Dances of the Heart

by Andrea Downing

  Jake stood towering over her, the mother without maternal instincts, the woman he hardly knew. He tried to feel some connection, some semblance of love or admiration or pride as he felt so often about his father, but there was nothing.

  “No, Ma. None of that,” he said at last. “I guess I just wanted you to know I’m all right.”

  He bent to peck her on the forehead and let himself out.

  ****

  Sunset was draining color from the day like an old fading photograph. Ray sat in his armchair in the front room, so clear headed it almost hurt. He contemplated the mess he had made of the barbecue because of his argument with Carrie, and pondered even harder how he found himself so drawn to the dang woman. She was highly attractive, yes, even if it was in a manicured sort of way, but there was something else. He loved the way she didn’t really take herself seriously, loved sparring with her, and the way she so easily fit in.

  Well, she was back in New York by now, so that was the end of that.

  On the other hand, if he could just get over this hurdle, stop drinking...

  Outside, the hum of the Chevy’s engine came to a halt and, realizing the blue hour of twilight was closing in, he reached to turn on a light. The dogs got up as one, listening to Jake’s approaching footsteps crunching on the gravel, then settled back at Ray’s feet, somnolent in the late April heat.

  “Mabel left you some meatloaf and potatoes,” he called out to his son as the door opened. “I had mine.” He went on looking up at Jake. “Good. As usual.” His hand absently stroked one of the dog’s heads; the Lab let out a low moan of pleasure.

  Jake’s gaze darted to the table, no doubt looking for the beer or the bottle of Jack, but nothing was there. His brow wrinkled in doubt as he glared down. “You sober?” he asked in disbelief.

  “As a judge.” Ray took a deep breath as if coming to some conclusion after a prolonged altercation. “May not be for long, though. The jury is still out.”

  He waited for some reply from Jake, but his son only marched past him into the kitchen. He listened as the fridge opened and a plate clinked as it was stuffed into the microwave.

  “I’m trying to see how long I can make it,” Ray called though the door. “Maybe the way to do it is a little longer each night.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad. Starting later just means starting later, going to sleep later, getting up later probably as well. You have to stop cold turkey. Maybe I should clear the stuff out. How about that?”

  “If you clear the stuff out, I can just buy more. Plus, I want to know I can face temptation.” He gave his hand to the dog who licked it and barked, delighted at the salt.

  “Did you feed them?” Jake stood in the doorway.

  “’Course I fed them.” He bent to rub the other dog’s stomach, and the canine rolled in ecstasy. “You see your mama?”

  “Yeah. She…”

  “She’s living with someone. You don’t have to worry, I already knew it.” A second passed. “So what? I wish them well. Let her marry the bastard and solve all my problems.”

  “Don’t think there’s much hope, Dad.” The microwave bell chimed and Jake sauntered back to the kitchen.

  Ray got to his feet and clapped his hands for the dogs to get up. “Gonna take them out to the kennel. You fix yourself out in the sunroom and I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He sauntered down the hallway, dogs at his heels, reluctantly following—like the condemned headed to the gallows. He flicked on the outside floodlight and, as he knocked open the screen, they paraded out toward their second home. Spotting a rubber ball, he decided to tire them out good. He threw the toy; Crockett beat all contenders to come roaring back, suddenly awake and proud as punch, strings of saliva dangling either side of his mouth. Ray knelt and pet him, taking the ball, shaking it free of the wet before throwing it again.

  The last remnants of sunset burned through the trees, streaks of deep cerise and amethyst coloring the sky. It was a beautiful view; his forefathers had chosen well and his awareness of time, of generations that had lived and died here filled him with a sense of history, of the agelessness of the land upon which he stood. Carrie would fit in here; the way she had stood in the sunroom gaping at it all, taking it all in, she belonged here.

  Crockett stood waiting, winner once again, and Ray gently took the ball from his mouth and put it down on the stoop before leading the way to the kennel. He recalled how Leigh Anne had insisted the dogs sleep outside the house. “I don’t want some slobbery wet thing licking me in the morning,” she had grumbled, and he had relented to please her, done anything to please, to keep her quiet, for almost thirty years.

  He closed the door to the kennel and saw Jake settling himself at the sunroom table when the craving for alcohol hit him. “Think I’ll have that drink now,” he said as he came in and stomped some dirt off his boots. “Think it’s time for that beer.”

  “No, it isn’t, Dad. Sit with me while I eat. Look, there’s Carrie’s business card. Did you think about emailing her?”

  “It’s too early yet. They just left.” Ray lugged out a chair and sat. He took the card in his hand and glanced at it before flicking it between his fingers. “No phone number. Just an email address. I guess—” He stopped suddenly and got up.

  Jake stopped eating.

  Ray caught the look of concern on his son’s face before he headed back down the hallway.

  “You’re not going to get drunk, are you?” His son’s words followed him like one of the dogs.

  Ray strolled back to stand in the doorway, cell phone in hand. He looked at the screen. “You say it was her phone you used to call me? Not Paige’s?”

  “No, it was hers. Why, you clever old dog. Son of a gun—if you’re not smarter than you look!”

  Ray laughed. “Well. There’s only one non-Texas area code on this, and I should think that has to be it, ’specially seein’ as how it’s got Thursday as the call date. Not blocked. Well, I’ll be… Maybe I don’t need that drink after all.”

  ****

  Jake sat in his room with the phone in his hand, then put it back on his desk. His door was open and he could hear the snap of the newspaper pages turning, envisaging his father sitting there under the lamp, reading glasses perched on his nose, quietly content on the outside but a turmoil within. He could almost see the internal struggle. What could he do? Make it worse, tell him everything now, shatter his picture of his dead son? Send him right back to the bottle? No. If his father was trying so hard to get his head straight, there was no way he was going to give him this bit of news.

  He picked up the phone again just as the scribbles of Paige’s contact information caught his eye. The phone went back into its cradle as he lifted the sheet of paper and stared at it, as if by some form of subliminal osmosis he could make contact with the girl. Oh, lord. She had taken a bite out of him, that was certain. Jake tossed the paper back on his desk. Not ringing her was going to take almost more strength than the call he was about to make.

  Turmoil bordering on nausea caused his stomach to lurch. He sat trying to think it through once more, the possibilities, the outcomes, and the alternatives. It was just like Iraq. He had learned you had to kill or be killed. And once you had done the deed, it became easier; there was even an excitement to it, an excitement now lacking in his normal life. But was that a reason to acquiesce to Ty’s demands?

  His father called, “Good-night,” and his footsteps rang down the hall to his room. His dad was going to bed sober for the first time in more years than Jake could figure.

  He lifted the phone once more and tapped in the number. A somewhat indistinct “hello?” was an answer, to which he just said, “Okay, Ty. You win.”

  ****

  As far as Paige was concerned, the Bennett New York apartment demonstrated success without being ostentatious. Snagging a large swath of a corner on Central Park West, the rooms either overlooked the park or the nearby Museum of Natural History. Most people would consider it b
eautifully decorated, well-appointed and, in real-estate-broker-speak, ‘a gem.’ But to her mother, this ‘gem’ was nothing more than a place to live. Paige knew now that her mother enjoyed her success only in so far as it provided well for the two of them, and proved her mother was self-sufficient, independent and in no need of anyone else in her life. Principally, it ‘got back’ at Paige’s father. Her mom had the apartment, the beach house, the cars and all the other accouterments he might have provided had their married life together continued—and she had got it all on her own.

  Paige never really worried about those things. She’d taken this life for granted: the good schools, the summers in the Hamptons, the expensive vacations, the designer clothes, all of it was nothing more or less than what her friends had. A child while her mother had still struggled, she had never been aware of the gradual changes in their finances, her mother’s increasing popularity as an author, or even her mother’s newfound poise and confidence. What this had all meant as far as Paige was concerned was she could be anything she wanted to be, and she should be totally dependent on herself alone. To this end, her mother had sent her off to boarding school at age thirteen. With five years there, plus four years at Yale, followed after a gap year by the first two years and beginning of the third at UPenn Law, it had been a long time since she had lived at home.

  And she was not enjoying it. However much freedom she had to come and go as she pleased, however much independence she had, she was not enjoying it.

  Looking down the hallway at her mother’s figure slightly hunched over her computer, the intense concentration on her writing, Paige had a vision of herself as being useless—and bored. Friends were busy with internships at firms or travel abroad and would head back to school or jobs. She had to come to a decision about her own future.

  “Are we moving to the beach soon?” She slouched in the doorway of her mother’s study.

  “Oh. Memorial Day weekend I should think. Unless you want to go sooner?” Her mom reviewed her computer screen momentarily to finish some writing. “Do you want to go sooner?”

  “Not sure. But then, I’m not sure of anything these days. Anyway, it’s only two weeks away. Maybe we should go this weekend?”

  “If you like. What do you want to do for dinner?”

  “Eat.” She met her mother’s exasperated gaze with a smirk. “Seems I can no longer make decisions. I think my brain died with Steven.”

  Her mother let the comment pass without acknowledging it. “Shall I send out?”

  “Sure. Send out. How about some Tex-Mex?” She saw her mother quickly glance back at the screen. “Do you think about him? Ever? I mean…”

  “I hardly knew the man, Paige. I assume it’s Ray you’re talking about.” Her gaze ran down the text on her computer, avoiding Paige’s scrutiny. “Do you think about Jake?”

  She carefully mulled over this. Not such a simple soul, not just a good ol’ country boy, Jake was more complex. An enigma of sorts. A puzzle. She had exchanged numbers with him and promises to keep in touch, yet she wasn’t sure she wanted...oh, yeah. Why lie to yourself? She was curious about him. If nothing else.

  “Yes,” she said at last, more truthful than her mother. “Yes, I do. But not romantically, not how you think. Just…he was sort of mixed up, or worried or confused about his father and stuff. Maybe I just felt sorry for him.”

  She waited for some response, some agreement, but her mother still faced the screen, a hand across her mouth. Her face had folded, closed off its expression in a way Paige did not recognize, with a look that reflected pain.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course I am. Let’s order in.” Her mother’s hand still covered her mouth as if it would stop her from saying something wrong. “I’m not in the mood for eating out or cooking. And let’s move out to the beach. Tomorrow.”

  ****

  Jake stood by his car at the service entrance to the Lone Star, a soft rain laving him as Ty’s pickup came bumping down the road. He slouched against his Chevy as the other man climbed out of his cab, a snarling grin on his face.

  “Sort of thought you might call. Being such a good son and all. Too bad I couldn’t meet you sooner. Had some business I needed to clear up.”

  “Why the hell don’t you run your own drugs, Ty? Why don’t you just leave us alone?”

  “Us? Your brother made good money out of this, and so can—”

  “I don’t want your goddamn money. I want you to do your own dirty work.” Jake didn’t hold out much hope for this, but he said it anyway.

  “Can’t, I’m afraid. Border guards and police all have me on a list. Won’t work.”

  “All right, let’s get on with this then. Just give me the address and instructions, or directions or whatever and let’s get this over with. And I want your word this is the last time, otherwise, I’m not going.”

  Ty laughed. “Oh, you’re going to take my word for it an’ all?”

  “Well, fine. Thanks for pointing out how untrustworthy you are. So, I’m telling you, you bastard—this is the last time. I do the run once, and that’s it. You expecting anything more from me, you can forget it.” A chill similar to those he’d experienced in Iraq went through him. It was just like going on patrol. He leaned back against the car.

  Ty stared at Jake with disgust. He dragged a sheet from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to him. “Memorize the name and address then destroy it. You go down to the Eagle Pass Bridge—”

  “I know how the hell to get there.”

  “Good. There’s been a change of plans, so you don’t need to go down now ’til the end of June, but listen to me, don’t change your mind, Jake. You change your mind or go to the police and you’ll regret it to your dying day. I swear. I mean it, don’t change your mind.”

  ****

  As Carrie gathered together the few summer things she kept at the apartment, she considered the missed opportunities of her life. There hadn’t been many missed chances, she had to give herself that. As far as work was concerned, she had grabbed every option that came her way. Okay, so there had been a few readings she’d refused to do, a few book signings she had neglected, but for the most part, her career had been a steady stream of successes, a carefully planned progression of steps vigilantly taken.

  Her private life was quite another matter.

  It wasn’t her refusal to marry Charles that had been a missed possibility; a marriage to him would have proved a huge mistake. But earlier. When she was young and just divorced and rejected man after man, maybe those dates could have led to something lasting, of value, if she had just let them.

  She threw another summer blouse in her suitcase when her cellphone rang. “Paige, I think that’s on the kitchen table. Can you get it for me, please?”

  She heard her daughter’s greeting and then, “Oh! What a surprise! No, it’s her phone. Just a moment, I’ll get her.”

  Paige entered the bedroom, cellphone held aloft. Carrie gave her daughter a questioning glance, but got only a smile in return. Who is it? she mouthed, but Paige just handed her the phone and walked away. A quick peep at the screen displayed a number Carrie didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?” she said rather tentatively.

  “Well, that’s about the most dang suspicious ‘hello’ I ever received. I’m not stalking you or whatever the word for unwanted phone calls is, so if you want me to hang up, best say so now and I’ll be gone. Won’t darken your door, or light up your phone, again.”

  Carrie sat on the edge of her bed, phone to ear. Amazed, and rather glad to hear from Ray, she shoved the suitcase aside and lay back. “How did you get this number?”

  “Well, if I could put on a German accent, I’d say, ‘Ve have our Vays.’ Seeing as how that’s a bit much for a Texas good ol’ boy, I’ll just say it was on my cell phone from when Jake borrowed your phone to call me.”

  “Ah-ha.” Still lost for words, and strangely happy, Carrie waited for him to co
ntinue.

  “Lookit, if you really don’t want to hear from me, say so now, all right, and I really won’t call again or bother you or whatnot. You know I’m not much for beating about the bush. I think that much you know about me. So…I just thought…maybe we could start with a few phone calls and see where things took us.”

  She gave a small gasp but didn’t reply.

  “You still there?”

  Carrie brushed away snail trails mysteriously making their way down her cheek. Thankful she wasn’t on Skype, she managed to get out, “I’m here. Yes.”

  “Is that ‘yes, I’m here,’ or ‘yes, we can start with a few phone calls?’”

  She struggled to find her voice. It came squeaking out. “Yes. We can start…”

  “Good. So, the first bit of news from this end is I haven’t had a drink in over a week. In fact, I would’ve called sooner, but I felt I wanted to be able to tell you ‘a week’ rather than something like, ‘Oh, I didn’t have a drink yesterday.’ Somehow sounds better—a week. Doesn’t it?”

  Carrie sat up, the tears running freely now. She sniffed and gulped out, “It sounds…fantastic.”

  There was a brief silence before he said, “Shit, are you crying?”

  “Yes, but don’t drink because of it!” she managed to blurt out.

  Ray laughed. “Ah, no. No, I won’t do that.” He waited another moment. “Say, you don’t happen to have a Skype account, do you? Used to talk to Jake in Iraq that way. It’s real great if you don’t get dropped.”

  Carrie cleared her throat a bit, swatting away the last of her tears and getting hold of herself. “C-B-Books is my screen name.”

  “Fantastic,” said Ray. “We can have phone sex!”

  Chapter Six

  Jake took it slow. The last thing he needed was a speeding ticket on I-35, or any contact with the police, even without the drugs on board. He had flicked on the air conditioning and had the music blaring, and all he wanted was to get there and get back in one piece and be done with it. Cars sped by him, the scenery changing little on the highway until the turn-off for Route 57.