by Karen Rock
“I hate him,” sobbed a young girl’s voice.
She sat up and crossed her legs yoga-style. “Becca? What’s wrong?”
A bitter laugh sounded. “Everything. Dad won’t talk to me about anything important and the one time I ask him to let me do something alone—go with my friends to hear them play at Washington Square Park Saturday afternoon—he says no. And I’m the only one who doesn’t get to go. Now I look like a loser,” she sobbed. “A loser who’s failing eighth grade.”
“First of all, you’re not a loser. Probably only half the kids will show tomorrow, and secondly, you’re going to ninth grade because we’ll get that health project done together.” Phew. She gulped some water from a glass on her nightstand. “What were his reasons for saying no?”
“Something lame...like there wouldn’t be any adults around. But hello, I’m thirteen not ten. Not that he’d notice. He just wants me to be as miserable as he is.”
“Maybe he’s worried something will happen to you. He’s lost so much. I don’t think he wants to risk you, too.”
“Like he cares.”
Christie traced the green-and-white pattern on the quilt she and her mother had stitched long ago. “He does. He just doesn’t know how to communicate well.”
Becca’s sigh came through the phone. “Yeah. That’s what our therapist, Mrs. Osar, says. But he’s not getting better at it.”
“Give him time, Becca. People don’t change overnight. Maybe he needs another chance.”
After a long silence, Becca said, “I’m over waiting for him to change. I just want to live my life without him stopping me.”
“Please be patient, Becca. Think about it, okay?”
“Okay. Oops...got another call,” Becca’s voice rose, a tinge of guilt entering it. “You’re coming to the recital, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll talk to you soon. Night.”
“Night.”
The line went dead and Christie fell back against her pillow. That was not the Roberts family member she’d expected, but she was pleased she’d been there just the same.
CHAPTER NINE
ELI TRIED NOT to stare at Christie on the way to Becca’s dance recital Saturday night.
No easy feat when she looked so incredible. The Lincoln Town Car he’d rented was stuck in traffic, so he had plenty of time to watch her discreetly as she chatted with Becca about the school health project. He caught something about her volunteering to come in and work with Christie when school finished this week but couldn’t follow much more when he was daydreaming half the time. With Tommy home sick this evening, there wasn’t anything to distract him from the gorgeous woman sitting beside him. She drew his attention like a fireworks display. But just because he could drink in the sight of Christie in a modest black sheath dress didn’t mean he should.
Funny how much he’d been thinking about her ever since he’d given himself permission to...explore all his options with her. Hope for something more.
He didn’t have a plan. Wasn’t ready to let a woman into his life romantically. But he’d opened some kind of mental door to potential happiness, and thoughts of Christie had rushed in at the speed of light.
“Everything okay, Eli?” She turned to him suddenly, her green eyes missing nothing as her silver shawl fell off her shoulders.
The sight of her creamy skin and nicely toned arms nearly made him swallow his tongue. He wondered why such a conservative display affected him so much.
“Fine. Great.” He told himself not to stare, but it took a lifetime to lift his gaze to meet her eyes. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
She gave him more than just a feminine eyeful. She’d drawn Becca out and gotten his daughter talking, a feat he hadn’t managed on the drive over to pick up Christie. Though Becca wasn’t talking to him, he enjoyed hearing her animated and full of life. He’d missed that in the weeks of tension between them.
Horns honked in a traffic snarl up ahead as their driver inched forward. A car blasting heavy bass pulled up beside them, its occupants screaming louder than the beat. He raised his window, blocking the sound as well as the spicy curry smell spilling from a nearby food vendor.
“I’m looking forward to it.” She shifted closer on the seat, closing the gap between them. Her floral perfume flooded his senses.
Their proximity in the intimate, darkened space exhilarated him and his pulse raced. Amazing that he could form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.
“Me, too.” His voice hit a gravelly note as he contemplated how easy it was to be with her. How natural it would feel to slide even closer... He cleared his throat, knowing his daughter watched with the too-shrewd eyes of a teen. “That is, Becca and I will be interested in your expert opinion on the recital. I remembered you mentioned making your own dance costumes as a kid.”
“You dance?” Becca leaned forward, engaged, her expression unguarded. How long had it been since he’d seen that kind of openness from her?
“Only a little.” Christie smiled and shuffled a tap step along the carpet between the seats. “My gran says Irish blood is one-fourth superstition, one-fourth whiskey and one-fourth dance.”
Becca took off her shoes and stretched her feet. “That’s funny. What’s the last part?”
“Blarney.” Christie laughed. “It means stretching the truth,” she amended at the girl’s confused expression. “And no one does it better than Gran when she’s telling a story.”
Eli noted the way her cadence changed when she quoted her grandmother. Where Christie had the faintest lilt to her speech, her relative must have a heavier accent.
“Did you get nervous before performing?” Becca asked, craning her neck to peer out the window at a billboard. It featured a boy Eli recalled seeing on one of her posters. Too much teeth and bangs, he thought, rubbing his short hair. Did Christie share her tastes?
The car moved forward again and the familiar sight of Dos Caminos’s outdoor area came into view. In another few feet they’d turn onto Sixth Avenue, just minutes from the Little Red School House.
“Always.” Christie leaned across the seat to give Becca’s arm a gentle squeeze and press a penny into her hand. “Put this in your tote bag. It was heads up when I found it before you picked me up. So it’s good luck for tonight.” At Becca’s faint smile, she continued. “Imagine your nerves as something to wind you up and push you to do your best. Just breathe deep.”
Becca nodded, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed a little. The car rolled to a stop and his daughter sprinted out the door before he could wish her good luck.
“Break a leg!” Christie called after her retreating form. Then she turned to Eli. “I think she’s more nervous than she lets on.”
“Dance means a lot to her.” It was one of the few things he still understood about her. “She’s been able to count on it through all of this upheaval.” Their therapist, Joan, had commended him for keeping things as normal as possible for the kids’ sakes.
And it was one of the few things they had in common. Sewing wasn’t a hobby performed for the satisfaction of well-constructed fairy wings. He did it to be a part of Becca’s life.
After they exited the town car, Eli guided them through the crowd of parents and milling, overexcited junior dancers whose colorful outfits made the scene resemble a tangled rainbow. Christie grinned, pointing out her favorite costumes or toward a preschool ballerina in a wrestling match with her brother. The whole place was barely controlled chaos.
“We’re in here,” he announced, glad for the opportunity to put his hand on her waist and steer her toward the auditorium.
He touched her lightly, but it was enough to make him close his eyes against a flood of longing. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy of taking her home, slipping off her heels and pressing his lips to her bow-shaped mou
th.
“There are some seats.” She pointed to an empty row near the front. “We can save an extra for Jacqueline.”
His ex?
He hated to crush her optimism, but there was no way Jacqueline would be putting in an appearance tonight. She’d shown far too little interest in her kids.
“Jacqueline’s not coming,” Eli whispered as the lights dimmed in warning for parents to take their seats.
Christie settled her shawl and purse on the chair beside her and then took out her program. “I’ll save one just in case.”
Seating himself beside her, he wondered what it would take to make her stop wishing for the impossible. Didn’t she realize the cost of impractical dreams? The hole they left behind when they didn’t come true?
Then again, would he want her to? His eyes flicked to her profile, its unique lines barely discernible in the gloom. Her unwavering positive outlook, frustrating at first, was starting to grow on him. Especially once he’d glimpsed the vulnerable cracks in her strong exterior. They only made her braver and more human.
“I’m not sure she’d sit with us even if she did show up,” he muttered more to himself than her.
Not that his self-involved ex would necessarily see Christie as a threat.
“Sometimes, it’s the gesture that counts,” Christie whispered back, leaning close enough that he caught another hint of perfume.
He breathed deep. Focused on the moment. He was so grateful to be here with her. She settled him the same way she put Becca at ease. Made him feel less tense. More alive.
“This is fun,” she murmured, pointing to the shadow of small feet behind the green velvet curtain on the stage. “Have you been to dozens of these over the years?”
He draped his arm along the back of her chair, telling himself he was just stretching out. Not touching.
“At least two a year. The first time I ever saw her dance she was only five.” He pictured Becca, her head wreathed in sunflower pedals. “She turned in circles the entire dance while her classmates followed some kind of choreography. But they still earned a standing ovation.”
“That’s precious. And now she’ll be a featured performer with a pas de deux as Clara.” She touched his forearm and pointed to Becca’s name in the program. “Can you believe it, Eli?”
“I couldn’t be prouder.” He tried to ignore the electricity coursing up his arm at Christie’s touch and the effect she had on him when she said his name, stretching and rounding the vowels.
Their fingers grazed as he held up an end of the drooping program. He peered down and smiled, thankful he was still around to see his little girl dance. Still here to spend an evening with Christie. “She’s worked really hard for this,” Eli added, knowing Becca hadn’t had the kind of support other kids might. She’d achieved a lot in spite of her mother leaving and his absences to take care of his disease.
“You’ve got some great kids.” There was a hitch to her voice that surprised him. “You’re really lucky.”
He didn’t think about himself as Mr. Fortunate very often. But in this...Christie was one 100 correct.
His gaze lingered on hers when she looked up, her deep-set eyes a shade darker than usual. He wanted to know her thoughts, but just then, wild applause broke out as an older blonde woman dressed in a formal red evening gown strode across the stage to the microphone. He recognized the head of the dance school, a former ballerina herself. The woman tapped on the mike and then leaned down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to welcome you to tonight’s show. As you know, the students have been working hard and we appreciate your strong support. For our first number, I hope you’ll enjoy our newest—and youngest—students performing the teddy-bear dance.”
“I did that dance,” Christie whispered, her temple brushing his. His eyes closed at the sensation of her warm breath against the side of his face. When he opened them, a dozen girls stood in a line holding stuffed bears. The piano player banged out the opening notes and the girls shuffled and whirled, their toys clutched to their stomachs, pigtails bouncing.
“...because today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.” She sang along softly, her toe tapping the air, her voice never more musical.
“And it looks like you still know the steps,” he teased, pointing toward her foot.
“When you’re that age, the stage is magical.” She nodded in time to the song, enjoying the show while he enjoyed her.
He imagined her onstage as a girl in her satin ruffled dress, green eyes shining as she held her stuffed animal overhead and turned. His heart contracted at the thought of the tragedies that loomed in that innocent child’s future. Had her brother watched that performance, or had he been unwell even then? He couldn’t imagine what it’d been like growing up with a terminally ill sibling. How had she survived losing her brother and her parents with her faith intact?
It was a question that gnawed at him every time he thought of his own children and his unpredictable future. A scuffle behind them distracted him from the unsettling idea.
“Sorry,” barked a man seated in the next row, dropping camera gear and bumping into Eli’s chair. “My daughter’s up next and I promised to tape it since my wife’s at home. Our son’s got the flu.”
Eli nodded. “My son’s got the same bug.” He stood and held out a hand to Christie, recognizing an opportunity to talk to her privately. Becca’s number wouldn’t be on for at least a half hour. “We’ll get a drink so you have a better shot.”
“Thanks, man.” The doting father unfolded a mini-tripod.
Cheering broke out as the teddy-bear dancers scampered off the stage. One lingered, calling to her mother until the dance instructor hurried onstage and led her away.
Time for a quick escape. “Let’s get that drink.”
Christie’s white teeth flashed and her hand folded into his. “Sounds good.”
They shuffled past a few sets of knees then strode up the carpeted aisle to the exit doors. In the beige-tiled entry, several wooden benches lined the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass reflected them as they strolled toward the concession stand, to all appearances a happy couple. To his eye, however, they were a possibility beyond imagining.
“A Coke and a Sprite, please.” Her smile seemed to fluster the vendor, who blinked a few times before giving himself a shake, snatching her five-dollar bill and filling the cups.
She’d caught Eli off guard, too, paying for their drinks before he’d taken out his wallet. He shoved his billfold back down and held his tongue. Her curved mouth and the sideways look she sent him were too irresistible to ruin with some he-man, macho act. If it made her happy to treat, then so be it. But he’d definitely pay the next time.
He thanked her when she handed him the soda and nodded to a bench beyond an oversized ficus tree. “Let’s sit over there.” He couldn’t wait to have her to himself. And the greenery would give them some privacy, blocking out the staring clerk.
With a hand on Christie’s lithe back, he guided her away from her admirer. She was his, for tonight at least. Though even that wasn’t technically true. Did she have someone in her life? She’d only half answered that question at the pizza parlor.
The tune of “Danny Boy” sounded as they sat. She pulled out her iPhone, read the message and fired off a response before he drained his cup.
“Was that your boyfriend? Danny?” He already hated the guy. Christie and Danny. The perfect Irish couple. How grand.
She snorted. “That was my very nosy gran.” She crossed her ankles and lifted her soda. “Let’s just say she’s a bit excited about tonight.”
Gran wasn’t the only one. Eli forced himself to look away. “She knows about us? I mean, the recital?”
“Not from me. Laura told her.” When she shook her head, a curled lock fell across her right shoul
der.
Eli laced his fingers tight before he did something stupid, like run them through her hair. The feel of its softness was burned into his memory. “Are you meeting up with her after? You said you didn’t have a boyfriend, right?”
Could he be more obvious? If this quasi-dating game had umpires, he’d have fouled out for blatant fishing. But the penalty would be worth it to know her status. Any boyfriend, Danny or not, wasn’t good enough for her.
Christie’s small nose wrinkled. “Who has time for a boyfriend?” Her cheeks pinked as her eyes flitted to his. “And Laura’s family drags her to fancy events with velvet ropes and ten-dollar drinks. Not my scene.”
Relief that she wasn’t in a relationship was tempered with a gut-clenching vision of Christie in a club, surrounded by men. Her roommate must lure her out sometimes. “What do you like to do on the weekends?”
“Sleep. Whenever my schedule lets me.” Christie picked up a fallen teddy bear and strode after a giggling crew of dancers headed to the refreshment stand.
As a photographer, his job had been to capture angles. But never had he been more conscious of the importance of curves, of the places where Christie’s body eased from one spot to another, from ankle to calf, calf to hip, waist to torso, neck to up-tilted nose, forehead to shoulders and down to the arch of her back. A long breath escaped him.
He looked away the instant she turned back.
What was a young, vibrant woman like Christie doing on a Saturday night with a single dad recovering from cancer? He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking she was there for him. She’d come for the kids. Becca, in this case. Still. She could have turned him down. Told him she had weekend plans. And he would have understood. Not that he would have liked it one bit.
Another round of applause rang out from behind the set of closed double doors as she sat down beside him. “That must have been for the lollipop dance.” Christie pointed at the program with her narrow fingers, her pink nails glowing under the fluorescent lights. “If we count the applause, we can sneak in just before Becca’s number.”
