Dancing in the Rain

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “I’m going on a diet,” Naysa grumbles. They’re sitting on a bench at the bus stop.

  Brenna doesn’t respond. She knows there’s no right thing to say, but in her mind she thanks Ryan for getting her moving again. Knowing she doesn’t have the willpower to diet, she can at least burn off those casserole calories. She sees the bus in the distance, and an idea hits her. “C’mon, Naysa.” She grabs her sister’s arm. “We’re going to walk home.”

  “We’re what?” Naysa asks, pulling her arm away.

  “We’re going to walk home. It will be good for us.”

  “It’s at least five miles!” Naysa says, appalled.

  The bus pulls up to the curb and the doors swing open. The girls remain on the sidewalk, glaring at each other.

  “In or out?” the driver asks.

  “C’mon,” Brenna urges. “Let’s go.”

  Naysa hesitates.

  “Well?” the driver asks.

  “In.” Naysa steps onto the bus. She flashes her bus pass at the driver.

  Brenna follows her up the steps, feeling powerless. Naysa selects a seat right behind the driver, and there’s a woman in the window seat, so there’s no room for Brenna. She gets the message and moves to the rear, where she takes a seat and rides home alone.

  Stepping onto the Skyride, Brenna sees that the trammie is not Ryan. She considers stepping off and waiting for the next tram but quickly decides against it. She could text to let him know she’s on the mountain, but she chooses not to do that either. He knows her volunteer shift has reverted to Saturday mornings. She tries to see into the passing tram at the halfway mark, but it’s too crowded. The weather has become unseasonably warm, and there are a lot of visitors heading up.

  Her phone rings as she’s walking across the alpine meadow toward the bear habitat. She pulls it out of her pocket, hoping to see Ryan’s name on the call display, but it’s Georgialee. “Hey, Georgia.”

  “Brenna! Did you have your phone on mute last night?”

  “Yeah, but not until I went to bed.”

  “Oh yeah, I guess it was kinda late when I called.”

  Brenna thinks back to the evening. Naysa had been at the dance, and her dad had shut himself in his office after she declined his invitation to watch a movie together. She’d wanted to spend the evening researching fundraising ideas and reading more about the Aid-A-Child organization. She desperately needed to find a reason why Ugandan orphans were the ideal choice for the Social Justice Club project, and not just because Kia worked there.

  “How was the dance?”

  “Okay. Same old. It got really hot.”

  “Temperature hot or hot hot?”

  “Both. Steamin’ hot.”

  Brenna smiles to herself. Maybe she should have invited Ryan to the dance after all. “So you phoned to report on who hooked up with whom?”

  “No, though we’ll get to that later. I phoned about your sister.”

  “Did something happen?” Brenna’s entire body tenses up. Ever since her mother died, she’s become ridiculously overconcerned about her sister’s and her dad’s well-being.

  “Remember you told me to keep an eye on her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, about halfway through the night I saw her on the dance floor with a bunch of girls I didn’t recognize. They weren’t the kids I used to always see at your house.” Georgialee pauses. “I wanted to say hi to her, so I went and started dancing with them.”

  “And?” Brenna has almost reached the bear habitat, so she slows her pace.

  “Well…I think she was drunk.”

  Brenna comes to a complete halt. That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Naysa? Are you sure?”

  “Ninety-nine percent. When she saw me she practically fell into my arms. Apparently, she was that happy to see me. I thought I smelled booze, but when she started introducing me to her friends I realized they were all pissed. I’m not sure how they got past the teachers at the door, but there are ways.”

  Brenna collapses on a bench. “Are you sure, Georgia?”

  “Yeah. Sober girls don’t dance like that. There was a lot of dirty dancing going on in that gym, but these girls were almost out of control.”

  Brenna is beyond stunned. “They didn’t get busted?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  Naysa had made plans to sleep over at a friend’s after the dance. The oldest trick in the world.

  “Listen,” Georgialee says. “You didn’t hear about this from me, okay? I don’t want to be the bad guy.”

  “Okay.”

  “And go gentle on her. She’s probably feeling like hell today.”

  “Yeah yeah. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Brenna goes into Ski Wee and counts out the bears’ carrots, potatoes and apples. She tosses them in the buckets, but she struggles to stay focused. Naysa has always been a sweet kid and an excellent student. Getting drunk at her first high school dance doesn’t seem like something her sister would do. She’ll have to talk to her, but she won’t tell her dad. He doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now. The feeling of being a surrogate mother settles over her; she’s not ready for the responsibility.

  The morning disappears quickly. Once again Brenna finds that the mountain air makes the cares of “real” life evaporate. Even the worry about Naysa eventually dissipates as she talks to the visitors about the bears. She finds herself glancing in the direction of the chalet a few times, hoping to see Ryan coming toward the refuge, but that’s only because he’s become a frequent visitor. When her four-hour shift is over, she walks slowly back to the chalet, reluctant to leave her mountain sanctuary.

  Ryan is the first person she sees when she steps into the chalet. He’s sitting on a couch in front of the giant fireplace, his back to the door. He’s with three female Grouse employees, all wearing matching Grouse fleeces. They have gathered close, focused on a story he’s sharing. His arms wave about as he speaks.

  Brenna steps back outside, not wanting to be noticed, but she watches through the window. It must be a good story, she thinks. The girls are smiling and leaning in toward him, waiting for the punch line. When it comes they all throw their heads back with laughter.

  Ryan seems to be enjoying the attention. She watches him launch into another story, or perhaps he’s just continuing the one he was telling. The girls are being seduced by his charming Aussie accent, she thinks. After all, that’s what charmed her into thinking there was something going on between them.

  She takes the outside stairs to the Skyride station.

  Sept. 21

  I am not his girlfriend.

  Why am I getting so bent out of shape?

  I should quit hiking, At least with him. I’ve got all the turmoil I can handle for now. I don’t need to invite any more my way.

  I’m up. I’m down. I just want to coast.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon. Brenna knocks lightly on Naysa’s door, and when she gets no answer she peeks inside. Naysa is in bed, sound asleep, and she’s still wearing the new blouse she wore to the dance. She really must have tied one on last night, Brenna thinks. She decides to let her sleep it off.

  Lying on her own bed, she stares at the ceiling. She tries to let all her thoughts flow by, the way they tell you to during the meditation part of yoga, but it’s too hard.

  The chime on her phone signals an incoming text message. She reaches for it and sits up when she sees Ryan’s name.

  G’day, Brenna! Sorry I missed you this a.m. Was at a staff training session all morning. I might be getting promoted!! Grind day tm? Same time/place?

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Can we have something other than casserole tonight?” Brenna sits down beside her father on the couch. He’s watching a nature documentary on TV. “Mom’s favorite channel,” she comments, noticing.

  “Yeah, I was thinking that too.”

  “About the casserole or the TV channel?”

  “The TV channel.”
He glances at her. “But I’m tired of casserole too. What do you suggest?”

  “Maybe I’ll go through Mom’s recipe file and find something.”

  “Good idea,” he says, but his eyes don’t leave the TV screen, where a lone butterfly lands on a milkweed bloom. The butterfly’s wings flutter delicately.

  “Because of the eradication of the milkweed plant from widespread herbicide use,” the commentator says, “the monarch butterfly’s numbers have declined by 44 percent this year alone.”

  “That would really have upset Mom,” Brenna says.

  “Yeah, it would have. I guess it’s a blessing she’s been spared any more news about how we’re messing up the planet.”

  “That’s a weird kind of blessing.”

  “I’ll take any blessings I can get,” he replies.

  Brenna retrieves the recipe file from the kitchen and brings it back to the family room. She pulls out one card after another, all written in her mom’s perfect handwriting.

  “That’s a good one,” her dad says, looking over her shoulder. It’s a recipe for red peppers stuffed with quinoa and a lot of chopped vegetables and beans.

  “Yeah, but it’s also lots of work. I’m not quite up for that tonight.”

  She continues to pull out cards. Spinach soup. Greek frittata. Black bean salad.

  “Could I have this?” she asks her dad, referring to the recipe box.

  “Have what?” Naysa’s standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she’s wearing her housecoat.

  “This is an odd time of day for you to be showering,” their dad says, glancing at his watch.

  Naysa shrugs. “I didn’t want to shower at Janine’s house.”

  “Oh, right. So how was the dance?” he asks. “You must not have slept much at Janine’s.” He takes a hard look at her. “Are you okay? I was surprised to find you napping in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “I’m fine. It was fine,” she snaps. “What does Brenna want to keep?”

  “Mom’s recipes,” he says.

  “What if I want them?”

  “Well, then, we’ll have to discuss that, won’t we?”

  Naysa plunks herself on the other side of Brenna. She pulls out a card. Pasta Puttanesca. “I always liked this one.”

  Brenna glances at it. “Me too.”

  “How about this one?” their dad asks. He’s holding up the recipe for curried cauliflower.

  Brenna takes it from him and skims the directions. “It’s not too much work either. Do you want it tonight? We can have it with rice and a salad.”

  “I’m not too hungry,” Naysa says.

  Brenna glances at her, sees she’s a little pale and remembers why. “More for Dad and me then,” she says.

  “And I don’t want you giving Mom’s stuff away without asking me,” Naysa says. The snarky tone is back in her voice, and there’s a deep frown etched across her forehead. She continues to pull recipe cards out of the box.

  Her dad clears his throat. “I’m glad you’ve brought up the subject of your mother’s things,” he says. “Aunt Laura has asked if she can come over and help us clean out Mom’s closet.”

  “No. I’m not ready.” Naysa’s voice trembles.

  “I’m not either,” her dad says. “But I don’t know that I ever will be. I think we should find a time when we’re all free and go through her closet together. You can keep anything you want.”

  “No!” Naysa flings the recipe cards into Brenna’s lap before stomping out of the room. Brenna begins the task of slotting each one back into the box.

  “Maybe we’ll stick with casserole tonight,” her father says. “I don’t really feel like picking up groceries anyway. We’ll make the curry tomorrow.”

  Back in her room, Brenna rereads the message from Ryan. She’s tempted to cancel again, but that didn’t work for her last Sunday. She sends a text, agreeing to meet, but vows not to fall under his Aussie spell again. She’s hiking to get stronger. Period.

  Their father leaves Brenna and Naysa in the kitchen to clean up the dinner dishes while he retreats to his office. Brenna knows this is her chance to talk to her sister about the dance, but Naysa hasn’t stopped scowling since she emerged from her nap. She’s combed out her hair, but she’s still in her housecoat.

  “So seriously,” Brenna asks, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, “how was the dance?”

  “It was fine. I told you already.”

  Brenna decides to ignore Naysa’s attitude. “Did you dance with anyone?”

  “Yeah. Lots of people.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like my friends, okay?” Her phone vibrates and she picks it up. Brenna watches as Naysa returns a text. She places the phone back on the counter and puts the jug of milk in the fridge.

  “So, who are your friends these days?”

  Naysa stares at her sister. “Who do you think you are? My mother? It’s none of your fuckin’ business!”

  Brenna watches, shocked, as Naysa turns and stomps out of the kitchen. A moment later she’s back. She meets Brenna’s eyes briefly, but in that moment Brenna can see the depth of her pain. Naysa grabs her phone off the counter. “And I’m going out tonight.”

  Brenna knows better than to ask where. She closes the dishwasher and leans against the counter, dumbfounded. What the hell is happening to her little sister?

  She knocks softly on her father’s office door before entering his room. Then she shuts the door behind her. Her father’s eyebrows arch.

  “I’m worried about Naysa.”

  Her father pulls off his reading glasses. “Why is that?”

  Brenna sinks into a plush chair. “She hasn’t been herself for a few days. Way more cranky than usual. And she has new friends that I think…well, I’m not sure if they’re a good influence on her.”

  “Oh.”

  “She says she’s going out tonight. She’s been so snarky to me that I don’t dare ask where, but I don’t have a good feeling.”

  Her father thinks for a moment. “I know she’s been a bit irritable, but I put that down to her age and, well, you know, everything else. Are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay then.” He sighs. “What do you think I should do?”

  “For starters, don’t let her go out tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cuz like I said, I don’t think her new friends are good for her.”

  “Brenna. Be reasonable. Unless you know that she’s done something she shouldn’t have…”

  Brenna doesn’t respond.

  Her father puts his glasses back on and turns to his computer screen. “Okay, I’ll keep a closer eye on her. I trust your instincts. And I’ll ask to meet her new friends and try to connect with their parents. Other than that”—he looks over at her—“unless you can give me something more concrete to go on…”

  Brenna gets up to leave, but in that moment the office door flings opens. Naysa is standing there, glancing from one to the other. She’s changed into her old too-tight clothes.

  “Why was the door closed?” she asks.

  “No reason.” Brenna brushes past her as she leaves but hears her sister informing their father that she’ll be sleeping over at Janine’s house again that night. She stops in the hall to hear what her father will say.

  “No, I’ll pick you up at eleven,” he says. “Only one sleepover per weekend. That’s the rule.”

  “Since when?” Naysa argues.

  “Since now,” he says. “Obviously you didn’t get enough sleep last night, because you had to sleep all afternoon today. It’s not healthy to have two late nights in a row.”

  “We’re going to bed earlier tonight.”

  “You heard me, Nayse. Eleven o’clock. And I can drop you off and maybe meet her parents at the same time.”

  “I’m walking over with Maddi.”

  “Okay, then leave me the address so I can pick you u
p, and maybe I can meet her parents then.”

  “Don’t be stupid. It’ll be way too late for that, and I’ll be the only person who has to go home.”

  “That’s the end of the discussion, Naysa.” Brenna can hear an edge creeping into his voice. “There’s no need to talk like that.”

  Brenna tries to duck into her room before Naysa sees her lurking in the hall, but she doesn’t make it.

  “What did you say to him?” Naysa demands. Her eyes squint accusingly.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.” She slams the door to her room, leaving Brenna standing there, staring after her. The slamming door brings her dad into the hall, carrying an empty mug. He gives her an I-did-my-best shrug before going into the kitchen to pour himself more coffee.

  Sept. 21

  I’m starting to get why Kia put me up for adoption. I’m sooo not ready to be a mother either.

  eleven

  Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass.

  It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

  (VIVIAN GREENE)

  “So have you made plans to meet up with Justin?” Ryan asks.

  “I have,” she says, huffing along behind him on the Grind. She’s tried hard to remain cool, unaffected by his charm, but she’s finding it difficult. He’s just so refreshingly open and interested in her.

  “And?” he asks. “Do I get to tag along?”

  “I don’t know. Are you free next Friday night? We’re going to meet at the Daily Grind. Suitable name, right?”

  “Perfect!”

  “Angie’s coming too.”

  “I’ll have to check the work schedule,” Ryan says. “But if I’m on that shift, I’ll swap with someone. Your moral support will be there.”

  “Thanks.” She follows along for a few minutes. Moral support? Is that how he sees himself? She figures she could tell him that he’s completed his service project, that he’s free to hike with one of his coworkers from the chalet yesterday, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.

  “So tell me about your potential promotion,” Brenna says.