I held my breath but kept my distance and I hoped to al that was holy I was doing the right thing.
He spoke again. “She was a dancer. Bal et. Good at it.
So petite, Christ, so f**kin’ smal . But graceful. Just the way she moved was like a dance.” He stopped and started again, “She was pure elegance. Al she had to move was her hands. She had exquisite hands.” He stopped again then went on, his voice quiet, “Jesus, I’l never forget the way she moved her hands.”
He stopped again and I thought there was something important about this but somehow I knew it wasn’t the time to push it.
“You were proud of her.” My voice was soft.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I knew the answer was an affirmative.
Instead he said, “She wanted to move to New York.” I nodded.
He kept talking and his voice was getting low and rough and my heart squeezed again at the sound of it. “I took her there when she was fourteen. She fel in love with the place.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded again. This was hard. I wanted to go to him, it hurt to hold my ground but I stayed away.
“You guys didn’t have the same Mom?” I asked.
Mace shook his head.
“Half sister,” I went on.
Mace just looked at me.
“You were close,” I guessed on a whisper.
“I cal ed her Tiny,” Mace shared.
Understanding the importance of that word, I felt the tears hit my eyes and thought about having a cool, tal , handsome, surfer dude brother who took me to New York, loved the way I moved my hands and cal ed me Tiny.
It was an immensely happy thought at the time it was devastatingly sad.
Softly I said, “I bet you were a good brother.”
“Not good enough,” he returned, his voice now unbearably rough and so low, it was barely a mumble.
And his eyes were haunted.
I couldn’t help it, it hurt too much to keep looking at him, I closed my eyes.
I felt a streak of wetness rol down my left cheek, opened my eyes again and whispered, “Tel me.”
I held his gaze for a beat then two then he muttered,
“Fuck, Kitten…”
He stopped speaking, his head dropped, he stared at the floor and that’s when I moved.
I went right to him, fit myself into his body, the top of my head under his face, my arms tight around him. Al the while I did this, he didn’t move, not a muscle. Didn’t even put his arms around me, just kept leaning against the counter.
I pressed my cheek into his chest.
“Tel me,” I whispered again.
I heard his cel ring and his taut body went tighter.
“Ignore it,” I said.