Waltz This Way

by Dakota Cassidy

  “So I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

  The look she gave him was wry. “If you ask how I got into that position where I do that thing with my leg—you can turn right around.” She made a circle with her finger.

  Drew’s laughter filled the car, husky and low. “I wasn’t going there. Just remember who tapped that first. I was going to ask if you give private lessons.”

  She shifted in the seat, turning to face him, enjoying their easy banter. “In how to get your leg to do that thing?”

  “Later. For now, I was wondering if you give private ballroom lessons.”

  “I knew it! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you came begging me to teach you how to tango.” She clapped her hands.

  “Still as funny as ever. I mean for Nate.”

  Her ears pricked. “Nate?” She got the impression Nate did what he had to do in class. Though, he did it beautifully and he executed everything like some sort of learning machine, she didn’t get the impression he liked doing it. Who was she kidding? None of the boys liked her class—they endured it until they could get their hands on a dead frog.

  “Seems the kid likes to dance. He asked me if he could take lessons aside from your class.”

  “Did you talk him into this as a way to worm your way back into my heart? Because if you’re using your son to woo me—wow, what a way to make a move.”

  Drew held up his long-fingered hands when they hit a stoplight, releasing them from the wheel. “Swear it was all his idea. He asked me before we—you know—tried that thing with your leg.”

  “I think I’m flattered.”

  “I think I still wish you taught baseball or something. I don’t know how to relate to his sudden interest in dance, and we already have so little in common.”

  Though his answer made her feel a little better, she still felt a little defensive. “Is this going to be a problem? Is this going to make you miserable because he’s not learning how to score a touchdown? Because I charge a lot of money per hour to teach privately. I don’t want you grumbling while you write the check.”

  “How much is a lot?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You just said it was a lot of money.”

  “I was basing that on what I’ve heard the going rate is for private lessons. I’ve never actually taught them.”

  “I thought you had some fancy studio in L. A.?”

  Mel shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek to quell the ache missing her kids brought. “I taught a lot of mostly underprivileged kids. Some couldn’t pay at all. They just loved to dance, and I was somewhere safe they could come and let loose with. I guess that’s why Stan shut the studio down, because it wasn’t like I was making money. In fact, Stan probably put out more money than he gained from it. I just loved the kids, and they loved to dance.”

  His expression changed as the lights from the cars passed by. “I had no idea.”

  “You thought I was shallow and only taught the cream of the crop, didn’t you?”

  “I think I did.”

  That was the impression most everyone had about her it seemed.

  Except some of the seniors in the Village. If Maxine had done anything, she’d paved the way for understanding not all ex-trophy wives missed being rich. “Here’s a thought. Just because Stan’s rich and I was married to him doesn’t mean I was a snob. Despite our cache of houses and cars, or the number of staff we had, I lived rather modestly. I spent most of my time at the studio. I wasn’t interested in movie premieres or award ceremonies, so I didn’t need designer dresses or makeup artists. I didn’t need much but some leotards and a fresh batch of dance shoes.”

  “I’m sorry I unfairly judged you.” His tone was somber and quiet without a hint of sarcasm in it.

  Mel guessed, when Drew said he was sorry, he meant it. “Apology accepted. I can tell you this: it definitely made the transition from mansion to retirement village a whole lot easier. Though, I really do miss my bed. It was Swedish and big. Weezer and I together in my father’s second bedroom in a single bed just doesn’t allow for as much breathing room.”

  She didn’t realize it, but they’d turned onto a tree-lined street, brilliant in fall color, even in the fading light. Drew turned a sharp right and pulled up to a big white ranch with red shutters and pumpkins and mums lining the cracked walkway. A house well loved, she noted. Just like the one she’d grown up in.

  He shut off the ignition, turning to gaze at her. His hand cupped her chin, making her heart thump. “I meant it. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to assume you were spoiled and pampered.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. There were lots of luxuries. Like I can’t remember the last time I was in a grocery store. Stan had everything delivered. All I had to do was write a list.”

  “Do you miss them? The finer things in life?”

  Her voice threatened to hitch, but she took a deep breath. “Not as much as I miss the kids and my friend Jackie. Okay, sometimes I miss the workout room we had in our basement. It had a pretty rad dance floor and ballet barre.” She forced a smile.

  But Drew didn’t appear to fall for her bravado, and it made her uncomfortable enough to squirm under his scrutiny. “You miss those kids.”

  His reiteration almost made her falter. “I do. How about we don’t talk about this anymore? I have new kids now. I need to focus on them.”

  Pulling her chin toward him, he dropped a light kiss on her lips, delicious and as though he’d always kissed her. “I like you, Mel.”

  She wanted to say, everything about me likes you, too. Instead, she said, “That’s good to hear. I’d hate to have to go in there and make your family love me more than they love you. It’s good to know you have my back.”

  Without another word, Drew got out of the car and came around to her side to help her out. Music seeped from the front window and more lights than a Christmas tree lit the house. The smell of something wonderful hit her nose the moment Drew opened the front door.

  Selena saw her first, pushing her way through the throng of children on the floor playing a board game. She wore an apron that read, “Emeril Is My Homeboy” on it, her salt-and-pepper hair caught up in a clip on the top of her head.

  She held out her arms, enveloping Mel in a warm hug scented with something spicy that mingled with her jasmine musk perfume.

  “I’m so glad you came, Mel! I told Bill he cinched the deal by buying you that cheesecake, but he was convinced Myriam had run you off for good.”

  Mel returned her hug with a smile. “I’m not afraid of Myriam,” she teased, catching sight of her stepping over children.

  “I can’t figure why that is either. I’m pretty scary,” Myriam joked on a snort, giving Mel a quick kiss on the cheek. “You ready to get your hands dirty?”

  Mel gave Myriam and Selena a suspicious eyeballing, planting her hands on her hips. “No one said anything about getting my hands dirty. I’m a dancer, not a cook. I think I’ve been bamboozled.”

  Drew put his hand at her waist, steering her around his mother and aunt. “You didn’t think this was a free ride, did you? Get in there and stir something, woman.”

  Her head tipped back when she laughed, making it bump into his chin. Nate waved from the huge, round kitchen table, his laptop open. “Hey, Ms. Cherkasov,” he mumbled without lifting his eyes from the screen.

  William tugged a piece of Nate’s hair. “Is that any way to greet your teacher, Nathaniel?”

  Nate leveled his eyes with hers. “Sorry. Hi, Ms. Cherkasov.”

  She smiled at his reluctance to tear himself away from whatever he was so intent on. “Hey, Nate. So your dad tells me you want to take private ballroom lessons. Is that true?”

  There was a flicker of something on his face Mel didn’t quite catch, but then Myriam was right behind him, giving his shoulder a nudge. “Tell her, Nate. You wanna dance like your Auntie Myriam.”

  Nate nodded, securing his gaze with Mel’s. “Big time.”

 
Mel’s head cocked to the left, not entirely convinced. “Really?”

  He nodded his dark head. “Really.”

  “Well, okay then. I’ll talk to your father about setting something up.”

  “Cool.”

  Myriam held out her hand to Mel. “C’mere. I’ll introduce you to Drew’s sisters while we make flan.”

  Mel headed into the fray, losing track of Drew while she narrowly avoided the chaos of careening children who ranged in age from infancy to fifteen or so and met Drew’s sisters, Maura, Kathleen, and Delia.

  Corned beef simmered in a huge pot on the stove, full of cabbage and potatoes, and in another, red beans and rice. Enchiladas by the dozen lined baking trays on the counter, plump with melted cheese right alongside Irish soda bread.

  Someone handed Mel an apron, and it was like she’d always belonged to the clan known as McPhee. She cradled babies with varying shades of dark auburn to blond hair, stirred corned beef, wiped runny noses, washed toddlers’ hands, filled sippy cups, and laughed when Drew’s sisters told her stories about him being the only boy in a houseful of women.

  Dinner was served buffet style, chock-full of noise and chaos.

  When she finally located Drew again, it was to find him stuffing his mouth full of one enchilada after another.

  His smile in her direction from across the table made her heart beat harder in her chest as she had a second helping of red beans and rice. Her extended family was small, but she loved the feel of this big one. The constant vibe that said they always put family first.

  It fit a place in her heart she didn’t even know existed until this moment.

  While she watched them interact. Share food. Tease each other.

  And that scared the shit out of her.

  It was an odd feeling to have so early on, but she chalked it up to the fact that you couldn’t help but love the McPhee’s. It went without saying they were hardworking, genuine, but above all, happy.

  Stranger still was the odd sensation that crept over her, warm and sweet, when she caught Drew rocking his sister Kathleen’s baby Felicity. It did something peculiar and fluttery to her stomach to watch the tiny infant curl her fingers into her uncle’s hair and press her round-cheeked face against Drew’s wide shoulder.

  It did something even funnier when Drew nibbled on her chubby fist.

  The blare of a familiar Latin tune took her attention away from the warmth Drew was creating in her. She smiled as Selena and Myriam got the older boys to move the kitchen table out of the way so they could dance.

  Mel had leaned into the doorway to watch them when Nate yelled, “Hey, Grandma, bet Ms. Cherkasov could show you a thing or two.”

  Myriam and Selena rolled their hips, moving their feet in her direction to the rhythm of the music. Myriam wiggled her finger at Mel in invitation while she held her arms, bent at the elbows and shook her shoulders in the best ever imitation of Charo Mel could claim having seen.

  “C’mon, Latin champion. Give us hell!”

  Mel blushed and shook her head, feeling Drew’s eyes bore into her back. “Oh, no. You two are too hot for me.”

  Selena did a pretty good imitation of a samba roll with Myriam, gyrating her hips comically at Mel. “Show us what you got, dancer!”

  She let go of Myriam and grabbed hold of Mel’s hand, pulling it in the air and twirling around.

  The rhythm thrummed through her veins, making it hard not to allow her body the freedom to interpret it.

  “Is that the best you got?” Myriam shouted with a devilish grin.

  “I thought you were some kind of a champion? What happened to that infamous hip action?” she taunted.

  Mel kept her movements reserved. She wrinkled her nose at Myriam. “You’re baiting me, Myriam. You don’t want me to show you up, do you?”

  Myriam shook her hips in a challenge, rolling her neck in Mel’s direction. “You bet your bippy, I do!”

  “C’mon, Ms. Cherkasov!” Nate yelled, clearly enjoying the rivalry the two older women had created. “Show them that thing you did in class the other day.”

  Mel blushed. The hell she’d twerk in front of Drew.

  Myriam danced around her in a challenge of hips and feet, and when the music changed to “Sway,” Mel couldn’t resist showing Myriam and Selena a thing or two about all that hip action. She lifted the edges of the skirt she’d bought just for her date with Drew. A frilly purple chiffon with a small slit in the fabric that reached two or three inches above her knee.

  Mel used it like she would in a paso or a tango, stomping her feet to challenge Myriam and Selena right back. Her face split into a grin when Myriam gave her a defiant gaze.

  Her hips had a will of their own, gyrating to the rhythm, sultry and quick. Someone whistled when Mel grabbed Myriam’s hand and her feet automatically took over the familiar steps to a salsa.

  Mel shimmied her shoulders, twisting her body, pulling Myriam with her into a cha-cha, purposely accentuating the lines of her body by pointing her toes and keeping her chest thrust forward.

  When she spun past Drew, she felt the heat of his gaze consuming her movements, his eyes dark, and it empowered her, compelling her to draw on the sensuality she’d always saved for only the dance floor.

  Joy pumped through her veins. Her heart thumped and while she fought to keep her movements low-key and fit for children, her body warred with her common sense. Her breathing came in familiar huffs, her veins hot with blood running through them while the music carried her feet away.

  And this—the laughter from Myriam and Selena as they tried to mimic the quickness of her steps, the smiles as some of the smaller children attempted to do what the adults were doing—the freedom to communicate her one true love, was why she danced.

  It bubbled inside her, making her feel well and truly alive for the first time in a long time.

  When the song ended, everyone clapped, whistling and catcalling.

  Everyone but Drew.

  But she chose to ignore him and instead curtsied and made a big deal out of clapping in Selena and Myriam’s direction, praising them for their impressive salsa and cha-cha knowledge.

  “Did you see that, Drew?” Myriam yelped. “Can you believe she’s not Puerto Rican the way she moves those hips? Phew!” Myriam fanned herself.

  “Drew!” Selena yelled over the noise. “Phone.”

  Mel watched as she handed the phone to Drew and the expression that passed between mother and son. Drew took the phone, handing over the baby to his mother.

  His lips hardened to a thin line while his head nodded. His expression had gone from doting uncle to a mask of disgust Mel didn’t understand.

  He hung the phone up and tapped Nate on the shoulder, hitching his jaw to draw his son out into the living room.

  Headlights hit the front bay window in the living room, followed by a sharp screech of brakes that had everyone up and on their feet to see what was going on.

  Mel stood at the back of the crowd of Drew’s relatives, her stomach twisting when a hand crashed against the front door.

  A hush fell over the room, and again, the hand banged on the door, relentless and angry. “Nate! You tell your scum-sucking father to open this door right now!” The words from behind the door were slurred and choppy, but whoever it was, it was a woman.

  Alarm bells sounded in Mel’s head when she saw Nate’s face fall.

  Threading her way through the children and adults, Mel came up behind Nate and put a hand on his arm.

  She felt a slight tremble in his shoulders before he said with resignation, “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll go with her.”

  Drew held up his hand to prevent Nate from moving. “Like hell.”

  “Damn this woman,” Selena muttered, moving to stand on the other side of Nate.

  “Open this door, Drew! Open it now. You can’t keep me from my son!”

  Mel’s stomach sank like someone had attached an anchor to it.

  Nate’s mother.

  Dread
filled her when she realized, Drew was going to open the door.

  Just as the woman began to screech again, Drew yanked the door open and made a move to keep her from coming in the house, but she ducked under his arm, wobbling in a zigzag toward Nate.

  She threw her arms around him, tripping on her ripped trench coat, and nearly toppling him. “There’s my baby.” She slurred the coo of words at him.

  Mel had to put a discreet finger to her nose to stamp out the stench of alcohol. Horror welled inside her.

  Nate’s mother was drunk.

  When she caught sight of Mel, clearly a new face in the crowd of McPhees, her face distorted. “Are you here with Drew?” she asked, clinging to Nate who hadn’t moved an inch.

  Mel didn’t answer her.

  “What are you? Deaf? I said, are you here with Drew, slut?” she shouted just before she lunged for Mel.

  Chapter 12

  Dear Divorce Journal,

  I’d leave this blank, but when I open you each night, I find myself compelled to scribble at least something so when I look back on this divorce journey of mine, I’ll have entries as a reminder of how far I’ve come.

  But this entry I’d almost rather forget. It makes me cry. For Nate. I’ll only say, in all of the things Stan has done to me over the last months, I’m so grateful none of them involved substance abuse and a child.

  Mel refused to allow her shock to show, but then Sherry lost interest altogether in her. Rather, she was too busy focusing on Nate who she still clung to.

  Nate stood ramrod straight. He didn’t rebuff her embrace, but he didn’t welcome it either. Mel’s eyes sought Drew’s and found them blazing with anger.

  “You can’t take him, Sherry.”

  Sherry, petite, porcelain skinned if not a bit green around the gills, shot Drew a look of disgust with her wide blue eyes. “Can, too. The judge said so, didn’t he, Nate?” She lifted a wobbly hand up and threaded her fingers through Nate’s hair in a gesture of affection.

  When Nate finally moved, it was to step backward with a shrug out of Sherry’s reach.