by Lexi Eddings
“Tell her what?” Noah asked.
Crystal sighed in obvious exasperation. “Riley has been having a running battle with her teacher over where she’s supposed to stand on the stage. There are little numbers in masking tape on the floor so the kids will be properly spaced. Riley is supposed to stand on three.”
“But I’m not three. I’m four.” Riley held up the correct number of fingers.
“It’s not about how old you are,” Crystal told her. “It’s just where Miss Bartlett wants you to stand when you start to dance.”
“But I’m not three.” Riley stamped her foot.
She looks just like her mother, but she’s as stubborn as her uncle.
“Better tell that teacher to move the kid,” Noah said under his breath.
“If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, we can’t give in,” Crystal told her husband. “Riley is a willful child and we’ll never break her if we let her have her way all the time.”
“Sis, you can break a horse. You can break a teacup. You can even break wind.” Michael waded into the argument between his sister and her hubby with both feet. Heather gripped his arm and gave it another hard squeeze. She wanted to yank him aside and warn him not to barge in where even angels fear to tread, but there was no stopping him. “I don’t think you’re supposed to break a child.”
Crystal’s narrow-eyed gaze shifted to her brother. “Says the man who’s never taken responsibility for anything in his life.”
“Crystal, this isn’t the time or place for you and Mike to get into it.” Noah put a restraining hand on Crystal’s arm, but she brushed it off.
“It’s exactly the time.” She cocked her head at her daughter, who was playing ring-around-the-rosy with Michael’s knees. “How does Riley even know you anyway?”
“She and I got acquainted over at the folks’ house,” Michael said. “I’ve been helping Mom look after her when Noah drops her by for the afternoon.”
Heather’s eyebrows shot skyward. Crystal was making her mom babysit while she was going through chemo?
Looks like she’s trying to break her parents, too.
“I don’t think it’s good for you to spend time with Riley without me there,” Crystal said. “You know nothing about children.”
“Only that I was one once.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. You may shop in the men’s section now, but you’re still a child.” Crystal’s lip curled. “And if Mom and Dad had only been a little tougher on you, maybe you wouldn’t have had to go away for all those years.”
“Crystal, don’t,” Noah said, glancing around the lobby. He was clearly embarrassed at the looks his wife was getting from the other recital goers.
“Why shouldn’t I say what I’m thinking? No one else has the courage to do it.” Crystal turned back to Mike. “You’ve always been nothing but trouble. Why are you even here?”
“Don’t worry, sis.” Michael tousled his niece’s curly hair, taking care not to disturb the tiara. “I’m here for Riley, not you.”
Crystal’s eyes bugged out a little, making her look like a deranged praying mantis. But before she could launch into what promised to be a blistering setdown, Mr. and Mrs. Evans, along with Lacy and Jake, hurried up to join them.
“Oh, look, George. The whole family’s here. Isn’t it wonderful?” Shirley Evans said as she gave each of them a hug in turn. Even Heather.
This wasn’t a meet-the-parents type date. Heather already knew the Evanses well. But Shirley had managed to make her feel like part of the family. Despite the current blowup between siblings, Heather was glad to be included.
“Let’s go find our seats before the good ones are all taken.” Shirley led the way, counting on her family to fall into step behind her like a gaggle of geese.
“Invisible towing tendrils,” Mike leaned down to tell Heather. “Mom’s always had them.”
The Regal Theater had started out as an Oklahoma territory watering hole, a glorified saloon with a stage. In its heyday, acts from as far away as St. Louis or Memphis had played the Regal to a foot-stomping crowd. There were still a few bullet holes in the ceiling where a rowdy cowboy or two had shown his appreciation by getting a shot off.
The theater had been updated in the 1950s with a sloping floor, padded seating, and a screen that scrolled down in front of the velvet curtain. It was home to second-run movies and the best popcorn with real butter in town. Kids could get into the Saturday matinée by bringing in canned goods that were earmarked for the local food pantry. And occasionally, the Regal was lent out to Miss Bartlett’s dance studio or Mrs. Paderewski’s piano students.
“In support of the arts,” Mr. Van Hook, the owner, was quoted in the Coldwater Gazette.
Heather noticed that he didn’t support them by actually attending the recitals.
The building was showing its age, but in the right light, the Victorian curlicues and gilt cupids above the curtain were charming in a blast-from-the-past sort of way.
Following Shirley and George, the Evans family filled up most of the third row. Lacy and Jake were next to her parents, with Noah and Crystal after them. Heather found herself seated on Crystal’s right, with Michael taking the aisle seat beside her.
“Location is everything,” he whispered as he settled in. “I can make a quick getaway from here.”
Crystal leaned forward and tossed him a pursed-lipped glare. Heather narrowly avoided the urge to cringe since she was definitely situated to catch cross fire.
The lights dimmed, the heavy velvet curtain parted, and Miss Bartlett’s oldest students kicked off the recital with a rendition of “Getting to Know You” from The King and I. The Thai costumes were delightful and full of color, but the dancer who played Anna tripped over her hooped skirt when its swaying momentum built up too much.
Then Riley’s class of youngest dancers trouped onto the stage.
“Oh, no,” Crystal whispered.
“I told you Miss Bartlett should have switched her to four,” Noah said testily.
It might not have mattered. Riley had abandoned the number system altogether. She chose her own place. It was dead center stage, about five feet in front of the rest of the class.
As the music started, Heather leaned toward Michael. “It’s like she’s the prima ballerina and the others are her backup dancers.”
“Just as well.” Michael shook his head and shrugged. “She’s not in sync with the rest of them anyway.”
Sure enough, when the class did a series of neat toe points, Riley did a sloppy arabesque. When the rest of the little girls pirouetted, Riley balanced on one foot like a tutu-clad stork.
From the corner of her eye, Heather saw Crystal shift uncomfortably in her seat. She knew it wasn’t nice of her, but it was hard not to feel a little gleeful about Crystal suffering such a public embarrassment.
Then Riley seemed to have a wardrobe malfunction. She began scratching at her hips where the tutu rested as she danced, rocking back and forth and hitching it up and down on one side. Evidently, she wasn’t satisfied with that adjustment, and, on her next whirling turn, she grabbed the pink netting with both hands. Then Riley hiked the tutu up under her armpits and continued to dance, keeping time to the music in her own unique way. It was a safe bet Miss Bartlett had never dreamed up this armpit tutu choreography.
The audience erupted in laughter, and Crystal slipped down in her chair a little more. Heather suspected she wished she could melt away, trickle beneath the seat, and disappear altogether.
It couldn’t happen to a nicer stage mom.
Riley, however, didn’t appreciate the audience’s reaction to her dance. She fisted her hands at her waist and glared at them with a ferocious scowl, as if to say, Hey, you! This is serious. I’m trying to dance here!
“Keep dancing, Riley,” Mike called out. “You’re doing great.”
A smile bloomed across her face, and she resumed her free-form movements. She leaped. She turned. She balanced
on one foot and winked at her “Uncah Mike.” Never once did she fall into step with the rest of the dancers.
It was actually a little brilliant. No one could fault her musicality and creativity, but she definitely wasn’t a team player. At her preschool, Riley would be voted “Most Likely Not to Color Inside the Lines.”
Heather sneaked a glance at Michael, who was grinning ear to ear as he watched his niece dance.
He really likes her, and I can see why. She’s just like him. Fitting in is not something either of them does well. Doubt they’d want to if they could.
Then the music ended, and the audience applauded politely. In unison, the rest of the class dipped in a graceful, perfectly timed curtsy, but Riley’s tiara chose that moment to slide off her head and bounce onto the hardwood behind her. She whirled around and bent to retrieve it. With her pink-clad bottom smiling at the ceiling, Riley mooned the entire auditorium.
Then when the audience howled with laughter, along with the resounding applause, she turned and dipped in her own solo curtsy. The rest of the class exited stage left, but Riley remained at center stage, waving to the audience and blowing kisses with both hands. They laughed and clapped all the harder.
“Noah,” Crystal hissed to her husband. “Do something.”
“OK.” Noah stood and continued to clap for his daughter. Michael joined him in a show of solidarity. Heather did, too, not sure if she was clapping for Riley’s dancing or for Noah’s refusal to bend to Crystal’s demands.
“That’s not what I meant.” Crystal stood and poked at his waist.
“I know.”
“But Riley’s making a fool of herself. And of us.”
“Crystal, she’s just a kid. She’s having fun. But you’re right about one thing,” Noah said under his breath. “We’re the fools for forking out good money for those dance lessons.”
A stiff smile on her face, Miss Bartlett finally appeared onstage. Dancer-slim and pretty, she took Riley by the hand and gently led her off.
“Thanks for bringing me,” Heather whispered to Michael as they settled back into their seats. “This has been surprisingly entertaining.”
“As advertised. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.” He leaned toward her as he whispered back, his warm breath feathering over her neck. He took her hand. “Crystal’s not having much fun though.”
Heather glanced at the smoldering stage mom at her side. Crystal’s knuckles were white where she grasped the hem of her skirt, and her face looked so brittle she might break. A wave of pity for her washed over Heather.
“Don’t be so hard on her, Mike. She’s hard enough on herself,” Heather said, enjoying having to snuggle in close so their whispers couldn’t be overheard. “The pursuit of perfection is tough.”
“Yeah, and if she’s not careful, she’ll find my brother-in-law thinks perfection is overrated.”
The way Noah’s gaze had tracked Miss Bartlett’s progress across the stage, Heather wondered if Michael might not be right.
Chapter 22
He’s a sharp-edged puzzle that would take a
lifetime to solve. He’s a lousy son to his
father and a potential heartbreak to his mom.
He’s a terrific uncle to Riley and a so-so brother
to her mother. Wish I knew what he is to me,
but if Michael’s taught me anything,
it’s that people are never only one thing.
—from Heather Walker’s diary
Time spent chasing a missing terrier or watching Riley’s unique style of dancing didn’t really count as a way to show a girl a good time. Mike was determined to fix that.
Heather had been a good sport about it, but she deserved to be wined and dined. She deserved to be swept off her feet. Short of whisking her off to Paris, which was sounding less like a joke every time it crossed his mind, dinner at the upscale restaurant—upscale by Coldwater Cove standards—that operated on the main floor of the old Opera House was the best option open to him.
After a supper of Kobe beef and nice California merlot, he could see her begin to visibly relax. Her posture was no longer hospital rigid. She laughed more easily at his jokes and even cracked a few of her own. And before he knew what was happening, she was getting him to tell her things he never thought he would.
“You said there were no other women in your life, but I have a hard time believing that.” She ran her fingertip around the top of her wineglass. The crystal hummed softly. “Unless, of course, you have a habit of giving them all horrible nicknames that stick.”
“You haven’t forgiven me for calling you ‘Stilts’ yet?”
She grinned at him. “The jury’s still out, but I’m leaning toward an acquittal.”
“Good.” He reached across the table and took her hand, enjoying her warmth and smooth skin.
She shook her head and smiled. If that wasn’t a mixed message, he didn’t know what was.
“What?” Had he screwed up without realizing it?
“Every time I turn around, you surprise me, Michael. When we were in high school, I had this, oh, I don’t know, this image of how you’d turn out in my head.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t include winning a Nobel Prize.”
“Not unless they opened up a category for contributions to the field of jerk-ology.”
“Ouch.”
She squeezed his hand. “What I’m trying to say is that I was wrong. You’re not the show-off smart ass you were in school.”
“Gee, I don’t know how much more of this sweet talk I can take.”
“I’m doing this badly. What I mean is, you’re a really great guy. You’re kind and thoughtful, and, well, I certainly didn’t imagine you as a dot-com king.”
“I didn’t think money mattered to you one way or the other.”
“Because my family has buckets of it? Yeah, there’s that, but I admire the way you made yours. You had an idea and you built something with it. My dad made his money by getting lucky. He just happened to hit a big old pool of oil on the land he inherited from my granddad. It was like winning the lottery,” Heather said. “Guess I always thought that was sort of a cheat.”
“No, it wasn’t. Your dad took a risk and that’s not nothing. It costs plenty to drill. He could have spent all that money wildcatting and come up empty,” Mike said. “Did you ever ask him how many dry holes he dug before he hit a gusher?”
“No.”
“Well, ask him sometime.” Mike bit off the end of a chocolate mint stick. “Parents deserve the benefit of the doubt as much as ‘Nobel Jerk Laureates’ do.”
“Does that go for your dad too?” she asked. “I noticed he didn’t say a word to you at Riley’s recital. Obviously, the two of you haven’t buried the hatchet, but it was like you weren’t even there.”
“Don’t blame my father. You don’t know the whole story.” The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. “Frankly, neither does Dad.”
“You should tell him.”
“Maybe I will.”
“If you want to practice on somebody, I’m a good listener.”
That was so not happening. Michael shifted in his seat and tried a trick he’d learned from Lacy—letting silence reign until the other person felt compelled to fill it.
“You know, I’m still wondering why in all your wandering you never found somebody to love,” she said.
“Who says I didn’t before I started wandering?” Mike leaned forward. “Heather, I really have always had a thing for you.”
“But you must have met tons of women in New York.”
“Yeah, but they never measured up to my memory of you.”
She looked away as if he’d embarrassed her.
Mike glanced out the big window at the night sky. “The moon’s come up. Want to walk down by the lake?”
“Actually . . .” She paused, picked up her wineglass, and downed the last of the merlot in one gulp. “The deck at my apartment has the best view of Lak
e Jewel you could ask for.”
She was asking him up to her place. He didn’t need to be invited twice.
Mike signaled for the check, and they were out of there before she could change her mind.
* * *
A crisp October breeze ruffled over them. Heather shivered as they walked across the Square to her building. As she’d hoped, Michael took the hint, peeled off his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. He was attentive enough to pick up on the little things.
There’s another check mark in his favor.
Whenever Heather had a big decision to make, she always did a plus-versus-minus-style balance sheet, listing the pros and cons. She hadn’t gotten around to committing Michael’s ledger to paper yet, but it was starting to take shape in her head.
The lining of the jacket still held his warmth, and it smelled of him—all leather and evergreen with a hint of citrus. When he put his arm around her, she found herself leaning into him.
It wasn’t just because of the bottle of wine they’d split. She was leaning on him because he was dependable enough for her to lean on. Michael Evans wasn’t the screwup everyone thought him to be. He didn’t have to trumpet how important he was, but he provided jobs for a lot of people. He didn’t have any reason to be good with kids, but he was. He obviously loved Riley and understood her instinctively. Heather had never realized that could be such an attractive quality in a guy. He could have been a major player in New York, in greater demand than a rock star. His brand of wealth attracted its own set of groupies.
But he’d always remembered her.
A bunch more check marks on the good side of the ledger.
Something inside her shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the brisk weather.
Heather and Mike climbed the iron staircase to her second-story apartment in perfect step with each other. When they reached the deck above, she leaned on the filigreed railing, and he joined her. Since the Square was on an elevated patch of land, they looked out over the rooftops of Coldwater Cove as the ground dropped toward Lake Jewel.
