The Deception Dance

by Rita Stradling

  I follow the ‘happy couple’ but keep my distance. I know there is an unseen perimeter of guards escorting me, but I’m more comfortable staying visible to Albert. Chauncey got to me, didn’t she?

  My duffel bag vibrates so I rush to a chair and extract my phone. I’m startled to find my father's phone number is flashing on the caller ID. Is he actually going to talk to me? My father has refused to speak to me in a week, ever since I said no to his latest demand that I stay in Arcata next year and attend Humboldt State University. It's ridiculous, he wants me to change my entire life plans just so he can keep a constant eye on me. Well, maybe not so ridiculous. I don't know.

  Ever since Andras and my showdown (well, ever since I told my father a highly edited version of Andras and my showdown), my father has called me every day with a new demand. I owe him, I know that; but, I agreed to pepper spray, self-defense lessons or demon defense lessons, attending bible study (once in a while), checking in with him twice a day (forever), and lots more.

  If I agree to Humboldt State next he'll want to slap an ankle tracker on me. And even though he won’t talk to me, I still have to check in twice a day; he just doesn't say anything when he answers the phone, he listens for my voice, and then hangs up.

  I flip open my phone and ask, "Hello?"

  "Hey," Linnie sings. "Yay, yay, yay! You're coming home." Even though she sounds happy, her voice is a little different ever since, well... since Chauncey happened.

  "Yeah." I pause. “Why are you calling on dad's phone?"

  "He switched ours when he headed for the airport...”

  "What?" I exclaim.

  "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's planning on just sitting there until you arrive," she says.

  "That's ridiculous," I say, I seem to use that word a bunch lately.

  "Well, you know dad. Anyway, my papers are through, I'm transferring. I know you probably want to stay living at home, but I was thinking that we could get a little two bedroom, and...”

  "Wait, hold up. Transferring?" I cut Linnie off before she really gets into whatever she's talking about.

  "To Humboldt State, dad said you were going to accept there."

  Jeez, way to trap me in, dad. Smart. Real smart. I sigh. "Yeah, I guess I am. But there is no way that I'm living at home."

  "Cool!”

  And then there is silence. We never used to have these silences before, but now they seem to have more weight than what my sister and I actually say to each other. It’s as if all the words I could say to her stretch on between us, but for some reason, I don’t.

  I could say: “Oh, did I mention that while I was entombed in Hell fire, my mouth stretched to the size of a big rubber toilet bowl and I ate Andras?” Or, “I think I might have had a conversation with Satan, like the Satan.” Or even, “Guess who I just ran into in the airport bathroom? Your demonically-possessed best friend. She’s moving back home to stalk us. Won’t that be nice?”

  Yeah.

  What I do say is, “So, I should probably go.”

  It’s strange, up until this trip it was always Linnie I confided in; but I just can’t force myself to tell her the details of what really happened. For whatever reason, there’s only one person I want to tell exactly what happened. Almost as if I’ve convinced myself that he’s the only person in the world who would understand. Stephen. But that’s not going to happen.

  After hanging up with Linnie, I sit until I see Hayvee laugh, then join Albert and Hayvee's table. I’m silent as they talk in some other language.

  When my watch reads three twenty-five, I stand. “We should probably go if we want to make the flight.”

  By the time Albert and Hayvee have gathered their belongings, we have to run. The last person in the boarding line is just disappearing into the ramp as we jog up with our carry-ons. Albert fights to extract his ticket while the ticket lady holds out her hand.

  I glance around; the gate is completely deserted, except for one elderly man sitting alone. I rock on my heels, waiting for Albert to find his ticket. The ticket lady’s smile is tightening; she impatiently rubs her fingers.

  I blink and turn back to the elderly man. He’s just sitting, no bags, and his face...

  I grab Albert’s hand, and ask, “Albert...?”

  He spins, knocking over his small carry-on bag.

  “Look.” I nod toward the sitting man, who's now watching us, smiling.

  Albert examines the space behind me before returning his gaze to me. He narrows one eye and shakes his head slowly, asking, “What am I supposed to see?”

  “Nothing, never mind,” I say. I let go of him and watch as he and Hayvee give their tickets and walk up the ramp.

  The ticket lady, a short dark-haired woman, holds out her perfectly manicured hand, but I turn away from her.

  I turn to face father Dixon. He’s still just sitting in the same seat. I know that if Albert couldn’t see him, the ticket lady definitely can’t, but I don’t care. I raise a hand and wave.

  Father Dixon’s hand raises too. His eyes brim over with tears, they fall down his cheeks like snowflakes, but his mouth is turned up in a wrinkled kindly smile.

  “Goodbye, Father Dixon,” I call to him. I want to say so many things: “I wish I knew you. I’m sorry you died.” But what I really want to say is: “Thank you. Thank you for talking with me… for holding my hand… for forgiving that man with your last breath… for being good and kind in a world that just feels more and more evil. Thank you, because since you’re appearing to me, and only me, it must mean that I can’t be evil, no matter what happened in the Hell fire.”

  But, I don’t say any of this, what I say is, “Thank you, for seeing me off.”

  I wish I had tears for him, happy tears, sad tears, even relieved tears; but for whatever reason, I never have any tears.

  When I finally give the lady my ticket, she pointedly looks over my head. I grab my duffel bag from where I dropped it and head up the ramp.

  The flight attendant that welcomes me on the plane guides me to first class. This plane, thankfully, has seats grouped into threes, so Hayvee, Albert and I, all sit together.

  Hayvee is already asleep in the aisle seat, her shoes kicked off. Albert is in the center, managing to look too big for his first-class seat; thank God we’re not in coach! I would have been squished against the window.

  I cross to the window seat, where the window is pulled down, and plunk down. I kick my small duffel under the seat and lean back. “Albert?” I ask without looking at him, “Are there angels?”

  “Oh, yes,” His accent is nice and thick and there’s a spark, like gleeful lightning in his stormy eyes, when he whispers this. “We have seen lesser angels, but not often.” He pauses then adds, quietly, “We pray to God to never see the greater ones. But, that is not something we ever talk about.”

  Strange. But I don’t pursue the comment, instead I tell him, “I think there are angels in the Oresund.”

  I slide open the window. I can see father Dixon standing at the terminal window. The sun reflects off his clothes making him look as if he is made out of multi-colored lights, maybe he is. He waves again, and so does the living man next to him...

  I gape.

  There’s a man standing beside father Dixon.

  I narrow my eyes, thinking that he can’t be... but he really looks like...the man is tall and blond; I can see that from here. And he’s waving. “Huh...?” escapes my lips.

  Albert leans over me to peer out my window; he huffs like a bull and shakes his giant hairy head. “He never follows orders.” He shifts back in his seat and closes his eyelids, still shaking his head.

  “Who?” I ask.

  But Albert just opens one eye at me, and then closes it.

  I turn back to the window and squint. From this distance I can’t tell which brother he is, Nicholas and Stephen are so alike in size and coloring, and whichever he is he’s too far for me to make out any facial features or see if he has a scar.

  It’s
probably better if I don’t know.

  I pull out an in-flight magazine and focus on it, but my gaze drifts back to the window. I stare, and then squint; he’s definitely one of them, but I just can’t tell which one he is.

  Seriously, it’s better that I don’t know. It really is. I watch the angel and the man until our plane drives forward and they’re out of view.

  I didn’t expect to feel any sadness leaving Europe, but I do.

  Albert snores beside me before we leave the ground. Brussels shrinks beneath us, a city unexplored. I’ve left so many cities unexplored.

  Maybe I will come back, someday. But for now, I’m ecstatic to be just going home.

  Acknowledgements

  As The Deception Dance was my debut novel (not my first novel, just the first to come crawling out of my closet) I needed and received a great quantity of help.

  First, and most, I want to thank my mother; she’s always ready with a hug when I want one, a constructive critique when I need one, and an encouraging (and somewhat embarrassing) cheer when I’d turn back without one. My father has also encouraged me every time I can track him down, from whatever country he is in.

  I need to thank my sisters, Anna and Abra, two talented writers who never seem to get annoyed of me bouncing ideas off their brains. Anna has read every draft of every book, finished or not, I’ve pushed at her—and asked for more, we are always each other’s biggest fans. Thank you.

  A couple more readers I want to thank, some of my favorite people: Lindsey, Casey, “Mad Dog”, Christy, and a couple others, thank you. There were many Goodreads.com readers who really helped including Nikki, Kate “Katya”, and others, thank you.

  I guess I should thank my husband…he told me I should… thanks a lot. Kidding, kidding. I love you. Thank you for being the funny, often infuriating, inspiring person you are.

  Several people have been great resources for me, in my writing and publishing ambitions, including Ricky Beare, Ron Smith, Tomas Higbe, all the amazing people in the On Fiction writing group, and others.

  Thank you Jade Chan, a freelance editor hired for content editing. Your ideas and suggestions were priceless; I did my best to follow every single one you gave me.

  Thank you again to all the “others,” you know who you are.

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