by Raine Thomas
“Katherine,” Will read off the birth certificate, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Katherine? Well, that’s awfully adult sounding, isn’t it? She’ll be our little Katie. Now you go take care of her. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
The phone went dead. Will and Katie stared at each other from across the foyer for a long time. Neither spoke a word.
They both seemed to know their lives would never be the same.
Chapter Two
“You have known this conversation was coming, my daughter. You really should not be so surprised.”
Jasmine stared at her father, who was in the process of pruning one of his prized Rhododendrons a few feet away. His face wasn’t even visible beneath the wide-brimmed gardening hat he wore.
Because he couldn’t see her, she supposed he had inferred her surprise due to how still she had become. Her hands were buried in the bag of soil she’d been using to plant some new snapdragons in pots her father would later place in his greenhouse until the following month when spring officially arrived.
The scent of damp earth blended with the odor of decomposing leaves and pine needles from the nearby pile she and her father had raked earlier. Usually those scents would have offered her comfort. That wasn’t the case now as she battled to come up with a response for her father that didn’t sound horribly ungrateful.
“I am surprised, Bàba,” she said at last. Her voice sounded calmer than her thudding heart indicated. She managed to extricate her hands from the bag of soil and carefully remove her gardening gloves as she went on, “You know I’m working really hard on my rehab. Once I get clearance from Dr. Parker to dance full time again, my former internship advisor has assured me she’ll make some connections for me with local ballet companies.”
Her father issued a low sigh and turned from the Rhododendron to meet her gaze. “It is always a wait for something with you. First it was waiting to enter university after high school so you could pursue your dancing career for six months. Then it was the injury your junior year once you finally did enter your degree program. Seven months later, you had to have another surgery. Now it’s rehab again. I have supported you through all of it. We agreed that once you graduated from university, you would find a way to support yourself financially. You graduated two months ago. I feel I have been patient waiting this long to revisit this discussion.”
Frustration had Jasmine pressing her lips together. Was it her fault Matthew Gersch had dropped her in the middle of their pas de deux and ruptured her ACL? If it hadn’t been for that, she was sure she’d be dancing with her new company right then instead of having this conversation.
It wouldn’t make a difference to utter those words to her father, however. Li Wei didn’t believe in shifting responsibility, and he had raised his daughters to accept ownership of their circumstances. That Jasmine retained bitter resentment toward Matthew was her own cross to bear.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” she said. “I’m fortunate to have your support. Dr. Parker says in just a few more months—”
“I can’t afford a few more months.”
Her lips parted. She drew a shallow, tenuous breath. “Are you all right, Bàba? You’re not…”
Picking up on her concern, he waved his hand and shook his head. “Of course I am all right. I would hardly spring something like an illness on you, especially after what we went through with your mother.”
Jasmine allowed herself to breathe. Relief blended with confusion.
What had her father meant about not being able to afford to continue helping her even for a few months? He was a tenured professor of accounting at Emory University. His salary was substantial. The house was paid for, as it was the home he and her mother had purchased right after they got married. Between that and the life insurance payment he received after her mother died six years ago, money shouldn’t have been a problem.
Was she really such a drain on his finances?
Did she really just try and justify urging her father to spend her mother’s life insurance money on her?
Who had she become?
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize…I don’t want to be a burden.”
He tugged off his gardening gloves and reached over to cover her hand with his. “You are never a burden, my daughter. But it is my role as your parent to give you wings, and I fear I have merely clipped them.”
“That’s not true. You’re helping me accomplish my goal of dancing professionally. This injury is just a temporary setback.”
Something in her father’s expression before he looked away made her wonder how much he agreed with her. “Be that as it may, your mother and I planned carefully for our retirement. By continuing to support you as I have…as we did before your mother passed…I have had to push off my retirement.”
Her father had been twelve years older than her mother and they had waited until later in life to have children. Jasmine hadn’t really considered that her father had already celebrated his seventieth birthday, nor that he actually wanted to retire. Teaching had been his whole life.
“I see,” she murmured.
“I’ll cover your rent and expenses through the end of the month,” he said, returning to the Rhododendron.
That gave her a little jolt. It was the tenth of February.
“That’s barely more than two weeks. What will I tell Danielle?” she asked, referring to her roommate.
“I have already communicated with Danielle’s parents about this change. They are prepared to pay your portion of the rent until she finds a new roommate.”
Jasmine lifted the trowel she’d been using earlier and wiped it with one of the cloths her father used to keep his gardening tools clean. Her movements were focused and purposeful to keep from throwing the trowel through the greenhouse window across the yard. She may have been raised to respect and honor her parents, but that didn’t mean she agreed with her father’s unyielding decision.
“It seems you’ve left me with no choice.” Her tone was as brisk as her movements.
“I believe this is the best way to make this transition. Clean and precise,” her father said with a snip of his shears, “like pruning an overgrown bush to allow for new growth.”
“I’m not a Rhododendron,” she muttered.
Once again, her father paused to focus on her. He transitioned into Mandarin when he said, “I am confident you can handle this change, daughter. It is time for you to rely on your inner strength. You have resources aside from my money. Make use of them.”
She mentally replayed the conversation after leaving her father’s house for her physical therapy appointment. The reality of being without his financial support was slow to sink in. She had to hold out hope that he was just testing the waters. Surely after a couple weeks passed and she wasn’t able to find a job, he wouldn’t let her live out on the streets somewhere.
Would he?
No, she decided as she wove through the snarled traffic of north Atlanta’s suburban back roads. But once her father made up his mind, he only rarely changed it. He would sooner present her with the option of taking her old bedroom back in his house than give her another dime for living expenses.
The thought of having to return home just months after graduating college was too humiliating to bear.
She had to figure this out.
How was she supposed to get a job when she hadn’t ever had one before? The only work she’d known since the age of four had been dancing, and that work had been substantial and all-encompassing. She couldn’t exactly get a job with a ballet company when she was still undergoing physical therapy, now could she? How could her father not understand that?
And why, oh why did her injury have to happen so close to graduation? Kennesaw State University where she had earned her B.A. in Dance offered graduates assistance with finding internships and professional opportunities, but her injury had prevented her from being able to take advantage of that. Despi
te what she had told her father about getting help from her former internship advisor, she would most likely fall lower than current graduates on the university’s priority list even once she did get back to full health.
She supposed most other people would have a system of friends or former coworkers who might be able to help them find a job. In her case, everyone she knew was either a dancer or closely tied to the world of dancing.
Well, not everyone.
Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her Toyota 86, she debated whether it was worth enduring a possible lecture to approach her older sister May for help. Was May one of the resources her father was referring to?
Her one-sided internal conversation came to an end as she pulled up to the gate in front of the beautiful home of Cole and Everly Parker. Dr. Everly Parker had a home office and PT facility that rivaled any Jasmine had ever visited. As one of Dr. Parker’s patients, she had a personalized security card that allowed her access through the gate for up to thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment time. Her car’s clock told her she had about twenty minutes to kill in the waiting area.
Great. Just more time to stress about her father’s ultimatum.
She admired the sprawling ranch-style home as she wound around to the garage area to park. It was easily the most spectacular house she had ever visited. Patients only ever entered the lower level that included Dr. Parker’s clinic, but Jasmine had sneaked a few glances in the windows of the main living area. It made her sigh in envy.
Once she parked, she headed through the cool winter air to the door leading to Dr. Parker’s domain. On the left upon entering was the indoor saltwater pool where she’d undergone a few sessions of water therapy. It released a faint scent that Jasmine found appealing. She walked along the hallway past the pool to an open door on the right and entered the waiting area.
Much as she expected, the room was empty. Dr. Parker did her best to schedule her patient appointments far enough apart that there was little-to-no overlap. She worked with some big names in sports, so the scheduling was one way the doc helped maintain confidentiality. Jasmine had only rarely seen anyone else in the facility when she was there.
Although the waiting area had several comfortable reclining chairs, a television broadcasting SportsCenter, and numerous magazines spread across the two end tables between the chairs, she dropped her bag to the floor and walked straight to the mirrored wall on the left side of the room. She had come to the appointment already dressed for PT work in a roomy sweatshirt, thermal leggings, and her preferred ballet flats. As she always did, she longed for a barre along the wall to assist with her warmups, but she did without.
She started with a rolling spinal stretch, bending at the waist to touch the floor and then slowly curling back into an upright position. After a couple of those, she did a few more with her legs a little further apart. She swayed her hips a bit from side to side to loosen up her joints.
From there, she started on her knee bends, taking care to adhere to the restrictions Dr. Parker had imposed on her during their work together. She slowly turned her feet out between sets until her right knee started to object. The pain both pissed her off and motivated her to focus on keeping her movements exact.
She couldn’t risk setting herself back. She’d been through that once already.
As her father had so frankly mentioned during their conversation, the first setback came seven months after her initial surgery. Her surgeon had broken the news after one of her follow-up scans. The ACL tendon graft hadn’t been successful. The only option was a second, even more painful surgery.
Jasmine hadn’t wallowed in self-pity. She’d simply scheduled the surgery as soon as she could. Whatever she had to do to achieve her goal of becoming a professional ballerina, she’d do it. Which meant she took extra care in her exercises for the time being.
After warming up, she ran through her ballet positions. She might not be able to handle the rigorous routines she could before her injury, but she damn well intended to do as much work on her craft as she could every day. Dr. Parker had cleared her for barre work the month before. Jasmine now included position work as part of her daily routine.
With only a few minutes left before her appointment time, she stopped and walked over to the water cooler in a corner of the room. She filled one of the available paper cups and turned back around. She jumped when she saw a small figure curled up in one of the chairs.
“Oh, God,” she said, bringing a hand to her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”
She took a moment to settle herself and studied the figure. His or her knees were drawn up where a face should be and small arms were wrapped around the legs. All Jasmine really saw was a puffy teal coat, jeans covering slender legs, and glittery sneakers with bright pink accents perched on the edge of the chair’s seat. The colors made her think it was a little girl.
When had the child gotten there?
Dabbing at the drops of water she had spilled on her sweatshirt’s sleeve, she said, “Hi. My name’s Jasmine.”
The child slowly shifted. Her crossed arms lowered enough that Jasmine glimpsed a pair of wide gray-blue eyes and curly brown hair drawn back into a high ponytail secured with a pink rubber band. One of the girl’s hands emerged from the sleeve of her coat. The fingers wiggled a few times before the hand once again retreated.
A smile teased Jasmine’s lips. She couldn’t say what it was about the obviously shy kid, but she intrigued her.
“Is your mom or dad around?”
The girl nodded once. Jasmine guessed that was the only response she’d get.
“Ah. Were you watching me practice ballet?”
One more nod. The child’s arms lowered another inch or two, revealing a pretty face and an unsmiling, heart-shaped mouth.
“Have you ever performed ballet?”
A single shake of the head.
“Would you like to?”
A slight movement that Jasmine interpreted as a shoulder shrug.
“Well, ballerinas can’t perform in a chair,” she stated. “We need to practice on our feet in front of mirrors so we can make sure our posture and positions are correct. If you’d like to join me, you’re more than welcome.”
And with that, she returned to her spot in front of the mirrored wall. Her gaze remained focused on her form, deliberately not shifting to the girl. She started again at first position, turning her feet out and lifting her hands in a perfect arc at waist-height. Before she got to fourth position, there was a rustling sound behind her. The lump of teal and pink unfolded from the chair, finally pulling Jasmine’s eyes from herself in the mirror. She saw the girl standing in front of the chair watching her.
“It’ll be easier to move without the coat,” she said. “Drop it on the chair and step on up to the mirror. We ballerinas like to practice together. We learn from each other.”
The girl unzipped her coat and tugged it off, revealing a bright pink sweater bearing a glittery unicorn. When she walked over, the top of her head just reached Jasmine’s waist.
“How old are you?” she asked.
The girl held up five fingers.
“Not much for talking, are you?”
A slight head shake.
“You know what?” Jasmine said, pointing at a spot on the floor until the girl moved over to stand there. “That’s okay. The thing about dance is you communicate through motion, not through your voice.”
For the first time, something besides wariness entered the girl’s expression. Unless Jasmine was mistaken, she saw a glimmer of genuine interest.
“Okay,” she said, moving back to her own place in front of the mirror. “Try to follow my movements. First position.”
They did a single run-through of each of the positions. Jasmine told her what to fix if her form was off, demonstrating what she meant through her own movements. The girl did a surprisingly good job of listening. On the second run-through, Jasmine didn’t have to give as much feedback.
&
nbsp; Highly impressive, especially for someone so young.
“Excellent,” she said. “You want to do them one more time?”
The girl smiled. It turned her naturally lovely face into one of rare beauty. Her dad would have a riot on his hands when she got older, Jasmine thought.
“All right. I can help you learn how to transition and hold each position better if I use my hands to guide you. You okay with that?”
A moment of consideration, then another nod.
“Great. Ready? Position one.”
This time, Jasmine moved closer to help the girl fine-tune the mechanics she still hadn’t quite grasped. When she got to third position, Jasmine bent to position her feet, turning them out more and placing one heel closer to the center of the other foot.
“You see how that helps with your balance?” she asked. After receiving the girl’s nod, she rose and guided her left hand out to the side and her right in a gentle arc above her head. “You want to make sure your back is straight and your neck is—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice demanded.
Jasmine stepped away from the girl, who lowered her arms and turned with Jasmine to face the voice’s owner standing in the doorway. It took only one look into the male’s furious blue-gray eyes to identify him as one of the girl’s relatives. He looked about Jasmine’s age, so she wasn’t sure whether he was her father, older brother, or maybe an uncle.
All she knew was he was seriously pissed, and his outrage was directed entirely at her.
Chapter Three
Will couldn’t believe what he’d just walked in on. Some strange female touching Katie? She was lucky he didn’t put his own hands on her.
“We were just—” the stranger started to say.
“Katie, come here,” Will interrupted.
His gaze remained on the stranger as Katie obeyed, trudging over to him with her head tipped down. He noted the stranger’s rigid posture and cool expression. Her utter aloofness irked him even more. When Katie reached his side, he placed his hand on top of her head and finally looked down at her.
