“Yeah.” Brando kissed my head. “Life with you is a trip.”
I went to sit up, but he held me against him.
“Don’t get up too fast,” he whispered in my ear.
I was surprised that my hair didn’t make a loud noise when I pulled away. We were stuck together like suction cup and glass.
“Look.” He pointed over my shoulder. “Over there.”
My eyes searched, and when they found what he was pointing to, an awed smile came to my face. “A doe!”
“Yeah,” he said, still whispering. “She’s been coming around for a while. Since she was a fawn. I feed her.”
“Why?”
The doe enjoyed the early morning light, grazing, her ears twitching every so often. She was such a pretty color—amber that teetered on brown, with some white patches here and there. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped with long lashes, making her seem so innocent.
“I like that she stays around. She reminds me of wisdom, grace, gentleness. That it still exists in the world. She brings peace.”
I liked it too. “Do you really think she brings peace? A sign of good things?”
He set his chin on my shoulder. “Without a doubt.”
“I agree. Let’s name her.”
“Already did.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?” He almost seemed offended.
“Just doesn’t seem like a Brando thing to do.” I shrugged.
“I’m glad I can still surprise you after all these years.”
“Without a doubt.” I laughed. “What did you name her?”
“Scarlett.”
* * *
The next night, I couldn’t sleep. I slammed the pillow over my head, trying to drown out the stomach-churning sounds.
Maggie Beautiful had gone out again and brought home what she had called a “souvenir” as she came through the door. She and Emory were staying at the house on Snow, to give us some privacy, but apparently Brando had told her she couldn’t bring “visitors” there. So she made a detour.
She and the souvenir were in her room, making noises that I didn’t know existed. A bathroom separated Brando’s room from hers, and it wasn’t constant, but when one of them hit a crescendo, it curdled my blood.
Maggie Beautiful had become one of my best friends, but she was also like a mother to me. The thought led to me thinking about my own parents, and the extra women that my father took on.
Groaning, I pressed the pillow even harder over my head. “How do you stand it?” My voice was muffled. I breathed in my own hot breath.
I felt him stir next to me, so I removed the pillow, breathing in the cool air. He stood from the bed, stretching his arms behind his head.
The ribbon tattoo that wrapped around his arm flexed with his muscles. He had gotten my name tattooed on his wrist, right over his pulse, the ending ‘t’ beginning the long piece of silk that snaked up his arm, and it seemed to dance with the beat of his life. He had an old radio on the shelf, and he turned it on and then up.
Then he settled in next to me again, closing his eyes.
“Brando?”
