Beauty from Ashes: Authors & Dancers Against Cancer Anthology

by Vera Quinn

  Every morning I left home at exactly seven thirty-five, waved hello to my new mysterious friends at the corner by the school and rushed to work to begin another day. Then on my designated days, I danced two evenings a week and on Saturday mornings.

  Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The waving, the working, the dancing… it was the happiest I’d been since Max was so cruelly torn from me. Everything was as perfect as it could be without him in my life. So perfect, that I refused to acknowledge that niggling feeling in the back of my mind. The one that said what goes up, must come down. I wanted to believe that my contentment would last forever.

  Then one day on the way to work, the unimaginable happened. I passed by the school, my hand already in the air, prepared to greet the old man and the girl.

  But they weren’t there.

  No worries, I thought. Winter had set in. Perhaps it was simply too cold out for the little girl, or even for the old man. I convinced myself that everything was fine. I couldn’t conceive of it being any other way.

  At work that day I was distracted, unable to focus or concentrate as my thoughts returned continuously to my missing friends. Over and over I reminded myself that people have lives, sometimes schedules change, but that annoying voice in the back of my mind would not be silenced. It continued to whisper what-ifs into my subconscious, refusing to back down, to leave me to the platitudes I countered each foul possibility with.

  That night, sleep was hard to come by. Dreams of Max’s final moments, his car colliding with that SUV, and the phone call in the middle of the night. The police. The funeral. One nightmare after another jolted me awake with a pounding heart and a pillow dampened by my tears.

  I woke the next day, exhausted and worn. Eager to prove myself a worrywart, I jumped in the car at seven thirty-five and tore out of my complex. I had to slam the brakes on in the school zone, forgetting the twenty-mile-per-hour speed limit momentarily in my haste to ease my concerns.

  Once again, they weren’t there.

  More scenarios filled my mind. Perhaps one had a cold or the flu. A nasty bug was going around. I sent a little prayer out to whatever gods might be listening, hoping they were okay, that I would see them again in the morning.

  But the following day was a repeat of the previous two. When they were still absent the following Monday, my scenarios became dire. The parents’ work schedule changed. The child was taken away from the old man. The old man died. The girl died. The more I thought about it, the more despondent I became.

  The dreams of Max became more tangible and I would wake shaking, crying.

  My only respite was dancing. Three times a week I managed to put my worries and my sadness aside and just be.

  But as the weeks wore on without the man and the girl reappearing, I felt a heaviness settle upon me. Something terrible had happened to them, and I would probably never know what it was.

  Chapter Six

  It was a Tuesday night, and I’d had to work overtime to finish up a project, making me late for my class. I ran inside and toward the locker room, in a hurry to get changed so I could dance some of my tension away. However, my way was blocked by a group of ladies gathered around the bulletin board Miss Jolie kept just inside the door.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying to worm my way through the crowd.

  “Oh, it’s just awful,” Nancy Moore, one of the older ladies in my class, answered. “Lily’s grandpa is dying. Lung cancer. Nothing they can do.”

  “Lily?” I asked. “Who’s Lily?”

  “Lily Rose?”

  I shook my head, confused.

  “How could you not know Lily? Mr. Rose has been bringing her to dance classes for a few months now, ever since her parents were killed in that terrible car accident back in August.”

  “I’m sorry, it must have been before I started here.”

  “Oh yes, it was awful. They’d been to a party, her parents, and her father had had a few too many. They hit another car and killed that man, too. It was in all the papers. Anyway, Lily went to stay with her grandfather. Mr. Rose is her only living relative, and now he’s sick. It’s just awful.”

  “Look,” someone else said. “Here’s their picture at the fall recital.”

  I pushed my way through to the bulletin board to get a look. When I saw the two faces smiling out from that picture, my heart nearly stopped. Flashbacks of the happy pair waiting on the sidewalk for the school buses to go by, of their matching shirts with the silly designs. The old man with the little girl entering the dance school the night I first joined.

  My mystery pair. He was dying, and he was all she had left after her parents were…

  “Did you say Lily’s parents were in a car accident?”

  “Yes, it was just tragic.”

  “Were they driving an SUV?”

  “Why, yes. How did you—?”

  I pushed my way through the crowd, out the door and doubled over at the bottom of the stairs. That sweet duo, the pair who had lifted my spirits after Max’s death when nothing else could, shared a connection with me beyond any I could imagine. And yet, they’d suffered twice the loss that I had. Lily Rose. First, she lost her parents, now she was losing her grandfather.

  I wanted to be angry but blaming the last remaining Roses for the accident was not only unreasonable, it seemed heartless. It was such a simple thing, the joy I’d felt each morning in anticipation of seeing the two of them. Waving to them, seeing what outfits they wore, it brought light to the endless days that for me were filled with nothing but darkness. They were the sunshine breaking through the clouds that hovered over my world. They were what got me through those early days after losing Max.

  And they were the sole survivors of the people responsible for my suffering, for my loss.

  I’ve never been a religious person, but I’ve always believed that there was a reason for everything. Had fate put those two, lovely people in my path to remind me to keep breathing? Had some greater power known that they would be the tunnel of light in my blackened world? Were we brought together to show me that there were others in the world who suffered worse than I, and from the same tragic accident?

  It was a quandary, and one I simply couldn’t wrap my mind around in that instant. The only thing I could focus on was the smile on that little girl’s face, beaming out from the picture on the bulletin board inside.

  That child’s world was about to be turned inside out again, and I could see it taking my heart with it.

  Chapter Seven

  Miss Jolie came up with the wonderful idea of holding a fundraiser for the Rose family, an entire evening dedicated to their cause. There would be a dinner with a silent auction, a raffle, and fifty-fifty drawings, among other things. Everyone from the school donated their time or items for the auction. The entire town got behind it and it would prove to be a glorious event.

  The highlight of the evening, though, would be a dance recital included in the price of admission. A local golf club donated the use of their ballroom, so the event could take place in one room. The dancing would be informal, lacking a proper stage, but we had no doubt we would wow the audience.

  When Miss Jolie asked me to do a solo number, I nearly fainted. As far as I knew, no one was aware of the connection between me and the Roses, including the Roses. I had yet to run into them at the studio, which was fine by me. However, Miss Jolie’s request struck a chord in my heart, and I realized it was something I needed to do. She gave me free rein in music and choreography, and it took no time at all for me to put something together.

  I practiced daily, up from my three nights a week, and Miss Jolie gave me access to the school whenever I liked. Though we’d become friends over the months, I still couldn’t bring myself to drop the “Miss”.

  When the night of the fundraiser arrived, Mr. Rose was too ill to attend. Even in his absence, I found myself full of nerves, a corral full of ballet-slipper clad butterflies doing the Nutcracker Suite in my stomach.

  I didn
’t bother to try and eat for fear of throwing up in the middle of my dance. I simply stood off to the side, waiting for the recital portion of the evening to begin.

  The little ones started the show, six aspiring ballerinas under the age of five, performing a simple dance with their dolls. Lily Rose stood center stage in a white leotard and a fluffy pink tutu. Her eyes were everywhere, taking in all the people, the lights, the excitement.

  But when the music started, those wandering eyes pulled focus, and she was all about the dance. She moved with a grace far beyond what one would expect from a four-year-old, and though the choreography was simple, she never missed a step. It was as though she knew this was the last time she would dance for her grandfather, and she wanted to be as perfect as she possibly could.

  When the music ended, all six took a bow, the action sweet and childlike. All but Lily Rose, who looked every bit the prima ballerina, taking her bow in front of a full house after performing the lead in Cinderella. Once again, her grace amazed me and though we had yet to formally meet, her aura drew me to her as though we had known each other all our lives.

  The crowd burst into applause, and I shook my head to clear it of the vision I’d surely imagined. The little ones pranced off the floor, making way for the next group, and the next, and before I knew it, I was up.

  Miss Jolie asked me to close the show. It was an honor under any circumstances, but tonight, I felt the weight of the situation upon my shoulders.

  It wasn’t really important that I perform well. The patrons had already paid their donations, bought their raffle tickets and bid on their chosen items. The dancing was merely entertainment, good or bad, to make them feel they’d gotten something for their money beyond the feeling of doing a good thing for good people.

  Still, I couldn’t help but feel my entire life was riding on this one dance.

  I stepped to the center of the “stage”, my costume a simple black leotard and tights with a sheer yellow wraparound ballet skirt. On my feet I wore the toe shoes Max had rescued from the garbage so many years ago.

  I took my position, drew in a couple of deep breaths, and I waited.

  The room grew silent, as though the patrons held their breath in anticipation of something grand. When the music started, they melted away, and I was the only one in the room.

  And I danced.

  It was as though merely days had passed since I’d danced Odette in college. The decades melted away and I was a young girl again, graceful as a swan, strong as an oak, beautiful, confident.

  I danced for my love, my Max, who knew that someday I would have need of the shoes on my feet, and I danced for the little girl we lost all those years ago. The child I would have taken to classes like the ones I now attended, who would have pirouetted for Max and me in the middle of the kitchen, just to entertain us on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

  I danced for the years I’d missed, doing the responsible thing. I loved my job, but nothing compared to this feeling. To the feeling I got when my shoes hit the boards and the music filled the air. My body moved of its own accord, muscle memory as much in control as the hours of practice I’d put in on this particular number.

  And I danced for another little girl, a child who would soon be alone in the world, who touched my life, who made me smile when no one else in the world could. She and her grandfather gave me the very thing I needed to get through my grief, even as they suffered through their own. I had nothing to give them in return, no way to repay them for the blessings they had inadvertently bestowed upon me. Tonight, I could finally do something.

  Tonight, I danced for Lily Rose.

  Chapter Eight

  The fundraiser was a huge success, raising lots of money to help with Mr. Rose’s expenses. After my performance, I accepted the pats on the back, the congratulatory air taking me back to college. Only now, instead of basking in the glory, all I wanted was to escape. I grabbed my things and stole away from the event without saying goodbye to anyone. My emotions were all over the place, and I needed time to sort them out.

  I fell asleep on the sofa, my toe shoes held close to my chest, and I dreamed of Max and our little girl, together and happy, wishing the same for me.

  The next day I received a phone call from Miss Jolie. One of the parents videoed the event, and she wondered if I would like to go with her to the nursing home to share it with Mr. Rose.

  “Why me?” I asked, and I could feel her smile on the other end of the line.

  “Because I think Mr. Rose will want to meet the woman who danced so beautifully in his honor.”

  I don’t know why I’d put off meeting them, actually going out of my way to avoid them. One would think I would be eager to put voices to those sweet faces, to tell them what they meant to me. But the other side of our connection, the loss of the people we loved at that exact moment in time, held me back. What was I supposed to say? Hi, I’m Vivi. Your son killed my husband. Nice to meet you. Sorry for your loss?

  But Miss Jolie was persuasive, and something inside me shifted. The man was dying. If not now, when?

  We arrived at the Shady Creek Nursing Home at noon on a Saturday. Miss Jolie knocked on the door and a shaky baritone voice sounded from inside.

  “Come in.”

  We did, and the minute Mr. Rose saw me, his eyes lit up.

  A woman sat in the corner of the tiny room; her nose buried in a book. She barely looked up as we entered.

  Lily sat in a chair next to Mr. Rose’s bed, reading to him from a picture book she held reverently in her lap.

  “Lily,” he said, laying his hand on top of her book to get her attention. “We have company.”

  “Hello, Mr. Rose,” Miss Jolie said. “I hope we aren’t intruding.”

  “You could never intrude, Miss Jolie. So nice to see you.” His voice was weak, but I could tell that at one time it had been one that carried. I imagined him to have a big, booming laugh, the lines around his eyes speaking to a man who had enjoyed life, laughed often. “And who is this?”

  “My name is Vivi Jones,” I said. I saw the cloud shift behind his eyes as he recognized my name, so I hurried on. “I’ve missed seeing you and Lily by the school. It was the highlight of my day to wave at the two of you while you watched the buses parade by.”

  A twinkle pushed the shadows from his eyes as a new recognition lit his gaunt face. “Why, Lily, do you know who this is?”

  “She danced,” Lily said. “Pretty dancing.”

  “Yes,” I said, nervous, not sure what to do with my hands. “I danced at the recital.”

  Mr. Rose cocked his head and studied me. “You did that? You took part in that fundraiser? Even after—”

  “As I said,” I interrupted before he could take us down that dark path. “I’ve missed waving to the two of you. It was the least I could do.”

  An unexpected tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “Lily,” he said to the girl without taking his eyes from me. “Remember the lady who waved to us while we watched the buses?”

  Lily nodded. “Yep. She always smiled.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “This is her, Lily. This is Vivi.”

  Lily’s eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet, dumped the book in her chair and ran to me. She wrapped her little arms around my legs and hugged me tight.

  “We’ve missed waving to you,” she said.

  I kneeled down and gave her a proper hug. “I missed waving at you, too. I’m so glad to finally meet you both.”

  “I miss the buses,” Lily whispered. “But Papa’s sick. When he gets better, we’re gonna watch the buses again.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I whispered and hugged her again.

  “Such a small world,” Miss Jolie said. I’d completely forgotten she was there. “Mr. Rose, one of the mothers took a video of the recital. We thought you might like to watch it.”

  Another tear strolled down the lines and tributaries in the old man’s face as he nodded. “I’d like that very much.”


  Miss Jolie produced a tablet and called up the video. She placed it in Mr. Rose’s hands and Lily snuggled under his arm so they could watch together.

  He clapped as enthusiastically as a dying man could at the end of Lily’s performance. “You were perfect, my sweet.” Lily beamed at the praise, then they both laughed and clapped through the rest of the performances.

  I leaned against the wall across the room and watched them watching the show. Their relationship was amazing. Had they always been this close, or was this something born out of their loss? Whatever the reason, it was heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. They were the center of each other’s world, and it was so unfair that that world would soon implode.

  I knew the moment my performance started, not only by the music, but by the quick glance Mr. Rose threw my way. Before long, I was surprised to see more tears leaking from the old man’s eyes. Not just one or two, but a river of emotions fell upon his cheeks and made their way to the tip of his chin.

  When it was over, he looked at me, really looked at me. It was a hard, determined look. One that made me feel as though he had made some kind of decision about me. It made me uncomfortable yet sent an inexplicable warmth through me at the same time. A warmth I’d come to associate with Max.

  “That was wonderful,” he croaked as he handed the tablet back to Miss Jolie.

  “Keep it,” she said. “In case you want to watch it again. I’m sure one of the aides will be able to help you pull it up.”

  “I got one of these at home,” he said. “I might even be able to figure it out myself.”

  Miss Jolie gave him a wink as he wiped his face with a corner of the sheet. “We should probably be going,” she said.

  Lily climbed down and hugged Miss Jolie tight.

  “I’ll see you in class?” Miss Jolie said, and Lily nodded.