So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  Aidan regards me with a look of alarm as he asks, “I’m sorry, did I miss something? It’s kinda loud in here and I lost my focus for a minute.”

  I draw in a quick breath as the puzzle pieces abruptly start to fall into place in my head. I recall his rapid signing and his laser-like focus on my face. Why hadn’t I noticed he’s been repositioning himself all night to get a clearer view? It’s my job to notice such things and respond appropriately. What kind of professional will I make, if I miss something so obvious?

  I immediately take off the sparkly tennis bracelet Kiera gave us for being bridesmaids and tuck it in my pocket so it’s not distracting. “It’s fine, you didn’t miss anything,” I assure him, speaking and signing at the same time. I point to the ladybug that just made its way to my anklebone. “I was remembering an old wives’ tale my dad used to tell me about ladybugs, and it made me smile.”

  Aidan grins as he replies, “Hey, I’m Irish and I was raised by a lady who grew up in Louisiana. There isn’t much in the way of a limerick, folklore, or superstition that I don’t have at least a passing knowledge of. I know at least two versions of the story and in either superstition I come out a winner. It’s only a matter of how you define luck.”

  “AJ, there is no possible way you could know that! We haven’t even seen each other in a dozen years. I am a completely different person now,” I argue, signing emphatically.

  “You are really good at signing, but I don’t really need you to. I have bilateral implants,” he explains, pulling his hair to the side to expose the two devices attached to his skull.

  I cringe slightly because it looks like it must’ve hurt to have them put in. “Do they bother you? I think I’d feel a bit like a robot,” I inquire, studying it closely. I slap my hand over my mouth. I really wish I had some magical power to teleport right now, because I’d rather be anywhere else in the galaxy.

  Aidan looks at the expression on my face, throws his head back and laughs. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t seem terribly upset over my idiotic remark. “Sometimes I do feel like a robot, especially when they have me hooked up to a computer to calibrate my units,” he answers. “They don’t usually bother me much, unless I’m working out or I get them wet. I ruined a pair of receivers when a groom and his buddies got rowdy at a reception and threw me in the pool. Lucky for me, they stepped up and got me new ones. I suspect they had really great homeowners insurance.”

  “I am glad they are not a lot of hassle,” I say, still mortified by my lack of sensitivity. “Still, I am a professional—well, close enough—and I should know better.”

  “A professional dancer?” he asks, confusion wrinkling his brow. “No surprise there. So was Rory until he blew out his Achilles one too many times. You were as good as him.”

  I flush at his compliment. No one ever puts me in the same league as his brother. I always felt lucky to even breathe the same air as my former dance partner. Yet even as I soak in his praise, the pain of what I’ve lost washes over me. I fight to stay composed as I struggle to find the words to explain my life. “I am a sign language interpreter. Or I guess, more accurately, I am learning to be one. I’m in the ASL Interpreting program at Western Oregon University. I have about a year to go. I don’t dance anymore.”

  Aidan’s jaw goes slack for a moment before he shutters his expression. “Congratulations on your interpreting gig. I’ve heard it’s tough, and they only take the best. But I must have misheard you. This is the second time tonight I thought I heard you say you don’t dance.” He shakes his head and rakes his hand through his hair as he continues, “That can’t be right. You’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen. Sure, Rory danced with technical precision and was a master at his craft, but you were still a million times better. You danced with the very essence of your being. Your love of the art flowed through you, spilling from every pore of your body. I have never seen someone so compelling to watch. I know what I’m talking about, because there were some pretty phenomenal dancers surrounding Rory’s life. I don’t understand how someone like you can just stop dancing.”

  Tears well up in my eyes as I watch him search my face for answers. His tender, concerned expression was the last chink my armor could stand. “I don’t understand either. I can’t dance anymore. It’s like my inner music is gone. I can’t hear it anymore. He took it from me. Just like he took everything else.”

  Emotions fly across Aidan’s face like clouds in a spring thunderstorm as he processes my words. “What did Rory do? I always told him he needed to be more careful. If he hurt you that much, I’ll kill him myself. I don’t care if he’s my brother.” Aidan bunches his fists at his side. He drags his hand through his hair with such agitation he practically tears it out at the roots. “He was a self-absorbed prick back in the day, but I never thought he would stoop that low—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “Aidan, you’re completely misunderstanding the whole situation. I wasn’t hurt dancing. It was much more personal, and it wasn’t Rory’s fault. Your brother would have actually had to notice I existed for that to happen. It was one of his so-called-friends who hurt me. As far as I know, Rory didn’t even know.” As memories assault me, I tuck my feet under me and curl into the corner of the porch swing and rock gently. I begin to violently tremble. Despite the fact that it’s been almost a decade and a half since the incident, the horrifying memories that play in a loop in my head never fade. Unfortunately, I remember the attack like it was yesterday.

  Aidan picks up his jacket, which I’ve been using as a pillow, and drapes it over me. He gingerly tucks it around me, being careful not to be offensive. He is so gentle that tears spring to my eyes.

  When a lock of my hair falls across my eyes again, he tucks it behind my ear and regards me quietly. Finally, he gruffly asks, “Gracie, will you be okay here until I get back? I’ll just be a minute.”

  Memories of an entirely different sort wash over me and I grin. “I can’t believe you even remember that, AJ. It’s been forever since anybody called me that.”

  “Well, I always thought your name was uncommonly beautiful, Ms. Tara Grace Windsong Isamu,” he responds with an easy smile and a slight blush. “Some of my fondest childhood memories revolve around that George Burns and Gracie Allen vaudeville bit we did for the talent show. I’ve never forgotten the time we spent together, Tara. I always hoped our paths would cross again.”

  “Things were just so mixed up for me back then, I’ve kind of forgotten the fun times. I think I’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he assures me as he tucks the jacket more securely around my shoulders. I watch as he disappears into the crowd on the dance floor.

  I rest my head against the swing rail and try to remember the last time someone tucked me in with such care. It used to be a daily occurrence before the Chinese government mistook my daddy for a dissident and assassinated him on an anniversary of the uprising in Tiananmen Square. My dad was merely doing his job as a translator, and they killed him for it. The bullet didn’t strike my mom, but it might as well have. She started dying of a broken heart the day he lost his life. I miss them both so much I ache. A tear slides down my face. I jump when I feel tapping on my knee.

  “What’s wrong, Miss Tara?” Mindy asks, squinting up at me as she fiddles with the ribbons in her hair. “Did the policeman put you in time out because you stepped on the bad guy’s neck? That’s no fair because you helped save Mr. Jeff’s life.”

  I laugh out loud at her logic. “No, I’m not in time out. I just got a little queasy from all the excitement. My friend brought me over here to lie down so the grass wouldn’t get my dress all dirty.”

  “Friend? What friend?” Mindy demands, her eyes, narrow with suspicion. “All of your friends are waiting for you so we can take some more pictures. They have to throw something at you before they’ll let me take my dress off so I can shoot some hoops with Gabriel. He is going to teach me to play basketball like a big kid.
He says I’m already one of the jumpingly-ist people he knows, so I should be a natural.”

  “Aidan, the piano player, and I went to school together a long time ago. He saw that I was having trouble, so he brought me over here just to be safe,” I explain.

  Mindy’s eyes grow big as she exclaims, “You’re friends with a musician? The man that looks like Prince Harry, only way cuter?” Mindy covers her mouth and giggles. “His hair is so long Daddy could braid it. It’s like Shawn White’s ‘cept it’s not quite so red. I wonder if he can snowboard. Do you think he would sign my recorder? Oh wait...I had to leave that at my old school. Do you think I’ll get a new one? My friend Laura had a really cool one that was pink and purple. Can I get one like that? I promise not to be bad anymore.”

  “Whoa, Mouse. It’s clear we need to cut back on your cake consumption. From the sound of things, you’ve been skipping the cake part and just licking the frosting off,” I comment with a laugh. “First, AJ and I met when we were about your age, but we haven’t seen each other in a really long time. Yeah, I guess he does look a little like both Prince Harry and Shawn White, but I’d lean more toward the Harry side if I was comparing them. I have no idea if he snowboards, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he does. He always wanted to learn how to surf as a kid. I do love the long hair. Mine is so straight and boring, I always envy people like you, Aidan, and Kiera with your amazing hair. Mine just hangs there, and it’s plain old black,” I answer, blowing an errant lock out of my face.

  “Miss Tara!” Mindy exclaims as she puts her hands on her hips. “Do you even look in the mirror? You could be a Disney princess. I can’t decide if you look more like Pocahontas or Mulan because you kind of look like both. You are very pretty. Your hair looks like the sky at night with lots of tiny stars.”

  I blush when she says all of that. I’ve downplayed my looks for so long, I don’t even notice how I look. I just do a basic teeth brush and booger search, and consider it good. “Thank you, Mindy Mouse. That’s sweet of you to say. I don’t know anything about Aidan’s career, so I don’t know if he can help you with your recorder. You really should ask him, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay, I will,” she replies with enthusiasm and hope. “By the way, my mom says everyone needs to meet in the gazebo in fifteen minutes with your smiles on.” Mindy skips off toward the gazebo pretending to play hopscotch. The kid’s got phenomenal rhythm and balance. It’s too bad I don’t dance anymore, or I could definitely teach her some things.

  Just then, Aidan reappears on my other side. His hands are completely full. I take a fully loaded plate from him. It looks delicious, and I suddenly feel ravenous. It’s piled high with fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and cold cuts. He sets a steaming cup of coffee on the table. “AJ, this looks amazing, but you didn’t have to go to all of this trouble for me,” I mumble.

  “Don’t be silly,” Aidan reprimands. “It was nothing. I was hungry too. I just grabbed an extra plate for you. As I recall, you like meat and cheese. You look cold, so I brewed some coffee up for you too. I hope you like cream and sugar, since I added a touch of each. I was afraid to leave it black because it looks strong enough to strip wallpaper. I even got you strawberries for dessert.”

  “Thank you so much, Aidan,” I muse. “This is the nicest thing to happen to me in a really long time.”

  “Wow, Gracie,” Aidan replies, “if that’s your bar for the nicest, we need to raise your bar a bit.”

  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Tara was raped. I guess I didn’t do a very good job of protecting her like I always promised her I would. Rory’s friends are so much older than me, I don’t know any of them. The whole situation makes me furious. Where was Rory? Why didn’t he step up? Maybe he could have stopped the devastation, if he had just paid attention to her for once.

  This clearly has changed her whole life. I expected Tara would’ve been the principal dancer in a major company by now, or happily settled into retirement and teaching another generation her infectious love of dance. For her not to dance is a tragedy of epic proportions to the world of the arts. Most people might not consider it much of a loss. For people like me, though, a life without music, art, dancing, or photography would make our souls wither and die. It was during a preschool class trip to see the musical Oklahoma! that I learned music and words could be combined to make a story fascinating. What if some little kid somewhere is missing their moment of inspiration because some scumbag decided to take what wasn’t his?

  What kind of sick freak does that to an innocent girl the size of Tara? She may be a buck-oh-five on a rainy day. She is tall for a dancer, but so fine boned, I can circle both her wrists with just my fingers. Her muscles are sleek and toned, but no match for a man intent on assaulting her. I’d like to string up the jerk over a ravine somewhere, and let him swing by his balls. I wonder if he knows that he changed who Tara turned out to be, because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. It makes me sick.

  I hate to leave her alone, but I need some distance to get my shit together. Seeing her nearly go into shock, just talking about it, sends daggers into my soul. I hope seeing me isn’t painful for her. I’d be crushed if I made matters worse. Waiting for her coffee to brew, I watch her talk to the little flower girl. If anyone can cheer her up, it’s this little sprite. She is a character for sure. I watch a little more closely. Are they talking about my hair? Seriously? Sometimes, the ability to read lips has its drawbacks. I learn things I’m just better off not knowing. Did Tara really just call her hair boring? She has clearly no idea how stunning she is. Her hair reminds me of a raven’s wing. Dark, shiny, and ever changing. A man could and should get lost in all that hair. I shake my head in disbelief when I see she considers herself plain. Tara Grace Windsong is many, many things, but plain is not one of them.

  I wait for the little girl to leave before I carefully approach, balancing coffee and plates of food. She jumps a little at my presence, but she recovers quickly. She takes the plate from me and mumbles something about me not needing to go out of my way for her. I reassure her that it was no problem. Yet she calls it the nicest thing anyone has done for her in a while. Really? It’s just a plate of food. It’s not like I helped her move or babysat her cat or anything—either of which I would do for her in a heartbeat. “Wow, Gracie. If that’s your bar for the nicest, we need to raise your bar a bit.”

  Tara flushes as she blows on her coffee. “You’re probably right. I don’t get out much these days,” she replies with a wry chuckle.

  “So, you go to school. Anything else interesting?” I ask as we eat our snacks.

  “Well, I work evenings and weekends at the Shell station,” she answers as she pops a piece of cheese into her mouth.

  “Is that safe?” I ask, alarmed.

  “Well, yes, I think my coworkers feel much safer with me around, since I’m a black belt in tae kwon do,” Tara responds with a raised eyebrow.

  “Point taken,” I reply, blushing. “I’m not usually such a male chauvinist pig, but you are pretty small and Monmouth is right off the highway.”

  “So, you’ve been to my charming little town?” Tara asks with a mischievous grin. “If so, you know it’s not really a hotbed of activity after about seven at night.”

  “That may be true, but creeps can crop up anywhere,” I warn. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff I see.”

  “Aidan, don’t you think I know that better than anybody?” she replies, her voice dropping down to a husky whisper, “But I’ve worked really hard to be better prepared for next time.”

  “There’s the Gracie I remember,” I say, as I brush some stray hair from her eyes. “You were always prepared for every contingency.”

  “You might want to rethink your nickname for me, AJ. I am not feeling very graceful these days,” Tara states sadly.

  “Somehow, I find that hard to believe. I bet you even snore gracefully,” I reply, with a grin.

  “Aidan Jarith O’Brien! I’ll hav
e you know— I don’t snore, thank you very much,” she insists, her tone slightly indignant.

  I laugh as I answer her, “I’m just wondering how a person figures that out. Really. I mean, we all sleep through our own snoring and the people we date have every motive in the world to spare our feelings. It’s quite possible that we all snore like freight trains, but no one wants to fess up. You never need to worry about that problem with me. I take my receivers off at night to clean them. I am as deaf as a fence post. You could snore loud enough to remove roof tiles and I wouldn’t even know it.”

  “Geez, AJ! Presumptuous much?” she asks, incredulous. “I think I was in the eighth grade the last time I saw you and now you have us sharing a bed. It’s quite a leap, even for you.”

  “True,” I reply honestly. “At this point, it’s just wishful thinking. But I can’t deny I’ve always had a crush on you, Tara Grace.”

  Tara starts stabbing the grapes on her plate with a decorative toothpick from an hors d’oeuvre. “Umm, I don’t even know what to say, except that I’m not the girl you remember,” she states softly.