Slow Dancing

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “I promise I won’t break the law. I promise you, sister. Look at me,” he said, gently taking her chin in his hand, turning her head to look at him. Even when her mother took sick, she wasn’t this distraught. He got up so close to her face she could smell his breath, even after all day in the garage was fresh smelling due to the mints he always had in his mouth.

  “Tell me you understand what I’m sayin’ girl.”

  “Oh Frank, I understand!” And she threw her arms around him and burrowed her face in his shoulder, just as the evening bus to Beauregard passed, Miss Sally Logan observing them out of the window, shocked at what she thought she saw and would eventually tell the world.

  ***

  The next morning, after Alan moved out of Cate’s boarding house and started his new job, and Mary got up on time thanks to her new boarder, and Miss Logan got on the bus to Seymour again, Frank and Ellen made their way into town for another day at the garage.

  “Feel better today?” Frank asked at breakfast. He’d made her a favorite, waffles topped with fruit and heavy cream whipped into froth.

  “I guess,” she said, stirring her coffee and then licking the spoon. “Every time I look at that garden, it makes me sick.”

  “Well this weekend we’ll see about puttin’ new annuals in. There’s nothin’ can be done about the perennials,” Frank said, and then continuing with his version of an Irish accent, “But we can have that “spot o’ color” like the ad says.” Ellen burst out laughing.

  “Okay, that will help.” They loaded up the truck, leaving the bike behind this time. There was no sense in pretending she’d ride it home until something shifted. For now, as long as there was someone out there who wanted to frighten her, the bike was out of commission.

  “You feel okay about gettin’ the mail again today, sister?”

  “I can do that,” Ellen said, jumping down out of the truck.

  “Watch the street,” Frank said. New perils may lie in wait, but the old ones were just as dangerous.

  Jessie was watching from her perch behind the counter. Already gossip had hit her ears, hateful, horrid stories of Frank and Ellen holding each other at the side of the road. All it took was one telephone call during a lonely night to get a bunch of biddies up in arms. The same kind of sleigh bells, which graced the door of the garage, hung off the back of the Post Office door.

  “Good morning, Miss McPherson,” she said. “Got your mail right here.” She passed over the bundle to Ellen who smiled her customary, dismissive smile. “Got something from that Dance Academy again.” Ellen looked up at her, wide-eyed.

  “Thank you,” she answered, hurrying to get out before Jessie could pry anymore. Frank was on the phone writing in the scheduling book when she returned. Hanging up the phone, she handed the bundle over to him.

  “Jessie said that dance studio wrote us again.”

  “Bother,” Frank grumbled. But Ellen felt a little excitement at the idea as he tore the envelope open, but passed the letter on to her with a grin. “You best read.” She hesitated, her eyes skimming the words, and he could see a little excitement building.

  “Dear Mr. McPherson, Our popular June Extravaganza is filling up quickly. Although you did not respond to our previous invitation, we would like to extend it to you once again.” Her eyes stayed on the letter, moving across the paper.

  “We should probably go,” he said, pretending. It would be good for her to have the dance to look forward to.

  “Thank you Frank,” she said softly, aware it wasn’t something he would normally care to do. “I do appreciate it.” He patted her hand.

  “We’d better practice,” he said. “If we plan on bein’ awarded one of ten prizes.” Ellen did a little jump up and down, clapping her hands.

  “Not here in the garage, of course,” Ellen replied, laughing, the boogieman of the previous afternoon long forgotten.

  “Glad someone’s havin’ a good day,” Paul Sherman said, coming in off the street. His voice competed with the bells attached to the door, Frank and Ellen laughing together when Paul looked up at the bells and stuck his tongue out.

  “You’re in a fine mood,” Frank said.

  “I got problems. My new man won’t wear a uniform. I got someone at the counter lookin’ like he stepped out of a fashion magazine. I’ll be the laughing stock.” Frank scratched his head, trying to hide his smile while Ellen picked up her book again pretending to read.

  “Your new man being the man I sent over yesterday?”

  “You got it.”

  “Sorry he’s causin’ you issues, Paul. Give ‘em the ax.”

  Paul looked at him as if the idea had never occurred to him. “You mean fire ‘em after an hour?”

  “Yep, you got it. You made it part of the employment requirements, right? That he wear a uniform?” Now it was Paul’s turn to scratch his head.

  “No sir, I don’t believe I did.”

  “Well, I don’t think it makes too much difference.” Luckily, the first customer of the day arrived and Frank and Ellen got busy starting their workday. Word got around quickly that Paul’s Auto Supply had a new employee; a very handsome, well-dressed, single man, and business picked up just as fast. It was too easy for the wife or the working girl to stop by and get oil and windshield cleaner from Paul rather than driving all the way to Beauregard or Mobile and have the privilege of saying hello to Alan in the process. By the end of the week, Paul forgot all about the uniform.

  Chapter 16

  Life was turning around for Alan Johnson. He’d never felt so positive or so honest. Working at Paul’s gave him the opportunity to see Ellen everyday. He wanted to confront Frank soon because it wasn’t fair to either of them for him to keep his suspicions to himself. It would seem like he was sneaking around if he allowed it to go on for too long.

  Mary was still in the dark and he’d made the decision to keep it from her until he told the McPherson’s. But he wanted to know more about Margaret, first. It would help him to know if she’d bad mouthed him or if Ellen knew anything about him. He could bring up Margaret to Mary without actually saying her name by repeating what Miss Logan told him about Frank being a widow. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get suspicious.

  It was early in the evening, before dinner, but they were already in bed together. It was during the first week he’d worked at Paul’s, his routine falling into place. Staying at Mary’s was more convenient that he’d imagined; he didn’t even have to move his car. Just walk up a block and turn left and there was work. Paul was patient with him after he recovered from the day of the uniform confrontation. It was easy to cross-reference parts with the books. A college kid did the packing and shipping and Paul did the deliveries. Counter business had picked up so much that Paul needed Alan more than he’d thought. On those first evenings after work, he’d walk back to Mary’s and she’d already be home, dinner on the table. And although he was renting a room from her, it was just a matter of time before he’d be in her bed. Getting annoyed because it was taking him so long to make a pass, Mary took matters into her own hands and met him at the door in a negligee, naked underneath.

  One night, after they’d had sex, he was resting on his back with his eyes closed while she twiddled a strand of his hair when the opportunity arose to start talking about Frank.

  “I never thanked you for telling Frank I needed a job,” he said. “It’s worked out well.”

  “No, you never did. You were angry with me,” she replied.

  “Sorry, no malice intended.”

  “What’d you think of Frank and his kid?” Thinking he heard a hint of derision in her voice, he opened up an eye to look at her, but she seemed peaceful enough.

  “They seem like a very nice family,” Alan said, surprised he was feeling defensive. If anything, he should loath Frank.

  “Ha! I think they have a very strange relationship.” Alan got up on his side to face her.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked. “They appeared to be very loving and
normal.” Not that he’d know what normal was if it slapped him in the face.

  “You know Ellen isn’t his kid, right?” Alan debated for a quick second. Did Miss Logan tell him that?

  “No, I didn’t know. Who’s her father?” As quick as if he’d flipped a light switch, Mary recognized something she’d forgotten from years past.

  “No one knows, except…..his name is Alan. Oh my God, I just remembered that Margaret, that’s Frank’s wife, Ellen’s mother, told me his name is Alan. ‘Alan’s okay,’ she said. Wow, what a coincidence.” Mary had leaned back and was looking at him intently.

  “Lot of men named Alan,” he said, hoping that was the extent of what Margaret had told her. No matter what, he was not divulging the truth until the McPherson’s knew. There was just no way in hell.

  “What happened to her?” Mary was getting up from the bed.

  “Who?” she asked, confused. Alan laid back down and started to laugh.

  “Margaret. Frank’s wife. You okay?” Mary laughed.

  “Yes, just a little discombobulated.”

  “What happened to Frank’s wife?”

  “She died,” Mary said. “Word is she kilt herself over at Hallowsbrook.” Even though Alan heard that story, the words still stabbed him in the chest when she repeated them.

  “That must have been awful for the family,” he said. But Mary smirked.

  “Just between you and me, it was a blessing. It had to be a relief for Frank, too. His life already revolved around takin’ care of her kid, at least now he didn’t have to carry the stigma of having a crazy woman for a wife, and trust me, she was nuts.” No angel himself, Alan was still appalled at the attitude of the women he’d encountered. First Miss Logan and now Mary. It must be an Alabama thing, or maybe they were glad Frank was free so they could have a shot at him.

  “How’d she do it?” Alan asked softly, not really wanting to know, but thinking for the first time that this was the mother of his child they were talking about, not some insane stranger.

  Mary slipped on underpants and dug through her drawer for a bra. Putting her arms through the straps, she struggled to get the thing hooked. “I don’t know. We were never told and you couldn’t see any marks on her body.” Alan watched her dress, feeling compassion for her, not because she wasn’t attractive; she was very nice looking. But she was getting older, hearing her biological clock ticking, and he was sure, hoping he was the answer.

  “I wonder why someone wasn’t watching out for her, some nurse. Is it that easy for a patient to take her own life? I wonder if they’ll sue. How’d the daughter take it?” Mary stopped and looked at him, the expression on her face unreadable. Worried he might have asked one too many questions, he waited.

  “You couldn’t tell there’d been a loss, doesn’t that explain it? It was like, oh well, another day. I was embarrassed for Margaret, to tell you the truth.”

  “How long was she put away? I mean in Hallowsbrook?” Mary turned to her dresser, her head down so although Alan tried to read her expression, she was hiding it from view.

  “For a long time. Since Ellen was in kindergarten. So let’s see, she’s fifteen now. So ten years.”

  “So she just died?” Alan said, sitting up. He knew that, Miss Logan had told him, but hearing it again, after meeting Ellen and Frank, the reality that they’d just had a horrible loss a short time ago made it more heartbreaking. Margaret, I’m sorry.

  “In March. So not just. Like I said, she’d been away for so long that it wasn’t that different for everyone. There was no longer a patient we had to visit. That was the biggest change.”

  “Did you visit her?”

  “Yes,” Mary said shortly. “This conversation is a bummer! We just made love and now were talking about Margaret. I’m ready for a change.”

  “Okay, no problem,” Alan replied, but he didn’t miss the look Mary was giving him, the corners of her mouth turned down, starting at him intently. And he wanted to know about the visits to Hallowsbrook. “I just asked because of Frank getting me the job and all.” He watched her dressing, bending over to put her slacks on, mouth set; something had upset her, or angered her. Experience with women taught him that unless he really wanted to know, it was best to leave those uncertainties alone. However, if he was going to find out more about Margaret, he realized he was going to have to do a little ass-kissing.

  He got up out of bed, naked. “Come here. I can see you’re upset. What just happened? We were having a great conversation.” He took her in his arms and could feel her relaxing under his care. He rubbed her back and finding her bra, unhooked it.

  “What are you doing?” she murmured, smiling.

  “Do you need to ask?” Leading her back to the bed, he set her down on the edge and started to unbutton her pants. He’d do it to her again, give her a lot of attention, and then maybe she’d talk more about Margaret. It was an exhausting way to get information, and getting more difficult the older he got.

  “I’m sorry I got all pissy with you,” she said.

  “What happened? You must be upset about Margaret being gone.” The expression on her face changed again, this time he was certain of it. But she was struggling to overcome whatever it was.

  “I was upset. When she came here, I helped her out. I gave her a place to stay. She was my friend. And when they put her away, I was the only outsider the family allowed to visit her. I loved Margaret, Alan. I loved her more than I’d ever loved a friend before. She was like a sister to me, but more. To see her check out like that, well it was hard, I won’t deny it.” Mary wasn’t telling the whole truth yet because it was too difficult to dredge up those feeling and he wouldn’t understand, anyway. Men were like voyeurs; they wanted details that titillated, but weren’t interested in the rest. “Me and Margaret had a connection that was more than friendship. Of course it hurt when she left.”

  “Did you play a part in helping out Frank with Ellen?”

  “You mean, like a substitute mother? No. Well at first I did when she’d go away for a short stay. But not when she was committed. He wouldn’t allow it and Ellen didn’t want it. To this day, she barely will make eye contact with me. Frankly, I think whatever is going on over there is disgusting.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Alan said.

  “I am very serious. It’s gotten worse since Margaret died.”

  “Those are some pretty drastic accusations to make.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I haven’t made them to anyone but you,” she said.

  It wasn’t exactly true. She shared her suspicions with Miss Logan as well as Jessie Brewer. They agreed that things didn’t look right over at the McPherson’s.

  “A little bit too much togetherness,” Jessie said. “You ask me, the child should a’ been removed from the home the minute the mother was committed.”

  “Where would she have gone?” Mary asked.

  “She never told no one about the dad, ‘cept maybe Frank for all we know, and he never says nothin’,” Jessie answered. “You ask me, someone should a’ forced him to come clean. Get the real dad involved.”

  “You ever see those two dance together? God Lord, it is beautiful,” Miss Logan said, feeling guilty. “They fit together like a hand and glove, gliding around the dance floor in perfect time. It is a sight to behold.”

  “That’s another thing,” Mary said. “What’s with the father and daughter dancing? Where do they do it? At home, alone? It’s not right.”

  “You’re jealous,” Miss Logan said. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.”

  ***

  But after seeing the familiar truck pulled over with the father and daughter embracing, appearing to kiss, Miss Logan was no longer certain Mary’s allegations were due to jealousy.

  That night at dinner, she was out of sorts. For the rest of the week, she peered out the window of the salon, watching every move Ellen and Frank made and there was never anything out of line. She saw them talk and laugh, watched Fr
ank watch Ellen crossing the street to pick up the mail like the concerned father always did. One thing out of the ordinary was that Ellen no longer road her bike home at four like she used to do the previous weeks after school was out. “Why doesn’t Ellen ride her bike home anymore?” she asked Margo Portland, finally in for that haircut.

  “Boyd told me they had trespassers out at the cottage. Twice. I bet Frank’s afraid to let her ride anymore.” Miss Logan stopped cutting Margo’s hair, scissors and comb poised over her head, looking at her in the mirror.

  “Boyd Dalton told you that?”

  “Yes, and if you tell anyone, I swear to God Sally Logan, not only will I never speak to you again, I’ll tell everyone I got ringworm from your combs.” Miss Logan pushed her in the back.

  “I’ll sue your ass, you lie about my place. Since when do you talk to Boyd?”

  “He comes into the clinic,” Margo said. “Just like any patient does. And that’s privileged, too.”

  “And he just happened to tell you about going out to Frank’s.”

  “That’s right, Sally. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.” But Miss Logan was not convinced.

  “I think you’re seeing him and trying to keep it on the QT.”

  “Out of all the people in the world, you are the last one I would tell if I was seeing our revered married sheriff.”

  “Well, are you?” Miss Logan spun Margo around in the chair. “Why’s your face all red?”

  “Yes, I’m seeing him!” Margo said, furious with herself for being so weak. Now everyone in town would know and it would just be a matter of time before Boyd heard it and would break it off before his wife, an absolute moron of a woman found out.