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

by Mary Crawford

  “The first time? Or now?” I ask and then I blush positively crimson when I realize how much emotional underbelly I’ve exposed.

  Aidan’s jaw drops so dramatically, he looks like a Looney Tunes cartoon. I expect multicolored question marks to float from his skull at any second.

  I can’t help myself. I giggle and snort unattractively as I contemplate his expression.

  “Oh come now, Aidan,” I admonish. “It can’t be that big of a surprise. You never even tried to hide your feelings from me. I was bound to notice and reciprocate at some point.”

  Aidan looks completely flummoxed as he scratches the side of his head and stammers, “Well, yes but—”

  “I think I felt the first flutters the day you bought me bandages and fixed my feet instead of buying collectible toys with your money. But I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t hallucinating about my feelings,” I reveal in a rush of words.

  Aidan chuckles as he confirms, “No Gracie, it was very real—frighteningly real. Rory teased me about it for months.”

  I grin as I imagine that scenario. I suppose Rory was a tad envious of our close relationship. Even as handsome as Rory always was, he never had the easy charm Aidan had. I think he was always jealous of that, even if he would never admit it.

  “But when did you know for sure?” Aidan pushes.

  “I didn’t know until it was too late,” I answer somberly. “I had just come back from a grueling dance camp and I was ready to start the new school year. I was really excited to show you all the new skills I learned from this really famous choreographer I’d worked with. For the first time since I was six, you were not there to greet me. I remember opening my locker really carefully, to see what you had hidden there. I was sure you were just around the corner waiting for me to find whatever creepy crawly thing you had hidden. I even spent some time during the summer practicing a dramatic pratfall so that I could pretend to have a wicked case of the vapors like the vaudeville act we had played the spring before. But there was nothing spooky in my locker, and you were nowhere to be found. Every teacher I asked just shook their head sadly and said, ‘Oh you poor dear, didn’t your mother tell you?’”

  “I finally left the school in hysterics. I roamed the streets for two days looking for you. I finally decided you must be like everyone else; since I loved you, of course you left me. I went back to school and summoned the courage to ask one of the janitors. Remember the one with arthritis so bad, he would never use a dustpan because he couldn’t bend down? Well, I asked him if you have left me and he answered, ‘Shur ’nuff chile’ he done gone to live with them gators.’ I didn’t know exactly what that meant. But I knew it wasn’t anywhere around where I was. Once again, because I loved someone, they were gone. I vowed to never love anyone ever again.”

  Adrian turns a little green like he was going to be sick. “You mean to tell me, my parents never said anything to you, about me being sick?” he demands.

  “No, not really. After several months, after I had heard some rumors at school, they just told me that you had chosen to go a different direction in your life and were choosing to stay with some friends so that you didn’t have to be around the performing arts. No one ever gave me any hint that you might need me. In fact, I thought they were telling me you didn’t want to be around me. So I just let the matter drop. Shortly after that, as you know, my life fell apart and I had other things to deal with.

  Adrian shakes his head and drags his hand down his face like he’s trying to clear a bad image on an Etch-a-Sketch. “I would expect this kind of behavior from my dad, but I’m shocked it came from my mom. My mom has known all along that I’ve been in love with you since I was about six. I told her I was going to grow up and marry you. I know she thought I was joking, but I would think my behavior over the years would have convinced her otherwise. Like you said, people three states over could probably tell I was in love with you. I followed you around like a starving bloodhound. Even the substitute bus drivers knew,” he says, frustration dripping from every word.

  “I don’t know,” I respond carefully. “Your parents were pretty invested in keeping the partnership between Rory and me together because we had been dancing together so long. Maybe they were afraid, if they told me the truth, I would no longer dance with Rory. Their fears were probably well-founded; I don’t know that I would’ve stayed around any members of your family if I knew how they treated you. They must have known me well enough to know that. You know how vested they were in success in those days. Your parents weren’t willing to risk it.”

  “Yeah, with me out of commission, they had all their eggs in one basket,” he hisses sarcastically.

  “As much as I hate what they did to you, competition was all they ever knew. I don’t think they knew how to adjust to life without it. It must have been a really hard time for them,” I suggest.

  “I see what you mean,” Aidan concedes. “But they tossed me aside like a bag of over-ripened peaches. They totally messed with my self-esteem. It took me a long time to believe in myself again. Thank God Dolores was patient with me, otherwise it could have been a hellacious mess.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condoning anything they did. They made atrocious decisions. But in a way I can’t help but be grateful. If it were not for those mistakes, I don’t know what our paths might have been. We’re here, so the strange and winding paths we both took seem suddenly worth it. I can’t be sorry for that,” I murmur as I kiss Aidan tenderly on the lips.

  I feel the tension drain from his body as he starts to relax into the kiss and kiss me back with excruciating slowness. “Well, if you put it like that, maybe I can’t be all that angry at my parents. Because their actions led us to right here, right now. This is as close to perfect as it gets. On that note, do you sleep on the left side of the bed or the right, because I’m beat and we have to get up early to collect a bunch of junior high kids. We should get as much sleep as possible. I have a feeling I’m going to experience a whole new level of tiredness I’ve never experienced, even when I worked as a hotel manager.”

  I groan when I hear that. “Does this mean I have to participate in some elaborate hazing ritual?” I ask in a resigned voice.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” he responds with an overly casual shrug. “I’ve heard some pretty wild stories about school camps. I’m pretty sure most are just urban legends, but you never know. So I’ll ask again, what side of the bed do you want?”

  “I’m not picky,” I say with a lift of my shoulder. “You pick and I’ll take leftovers.” I grab a pair of yoga pants and t-shirt and head to the bathroom.

  As I look at my red eyes and nose in the mirror, I wonder what the heck I’m doing. I’ve settled nothing. In fact, I’ve lost ground. The only thing I know for sure is that we love each other, and we have for a really long time. But is that enough to sustain our relationship for a lifetime? I really hope so. I don’t want to let him go. I'd like to think my daddy sent Aidan to me to love me, because he couldn’t anymore.

  Waiting for Tara to come out of the bathroom, I try to concentrate on a biography of Steve Jobs so I don’t look like a creepy stalker. In reality, I’m listening to see if she starts to cry again. It hurts that she questions whether she is worthy of my love. If she only knew how much simple joy I derive from making her happy, it would amaze her. I know it’s the clichéd stuff of pop and country songs, but in my life, the sun really does rise and set on her shoulders.

  My heart skips a beat when Tara appears. She’s wearing an oversize t-shirt that says, ‘Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.—Mahatma Gandhi’ and sleek black yoga pants. She reminds me of the dancer she used to be. All she needs to complete the look is a couple of pencils haphazardly sticking through her hair for taking notes on a choreographer’s feedback.

  Her dramatic makeup is gone. In its place are gracefully arched brows and delicately pink lips. Her hair is now in a messy ponytail. But she looks just as beautiful to me
. It’s a different kind of beautiful, but gorgeous just the same. She looks younger and more delicate, but still amazing. I lecture my body to tamp down its involuntary reaction. I don’t want to scare her away again. I try to remind myself to stay in the friend zone for now.

  She notices my scrutiny and asks self-consciously, “What? You’re looking at me funny.”

  “I am not,” I protest. “I was just noticing that we look like a couple of veteran slumber partiers. I feel like I should be braiding your hair and painting your toenails, or something.”

  She smirks at me. “Do I really seem like that type to you? Girly girly isn’t really my look.”

  “I don’t know, you seem to cross genres pretty well, to me. You looked like a fashion model when you showed up at my door tonight. But I like this look too,” I tell her.

  Tara giggles. “To use one of Heather’s expressions, ‘Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?’”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “Does she really get away with stuff like that in Oregon?”

  She nods. “All the time. People eat it up; they think Heather’s straight out of Steel Magnolias or something. It’s weird.”

  I chuckle. “I’ve got to start hanging out with those friends of yours; they sound like a riot.”

  “They really are amazing,” she declares as she stifles a yawn.

  I prop myself up on the padded headboard and pat the bed beside me. “Would you like me to sing you to sleep?”

  Nodding eagerly, Tara hops up in bed beside me and hands me my acoustic guitar. Somehow, I manage to tuck her in next to me and balance the guitar on my thigh. I know she’s a huge fan of Elton John, so I start to play Your Song. I’ve barely made the transition into Tiny Dancer before Tara’s breathing evens out, and she melts into my side. I set the guitar down on my side of the bed, careful not to jar any of the strings. I slither down in the bed, resting her head on my chest while I cover us with the antique quilt. Silently I offer a prayer that this is the picture of domesticity we can maintain for years to come. I reach over to set my cell phone alarm for 4:30 AM and cringe when I realize we have less than six hours to sleep. I shut my eyes and savor this dream for as long as it lasts.

  I wake up to Tara looking at me in horror. At first, I thought that I had done something totally inappropriate like acting out my vivid, erotic dreams. But apparently not, since Tara seems fully dressed and shows no signs of being thoroughly kissed. I look around the room in total confusion and search Tara’s face for clarification.

  “Oh my gosh!” she exclaims burying her face in her hands and turning slightly pink, “I totally drooled all over you. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Well, it could be because a.) I didn’t notice or b.) I don’t care or c.) all of the above.

  “Aidan, that’s so disgusting!” Tara exclaims. “Are all guys this way? I missed so much not having my dad around. I would know this stuff if he was alive. Do you really not care, or are you just being nice?”

  “No, Gracie, I really don’t care. I can take a shower like a big boy or you can help supervise,” I tease.

  Intriguingly, her eyes flash with interest, but she also quivers visibly before she declares, “Um, I don’t think I’m really ready for that quite yet. Still, it sounds… interesting. I guess I better go get started. We don’t want to be late for the bus. That would make us look bad as chaperones.”

  I take her embarrassment and confusion as a hopeful sign. Clearly, she still feels the chemistry between us. I’m just gonna have to take it excruciatingly slowly and carefully. I can’t wipe the grin off my face the whole time I’m taking an admittedly cold shower.

  My shower was understandably quicker than Tara’s, so I scramble up some eggs and fix some toaster waffles and cut up some strawberries and peaches.

  When Tara walked in the kitchen, she sighs with pleasure as she says, “Man, that smells good. I didn’t realize how hungry I am, until now. I was too nervous to eat much last night. I still don’t understand how you seem to remember everything I like, from the way that I like my steak to my preferences in eggs. It’s kind of freaky. I haven’t seen you in more than a decade. Maybe you’ve been stalking me!” she accuses with a grin.

  I shrug nonchalantly. “No, but it would be a gross understatement if I said that I paid really close attention to you in those days.” I’m cursing my Irish complexion because it hides nothing when I blush. “If we were in school these days, I might be called a stalker.” I laugh wryly.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered. It’s just really unusual. I don’t think my own mom knew that much about me, and I doubt my best friends today understand me as well as you do. It can be a little bit unnerving.”

  “Well Gracie, we’d better eat up. We have 12 minutes to be out the door or we’re going to be late.” I prompt. I stretch and pop my back as I ask, “Why did we think this was such a good idea again?”

  Tara groans as she blows on her coffee, “I can’t quite remember; it’s a little fuzzy right now, but I think my professor said something about being a good person and Karma. There may have been vague references to extra credit and career opportunities. But right now, my eyelids feel like they have weights attached to them, and I’d just as soon be curled up in that nice comfortable bed with your chest as a pillow,” she confesses.

  My coffee about burns a hole down my windpipe as she makes her blunt admission. I do my best to cover my reaction, but I’m not quite quick enough.

  She looks at me with a startled expression on her face and asks innocently, “Something wrong AJ?”

  “No,” I fib a little, “I’m fine. I just swallowed wrong. Maybe I should slow down just a little.” I take a deliberate bite of my waffle and chew slowly to illustrate my point.

  Much to my surprise, she seems fascinated with my mouth and Adam’s apple when I swallow. I’m not sure I even want to ask. I think I’ll leave this one to my imagination. Tara looks at her cell phone and asks if I have a travel mug. Her question nudges me out of my thought bubble, and I rush to grab one from the cupboard and pour her coffee into it. I add more from the coffee machine and have a touch more cream and sugar. I got a second travel mug for myself and put in about twice as much sugar.

  Tara looks like a quintessential Oregonian this morning with her thermal t-shirt and plaid flannel over-shirt, Levi’s, and boots. She also looks adorably tired. I urge her to take a fluffy oversized feather pillow with her, since we have about a 45-minute drive to meet the buses. On the way out the door, I grab a fluffy blanket. While she was drinking coffee, I had already put our bags in the back of my van. When she climbs into my van, I carefully buckle her in the seat and tuck the blanket around her. She gives me an amused look and raises an eyebrow in question.

  I grin and remark, “Remember what I said about your personal safety? I reserve the right to be Mr. Bossy Pants. Feel free to recline the seat and continue to sleep like it’s not the crack of dawn. Don’t I make an exemplary boyfriend?”

  Tara gives a small laugh as she replies, “Actually, you really do. You had fresh coffee and breakfast this morning, you gave me the big bathroom, and you don’t really care how I look. I can’t ask for much more than that. So, yes, you get big boyfriend points. I’m gonna take you up on your offer for a nap. I’m still exhausted. I’m used to sleeping in on Saturdays. This is ridiculous!”

  “Okay, I’ll try not to sing too loudly to the radio,” I tease.

  Tara cuts her gaze sharply at me as she chides, “Don’t you dare keep quiet on my account. I don’t want to miss one of your concerts for any reason. Feel free to serenade me any place, any time.”

  “Okay then, your wish is my command,” I respond as I start an a cappella version of Kenny Rogers You Decorated My Life.

  Tara sniffs delicately and says, “Aidan Jarith O’Brien, I can’t sleep if I’m crying. That will get you so many boyfriend points you won’t know what to do with them.”

  I puff out my chest just a little bit as I respo
nd, “What can I say? I try. But I’ll try not to make you cry next time.” With that, I transition into Happy by Pharrell Williams.

  Tara giggles. “You’re a silly man! How am I supposed to sleep when I want to get up and dance?”

  I file that little piece of information away for later use and answer, “I’ll try for more middle-of-the-road elevator music in that case. The kind of stuff I play at corporate events. Now shut your eyes and go to sleep,” I instruct as I start to hum Brahms Lullaby.

  With a small smile on her face, Tara complies. I don’t turn the radio on during the whole trip. I just sing a whole repertoire of songs old and new that have a message for Tara. She looks so still, curled up against the window, that I have no idea if she’s even hearing anything I’m trying to tell her through the lyrics, but I’d like to think somehow her subconscious mind is hearing my intent.

  We pull up at the drop-off point just a few moments before a convoy of buses. I smile to myself as I see a bunch of junior high school kids looking very much like kindergartners with their noses pressed up against the bus windows. I know they wouldn’t like the comparison very much, because I remember junior high school politics clearly. The yearning desire to look cool and sophisticated amongst all of your friends, and especially your enemies. Tara and I have been officially designated as people of authority, with shiny new lanyards hanging around our necks. But truth be told, I’m as anxious as all those 12 to 14-year-olds. I expect to break out with a fresh case of acne at any second. I haven’t been using my American Sign Language for so long, I worry that I don’t remember enough of it to be a proficient communicator. What if I’m not a good enough role model for these kids? After all, my only “real career” that a counselor could recommend if they’re worth their credentials is wait staff. It’s not very impressive. I don’t even have a college education.

  Tara notices my panicked expression and signs, “Aidan, what’s wrong?”

  I sign back, “Feeling a little in over my head. Are you sure I’m supposed to be here?”