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

by Mary Crawford

  Heather gives me a hug and slips an extra hair-band in my pocket. “Relax honey. You look gorgeous. The poor man is going to have to roll up his tongue and stick it back in his mouth when he sees you. You’ve got Ty’s phone number in your phone, right? He’ll be right there if you need him. All you need to do is call.”

  After Kiera got home from her honeymoon, I finally sat down with Kiera and Heather and told them the whole story in painful, excruciating detail. I knew Kiera wouldn’t be judgmental because of the nature of her job as a social worker. Perhaps that’s why I waited so long to tell her. I didn’t want to become one more statistic for her or another person to add to her caseload. Yet, I should’ve known better. I know Kiera takes sexual assault very personally as she had issues with abuse and her own family.

  True to form, the Girlfriend Posse has been amazing. However, I’ve also received amazing support from Kiera’s husband, Jeff and his best friend, Ty, who is a reserve officer with the sheriff’s department.

  “I really think I’ll be fine.” I assert. “The Aidan I know is a really nice guy. Given all the threats he’s recently gotten as a former Supreme Court Justice, I think Justice Gardner wouldn’t have hired him to play at Kiera’s wedding if he hadn’t done a thorough background check. Besides, I already went to breakfast with Aidan and he was a perfect gentleman.”

  Just then, the doorbell rings. I rush to answer the door before the others can get there. I’d hate to see how long their inquisition could take. As I open the door, the sight of Aidan casually dressed in well worn Levi’s and a thermal Henley shirt is enough to take my breath away.

  I hear Heather’s voice behind me, “Oh Lordy, is this not too cute for words? They match. You two go on and have fun now. We won’t stay up for you.”

  Aidan tips an imaginary hat at them as he drawls, “It was a pleasure meeting you both ma’am. I can’t guarantee I’ll have her back by a decent hour. I’m going to just play it by ear. I’ll have her call and let you know.” With that pronouncement, he whisks me out the front door.

  As we walk down the driveway toward the street, I hiss at Aidan, “Why did you tell them that? You made it sound like we’re going to spend the night together or something.”

  Aidan chuckles at my outrage, “Relax, Gracie I was kidding...mostly. You know me. I’m kind of a spur of the moment type of guy. I don’t like to set my plans in cement or anything,” he explains.

  “Well, thanks a lot.” I retort. “I may know that about you, but my friends don’t. Now, they think you have a night of debauchery planned.”

  “Hmm, if that’s one of my options, I might just change my approach to this, ‘No planning ahead’ idea,” he teases.

  “Aidan Jarith! What would your mother think of your depraved mind?” I say with mock outrage.

  “My deprived mind? The debauchery was all your idea, gorgeous Gracie,” he quips.

  The early morning dawn hides my bright red blush. We stop in front of a Volkswagen bus that looks like the 60s chewed it up and spit it out. When he pulls out a set of keys with a peace symbol and unlocks the van, I burst out laughing.

  When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I wheeze. “Are you serious Aidan? Do you really drive a Scooby-Doo van that looks like a Grateful Dead T-shirt threw up on it?”

  Aidan shrugs as he says, “I’m a musician and I haul gear around all the time. Besides, it suits me. Why? Does it offend you?”

  I shoot him a conspiratorial grin as I ask, “Do we have a second?”

  He nods and by force of habit, I link my first finger with his and drag him around the side of my house to reveal what’s under my carport. Together we pull back the layers of blue tarp.

  When he Aidan sees my baby, he lets out a low wolf-whistle. “’73?” he queries.

  I shake my head. I’m impressed by his knowledge of vintage Volkswagens. “It’s a ’72,” I respond.

  “Wow! I’ve seen these in magazines and on television, but I’ve never known anybody who actually had one. I can’t believe you have a 1972 Super Baja. Did you do the airbrushing? It’s amazing,” Aidan gushes.

  I flush a dusky red at his compliment. “I did. After my mom died, I traveled the carnival circuit for a while. This was one of the few things I cherish that belonged to both of my parents. I made a deal with the owner of the troupe we were traveling with. He said if I could make it look like a clown car, he’d allow me to bring it with us. So, I made the base coat, a sparkly lime green color and added daisies and colorful butterflies to it.”

  Aidan runs his fingers over each flower and butterfly tracing the intricate outline of each figure. He mutters half to himself,

  “Tara, you would’ve made a hell of a tattoo artist. Your eye for detail is amazing and your perspective is right on. So, why aren’t you driving this work of art?” he asks with open curiosity, his head in the trunk of the car.

  “There’s a couple of reasons,” I reply. “First, there is some sort of issue with the exhaust and I need to find a part. Second, my hours just got cut at work, so even if it were running, I can’t afford the insurance on it right now.”

  Aidan takes one last look before he covers it up. “That’s a shame, because a car like this deserves to be driven,” he remarks. “Thanks for showing it to me. Are you ready to get this show on the road?”

  Technically, I guess I could afford to get it fixed now. Though for so many reasons, I don’t want to think about that right now. I try to bring my mind back to the present.

  “Sure.” As we walk back to his van, much to my mortification, I blurt out a random observation. “Hey Aidan...I’m so glad you haven’t turned into some shallow pop star like Justin Bieber and started driving some gas guzzling Humvee or school bus yellow Ferrari,” I muse.

  “Me too, Gracie. Me too,” he responds as he helps me into his van.

  I try to wipe my hands surreptitiously on a rag next to the seat in the van. I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious for a date to go well. I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of one of the massive arches in the Moab Desert in Utah, and I’m about to drop over the side without knowing if my rope will reach the bottom.

  Speaking of rock climbing, I know today’s choice of date is unconventional at best. I know when we were kids, Tara tended to worry herself sick over small details. I figure it will go better for us if her mind is kept so busy that she has no time to sweat the small stuff. Of course, this could all be one giant miscalculation, and it may all blow up in my face.

  For today to work, she has to trust me. I am not sure she trusts anyone. She may trust herself even less than she trusts me. I don’t want to screw this up. It’s a huge gamble. I hope I’m doing the right thing. I’m still thinking about today’s plans when she pokes me in the ribs with her elbow.

  I let out a startled bark of laughter. I can’t help it. I am insanely ticklish. It’s freakin’ embarrassing to be a grown ass man and nearly pee yourself when someone touches your ribs.

  “What?” I snap, more sharply than I intended, mortified that one of my Achilles heels has been revealed so early.

  “Geez, AJ!” she says in response to my surly reply. “I was just going to ask you if I could have a hint about where we’re going yet. It sounds like you could use an infusion of coffee first.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I concede, feeling like a jackass. “I saw a little coffee place as you head out of town. Are they any good?”

  “They make great coffee and their hot chocolate is even better. They serve a decent bagel too.”

  “So what do you want this morning?”

  “Well, since you got me up at the rooster’s butt crack of dawn, I’d like a large black coffee please,” she replies. “Can you ask them to put an extra shot of espresso in it for me?”

  “While it’s enlightening to find out that roosters have butt cracks, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I answer, regretfully.

  She does a double take worthy of a Saturday morning cartoon as she questions me about my
answer. “I’m sorry, what? You can’t what?”

  “Have the barista put extra caffeine in your drink—it might mess with our plans for the rest of the day.”

  Tara groans as she protests, “I changed my mind. I don’t think I want to know what we’re going to do today. I don’t suppose it’s something as simple as dinner and a movie?”

  I chuckle at her perceptive guess. “When have you ever known me to do simple? Did you really think I was going to start on our first date?” I tease.

  Tara grabs the red baseball cap from the seat beside her, threads her long braid through it, and pulls it down over her eyes. “I’m afraid to see where we’re going. I think I’ll just take a nap since you refuse to do the humane thing and give me a decent dose of caffeine. Besides, technically, this is our second date. You would’ve been safe picking something mundane. There’s no need to show off,” she argues.

  I reach over and flip the bill of the baseball cap up as we pull up into the coffee line. I look at her beautiful face and arresting eyes as I quip, “Gracie, if you were mine for 60 minutes or 60 years, I’d never want to stop showing off for you.”

  God, I sound like a huge wussy sap, but it’s true. All those years, I watched her pine after my brother, I could never figure out what the attraction was. My brother is a decent guy, now that he’s found Renee. But back in the day, to call him a narcissistic butt-head was putting it nicely. He barely knew Tara existed, and when he did notice her, he was a jerk. I may have been a kid, but I could recognize what an amazing gift she was. I can’t imagine someone not treasuring her.

  “You’re sweet. Aidan,” Tara replies with a small smile. “Although, you might find out that I’m not the cute, innocent girl you remember. I have lots of hard edges now. I’ve also got some holes that may never be filled.”

  I smile at her analogy. “So, basically you’re telling me you’re a thunder egg? Quiet and unassuming on the surface, but stunningly beautiful with a heart of gold in the middle.”

  Tara rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure which is going to be more challenging—arguing with Jeff, Kiera’s husband who’s the lawyer, or you who crafts words into lyrics. Something tells me that I should put my money on you. Jeff has to make his words follow the rules, whereas yours can go as far your creativity takes you.”

  “It depends. Are you going to argue every time I call you gorgeous?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  I can see a faint flush on Tara’s cheeks as I hand her the coffee and bagel with strawberry cream cheese.

  Tara chews on her thumbnail as she mutters, “Well, maybe not every time.”

  “In that case, I suppose the amount of arguing is up for negotiation.” I respond, with a teasing grin.

  I somehow manage to get more of the cream cheese on my hands than on the napkin. By force of habit, I lick the excess off my thumb. I look over to see if Tara has caught my lapse in manners. Sure enough, she is watching my hands with fascination. At first, I’m completely mortified. Then, I take a closer look and I notice that there is heat in her eyes. I try not to move a muscle, but inside, I’m doing cartwheels. This is really the first sign that I’ve seen to indicate that she sees me as anything other than the little kid she remembers. Already, this day is looking up.

  I look out the window as I pull on to Highway 99 and head toward Corvallis. “It’s going to be a perfect day out there. Are you ready?” I ask.

  “Aidan, how could I possibly know if I’m ready when I don’t know what we’re doing?”

  “Patience and faith, Gracie. Patience and faith. All will be revealed soon,” I tease.

  “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. It’s just too early to argue about it,” she replies as she settles back in the van seat, tucking her feet up under her, Indian style. “So, do you do the musician gig full time now?”

  I let out a wry laugh. “I guess it depends on who you ask. In my heart, I’m a full-time musician. But if you consult my tax return, it still lists my occupation as a waiter. Depending on the venue, I sometimes even work as a bouncer. My bookings are pretty steady these days, but the venues don’t always pay very well.”

  “Still, I’m very proud of you,” Tara answers with an encouraging smile. “It takes a lot of guts to live your dream.”

  “You may not be so proud when you find out that my definition of fine dining is Top Raman with Pop Tarts for dessert.”

  “Really?” she asks, surprise in her voice. “You sounded so great at the wedding; I figured you’d have tons of fans. We’ll have to get Kiera’s nephew to set up a You Tube channel. He set one up for his fantasy basketball league, and he has tons of subscribers. It’s pretty snazzy.”

  Touched by her concern, I decide to tell her more. “That’s great, Tara. I’ll be sure to ask him about it. But I’m really doing okay. Things are slim around my house by choice right now. I’m trying to save up for rehearsal and studio time. I want to hire a decent sound engineer to help with a demo tape, since it’s hard for me to pick up the little stuff.”

  “Oh I see,” she responds, twirling the string from her jacket between her fingers. “How will a demo tape help you? People are pretty familiar with how the piano sounds, right?”

  Her answer strikes me as funny. “I suppose Gregory Hines and Paula Abdul are the same because they were both dancers?”

  She snorts and chokes on her coffee. “Not hardly!”

  “Well, I’m not the same as every other piano player either. I’ve been writing songs since I could hold a pencil.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Aidan,” she clarifies. “I just meant—are folks going to be able to tell the difference? Are your songs any good?”

  “That remains to be seen, I guess. Remember those songs I played at the wedding that weren’t covers?” I ask, hoping that she does. It’ll be humiliating if she doesn’t. “I wrote those.”

  “Those were beautiful,” she remarks. “When did you write them? Each one sounded so different.”

  “It depends on the song. Some of them took years to write, others only hours. One of them, I started before I lost my hearing. It took a while to finish those, obviously.”

  “What was that like for you, to lose your music?” Tara asks, her expression full of sympathy.

  “Lonely,” I admit. “I felt hollow. Like the part of me that explained my very existence was gone. The loss of hearing sucked in general, but life without music was soul crushing. I was lost for a while.”

  “But you’re back now?” Tara asks, studying me.

  “It’s hard to explain. I have music now. It won’t ever be what it was before. My music and I are both changed by my deafness. I straddle two worlds. I don’t really fit in either one. I’m a deaf guy born with hearing and a musician that can’t entirely hear. It’s an odd place to be.”

  Tara nods. “Do you ever wonder what could have been, if only you hadn’t gotten sick?”

  “At first, I obsessed about it all the time. Rory was getting more famous. I guess you were probably traveling with them, at that point, doing the European competitions—”

  “I remember those years,” Tara interrupts. “We practically lived out of our luggage. I was in costume so much, I was growing sequins as a second skin.”

  The visual made me laugh out loud. Tara was never one for dressing up. “I bet,” I say, chuckling. “But I happen to know you can rock a sequin just fine, Gracie. With very little prompting, I’m sure my mom would be happy to haul out her photo albums and videotapes as proof.”

  “Wait a minute!” Tara exclaims as a thought occurs to her. “Speaking of your parents, they traveled with us during that time. So what happened to you?”

  “There was a really cool nurse who took care of me on the pediatric unit who took me in. Her name is Delores. She invited me to join her family.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing someone did. I can’t believe your parents did that. Parenting isn’t like ‘The Book of the Month Club’. You don’t get to just cancel your subscr
iption to your kid because you find it overwhelming or you prefer one kid over the other. That’s just insane.” Tara blurts, with a ferocious expression and fire in her eyes.

  I’m touched by her instantaneous defense of me. It must to be hard for her to understand my parent’s choice, when she had lost both parents under such tragic circumstances.

  “Tara, it’s okay really. I made peace with it several years ago, and I have started rebuilding a friendship with my parents If it were not for their choices, I wouldn’t have Delores in my life. She has been my guardian angel and life mentor. I cannot imagine my life without her.”

  Tara sighs. “You are more forgiving than I am. I know it’s not fair, but on the really rough days, I am still mad at my parents for dying. I feel like such a whiny bitch for even saying that out loud. But I wonder, if my dad hadn’t died, if he would have been around to protect me from Warren. Maybe, if my mom hadn’t been so checked out of her life, she could’ve warned me of the dangers.”

  “Tara, I don’t think there is a person alive that’s been through loss who doesn’t have those same thoughts. When I first became deaf, I would yell at God, then scream in horror that I couldn’t hear my own cries. I think it’s okay to be angry at your circumstances, it’s what you do with the anger that matters.”

  Tara slumps in her seat, eyes full of regret. “I’ve done some stuff that I’m not proud of,” she admits.

  “Join the club, Tara,” I reply. “But I think you are far too hard on yourself. The way I see it, you kept your mom alive for years after she threw in the towel. You were basically running the household by the time you were about eight. I remember the dance instructors talking about it, when they thought no kids were around. You had to bury your mom as a teenager, which is something that just shouldn’t happen. Yet you somehow managed to graduate high school and you’re attending college with no family support, in an age when it’s common for kids to live in their parent’s basement.”