‘We get to meet her.’ And then … she never did.”
“She died giving birth to Amy?”
He nods slowly. “I stood in that hospital hallway, and the doctor said she was gone and … the first thing I thought was that I had to call her and ask her what to do. She was the first person I wanted to speak to, but … I couldn’t. I lost my world and gained an entirely new one in hours. I wanted to fucking rage at everything. I was so angry, and I had no one to blame, but I did have someone who needed me.I had my Amy. A reason to keep going. Even when I wanted to just let the hate eat away at me, I couldn’t. My little girl saved my life.” He seems distant, so far beyond my reach that even when I take his hand, I wonder if the contact is created in my mind. “And then she had a headache. We’d been out all day, and she was tired, and she had a headache.” He shakes his head, his eyes shining. “I didn’t notice the rash. I didn’t know …” He rests his head back. “And then my baby was gone. And … it felt like there was a space where my heart should be.”
My throat feels like it closes, and there’s nothing I can say. There are no words that can follow that, so I move closer, resting into his side, my head on his shoulder.
We’re quiet for a while, and between us is grief. Thick, impenetrable grief. The kind of pain you don’t wish on a soul, the kind of agony that only time will take pieces of, and it’s never quick enough.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
He nods. “Me too.”
