by Karen Rock
Was that a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes? He leaned closer, drawn by her devilish expression. “Are you suggesting we skip more of the performances? You’ll miss seeing the different costumes I made.”
“I have to admit, I’m curious about your skills if Becca’s costume is any indication.” She grinned. “Do you have any lollipops onstage now?”
Before he could answer, the exterior door opened behind them with a warm hiss of air. A woman teetering on gold heels clattered in, a wailing girl a year or two younger than Becca pulled behind her.
“You can eat after the show, so suck it up. Nobody wants to see a crybaby on the— Oh, Eli!” Her carefully plucked eyebrows smoothed and her white teeth flashed as she sashayed his way. Heather, the undisputed leader of the dance moms.
Christie’s body tensed beside him. A quick glance showed her lips pressed in a firm line, her large eyes narrower than he’d ever seen them. He tucked a casual arm around her back and smiled at the surprised look that transformed her face. He turned to Heather, whose flirtatious expression faded.
“Nice to see you, Heather.” Eli wrapped his fingers around Christie’s shoulder. He nodded at Heather’s daughter. “The costume looks great, Ashleigh.”
And it did. Her fairy wings glittered and her tulle ranged from a bottom layer of fuchsia to gradually lighter shades. It might be one of his best yet.
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. I love it.” She twirled, her whining halted for the moment. The spinning showered the floor with sparkles. Perhaps he should have been less gun-shy with the glitter glue, though.
“I’m glad. Anytime.” He pulled Christie closer when he felt her slide away. There was no chance he’d let Heather’s autopilot flirting chase off Christie.
Heather kissed his cheek, her long fingernails digging into his biceps as she squeezed it. When she straightened, she tossed back her long blond waves. “Why don’t you stop by sometime? I’d love to have you take a few photos of me. You know how to really capture a woman.” Her hand slid down his arm. “You’ve certainly got me.”
Christie jerked free and stood. “Aren’t you late for a performance, Mrs.—”
Heather gave her trademark throaty laugh, ignored Christie and winked at him. Suddenly he was glad this was Becca’s last dance year at the Y’s community center. He was done with these predatory women.
“As Eli knows, I’m divorced.” Heather’s halfhearted attempt to smooth down her miniskirt only made it ride higher. “So I go by—”
“Ms. Tries-Too-Hard?” Christie stepped in front of him, her hands balled at her sides. “Why don’t you let your daughter put on the show now?”
He stood, ready to intervene in case this turned into one of those fight scenes from Mary’s favorite show, The Real Housewives of...somewhere. Highly entertaining on TV, he had to admit. Not so much in real life. Especially where Christie was concerned. Her high color and stormy eyes, however, suggested she could more than hold her own.
Heather glanced between them, shrugged and lifted her eyebrows. “Eli. When you’re ready to spend time with a real woman—” her eyes looked an unbowed Christie up and down “—you’ll know where to find me.”
Her heels beat a staccato rhythm as she traipsed around the auditorium to the backstage area, her daughter trailing behind her.
Christie paced in front of him. He’d never seen her so riled. Was it because of him? Hardly. Then again, he’d felt the same way about the soda guy. Maybe they were both nuts. His grin turned into a smile that became a chuckle before it turned into a full-on belly laugh.
“If she hadn’t had a child with her, the things I would have said,” Christie fumed then stopped and gawked at him. “And what exactly is so funny?”
He scrubbed a hand across his smiling mouth. “You, Miss Positive Energy and Light.”
Her mouth opened and closed, her lips forming soundless words. For a moment he thought she’d be mad at him, but then he heard it, bell-like peals of laughter. She collapsed beside him.
“Ms. Tries-Too-Hard?” he managed to say. Where was optimistic, sweet, caring, scared-of-cracks-on-a-sidewalk Christie? And why did he like this spitfire side of her just as much...maybe even more?
Christie pulled a hankie from her purse and waved it in front of her flushed face. “She got my Irish up. Did you see that outfit? And the way she behaved in front of her daughter? What kind of example is she setting for her child?”
He nodded, glad he hadn’t been on the receiving end of her ire. It was the first time he’d seen Heather back down, and she’d gotten into her fair share of scuffles with the other dance moms.
Applause broke out again. “Uh-oh. How many did we miss?” Christie blinked down at the program then up at him. He couldn’t resist winding a loose curl around one finger. It had escaped her low side bun during her “fight.” His fingers lingered on the silky skin of her neck and, unable to resist, brushed the shell-like earlobe that had fascinated him all evening.
Her quick, breathy intake stopped his heart. She was so beautiful. Strong. Funny. Kind. And—he pulled his hand away—too good for him.
“Perhaps we should go in,” she suggested, half rising, her voice rushed.
Eli tugged her back down. He couldn’t let this chance go. He had a few minutes with this amazing woman and he’d rather spend them looking at her expressive face than at synchronized tappers.
Without releasing her hand, he blurted, “Are you having a good time?” He almost smacked his head. What a stupid question.
Christie’s mouth quirked then grew serious again. “Actually, I am.” Her eyes met his, their gazes locked as tightly as their hands.
“I’m glad,” he heard himself say from some disembodied place that did not come from the land of reality and logic. “Happy you came.” He pressed her hand, exhilaration shooting through him when she squeezed back.
“Me, too. It reminds me of my dancing years. I wish Tommy could have been here.”
“Trust me. He’s sorrier than all of us combined. Poor guy.” He debated asking her the question that had been in the back of his mind. “Did your brother watch you dance?”
Christie’s lids lowered for a moment. In the silence, he gave himself a swift mental kick. He wanted to know more about her but not cause her pain. And her pale, clammy palm proved he’d done just that. “You don’t have to answer.”
When she reopened her eyes, her lashes were wet and spiky, but her voice was steady. “He always made these insane signs to make me laugh. Like ‘Christie the Great’ or ‘Christie Is the Best Sistie.’ He did it to help me get over my stage fright, but the other girls made fun of it, so I begged him to stop.”
He gathered her other, trembling hand.
“Now—” her voice dropped to a notch above a whisper “—I’d give anything to have one of those signs.”
His heart expanded, wishing he could take away her pain. He’d gotten used to heartbreak. “You must have loved him very much.”
“Not as much as he deserved,” she said beneath her breath, more to herself, it seemed, than to him. “Excuse me.” When she scooted off to the ladies’ room, he berated himself. She’d done him a huge favor in joining him tonight—more than he’d guessed now that he knew about her brother. How brave of her to come to the recital for Becca, and him, when dance held such powerful memories.
He grabbed her shawl and purse and waited by the door into the auditorium. After a couple of minutes, she joined him, her cheeks damp but no longer ashen. When the crowd clapped inside the auditorium, they opened the door, tiptoed down the aisle and found their seats.
“I’m sorry Jacqueline didn’t come,” Christie breathed in his ear, sending shivers of awareness down his spine.
He looked into her earnest face and found himself unable to lie. “I’d rather have you here.”
Christie bit her lower lip then studied her lap. “I’m glad, too,” she surprised him by saying. Her shimmering eyes lifted to his.
His tight chest eased at her soft expression. They settled back in their seats and counted down the remaining routines, the silence between them as promising as the dancers who flitted gracefully across the stage.
* * *
CHRISTIE CLUTCHED HER shawl closer an hour later as she leaned back in the rented car beside Eli. Becca’s performance had earned her a standing ovation and she glowed from the success as much as the reflected Broadway lights that flashed through the windows.
“So where would you like to go to celebrate? Pinkberry?” Eli handed his daughter a small bouquet of fire-and-ice roses that he’d stowed under the front seat.
Thoughtful. But then, wasn’t he always? She glanced at Becca and was disappointed when she dropped the tissue-wrapped flowers on the leather seat and pulled her buzzing cell phone from her dance tote. She turned around and buried her head in the corner, her voice urgent and low. A sudden stop sent the bouquet tumbling to the floor.
She wished there was a magic eraser for emotions. She’d use it to wipe the hurt from Eli’s face. He looked crushed as he picked up the flowers and stowed them in the door’s side pocket. It might be something he did every year, but still...to have his efforts preempted by a phone call? Thwarted by a recent argument? Becca owed him more than that, no matter how much she resented him. Eli had made his share of mistakes. But Becca needed to own up to hers, too.
“Driver, would you turn up the radio?” Becca called then went back to her whispered conversation. The classical music blared, a symphony with enough bass to drown out her murmuring.
Who was Becca speaking to? Christie leaned forward. “Actually, would you mind turning that off?” She touched her temple. “A bit of a headache now. Thanks.”
Eli shot her a grateful look while Becca twisted around in the sudden quiet.
“Got to go. Call you later?” Becca’s eyebrows came together as she listened to the response. “Why not? Where will you be? Oh. Fine. Whatever. Later.” She punched off the phone, shoved it in her bag and flopped back in the seat.
“That didn’t sound like a friendly call,” Christie tested, hoping Becca would open up. She had a sneaking suspicion she’d been talking with Colton...though how that lowlife had sneaked his way back into Becca’s good graces was beyond her. Then again, young girls were easy to manipulate if they didn’t have close relationships with their fathers. And Becca and her dad had fought recently.
Getting rid of Colton wouldn’t right the wrongs in Becca’s life. Resolving her issues with Eli would. Until then, she was a target for every Colton in the world.
Becca refused to meet her eye. “Did anyone see Mom?”
“She must be away.” Eli reached out to pat her knee but she jerked it beyond his reach. “Sorry, honey. I’m sure she would have been as proud as we were.”
“Is she out of town or out to dinner? She never called me back. Did you check with her secretary?” She crossed her thin arms and shot her father an accusatory look.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Becca pulled at a loose string on the seat’s seam. “You’re not exactly big on communicating.”
Eli inhaled long and deep, his lips parting for a slow exhale. Those words had to hurt. But he showed impressive control...maybe too much when it came to emotional honesty with his children.
“So how about Pinkberry? It isn’t too far and we can bring some home for Tommy.” His measured words sounded mild, belying the throbbing vein at his temple.
“There are Popsicles in the freezer.” Becca waved a dismissive hand. She wore her resentment like a bitter second skin. “And I’m really tired.”
Eli raised a slanted eyebrow. “But we always go for a treat.” A horn blared to their right as a driver narrowly missed a jaywalker.
“Things change, Dad. Not that you’d notice.”
His face froze, blue eyes darkening, before he leaned forward to give the driver instructions.
“You did a wonderful job up there, Becca,” Christie said, using a bright tone. The air was heavy with unspoken feelings and thoughts. It was either force a cab-ride therapy session or switch topics. “You looked like a professional ballet dancer.”
Becca’s face relaxed into its first real smile of the night. “Thanks, Christie. How long did you dance?”
“Until I was thirteen.”
“So, why’d you quit?”
“We couldn’t afford it after my brother got leukemia.” She made it a point not to lie to kids, especially teenagers. It was the surest way to ruin any chance of making a connection. “I worked odd jobs to help pay the medical bills instead.”
Two pairs of blue eyes stared at her. Eli’s probing. Becca’s intent. She straightened her slouch. “You never told me your brother had cancer.”
Christie glanced out the window and tracked a bicycle messenger weaving in and out of traffic. What she would give to zip away from this conversation. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still. You must have hated quitting dance. Hated him.” Becca shot her father a guilty look.
Her heart sped at the thought. Had she hated her terminally ill brother? It was a terrible possibility...one she’d considered but wouldn’t believe about herself. It wasn’t his fault he’d gotten leukemia...or his fault that her parents had been too preoccupied to notice her, let alone raise her. She’d loved him, despite how she’d behaved toward the end. Her mind reburied the memory as deep as it would go.
“Christie wouldn’t hate anyone, especially her brother.” Eli’s eyes met hers, his expression confident and more trusting than she deserved. Thankfully he switched the subject. “Becca is starting ballet classes at the Joffrey in the fall.” He pointed to Becca’s unclipped seat belt and mimed her closing it.
She put on her seat belt and pulled her hair loose from its tight bun. “Actually, I’m not.”
A rush of air exploded from Eli. “Not what?”
Becca’s face was obscured as she finger-combed her stiff locks. “Not going to the Joffrey.”
Christie’s heart sank as she wondered why these revelations weren’t coming up in their family counseling with Joan—then again, the sessions were more formal, a format that resistant kids like Becca sometimes rebelled against.
She glanced over at Eli’s tense face, her chest constricting. So many bombs were detonating in his life. Why would Becca turn down such an opportunity...unless it was to spite her father? Get back at him for curtailing her fun? It was an all-too-familiar motivation and one she’d never stop regretting herself.
“That must have been a difficult decision.” She turned up the air conditioning. The cramped space felt stifling.
Becca shrugged. “I guess. But dance doesn’t make me happy anymore.”
“And what does?” She pinned Becca with a long look. “Colton?”
Surprise registered on Becca’s face. “No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.” She pulled off a shoe and rubbed her toes. “Can we talk about this another time, Christie? Alone?”
She looked to Eli, who nodded stiffly. How awful to have your child not trust you with their feelings. But she’d seen it enough times to know that it happened to even the best of parents. She’d try to reassure Eli the next time they were on their own.
“But you’re a good dancer.” Eli spoke to Becca’s averted profile. “Why give up? Don’t be a quitter.”
Christie winced. Family Counseling 101. Never turn questions into accusations.
Becca turned, every inch the cornered teenager. “Why not? You did it, Dad. Mr. Photographer, Iron Man, marathon winner. Whatever happened to those? Have you taken any pictures lately? Cleared off your weight bench? Gone on one of your old six-o’clock runs?”
Six
-o’clock runs? She glanced at Eli. That was her routine. She’d never seen him while she’d been out. Then again, with her earbuds in and Laura’s German shepherd, Angel, by her side, she was usually oblivious.
“What happened?” Eli’s voice sounded strangled. “I got bone cancer.” His fingernails dug grooves in the leather armrest.
“But you’re over that, right?” Becca stretched out on the seat across from them and put in her earbuds. “Not that I’ve ever been allowed to know anything about your illness. If I hadn’t eavesdropped on your phone calls, I wouldn’t even know you were in remission.” She turned over on her side, her back to the adults.
Ouch. Could the car be filled with any more pain? Becca’s suffering flared hot on one end of the vehicle while Eli’s grim hurt chilled her cold on the other.
The automobile pulled to a stop in front of her redbrick building.
“I’m sorry, Christie,” Eli began, but she stopped him.
“This is what I’m here for. The good. The bad. And the ugly.” She nodded to a head-bobbing, oblivious Becca. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The relief on Eli’s face nearly split her heart in two. He’d had a lot of people cut and run in his life. His fair-circuit parents had let his grandmother raise him, and his wife had walked out when he’d needed her most. Why would he trust now? Yet somehow he was. And if he had faith in her, there was hope for this family yet.
“In fact,” she continued, a plan forming, “we’ll be going somewhere tomorrow. Just the two of us.” Healing Eli would help the children and now she knew where to start.
“Is that so?” His shoulders relaxed. “What are we doing?”
Christie opened the door and stepped onto the curb.
“How early can Mary come over in the morning?”
“Her husband drops her off at six before he starts his day shift. Why?”
Christie smiled. “Then meet me in front of your apartment tomorrow at six. And bring your running gear. ’Bye, Becca.” She slammed the door on Eli’s shocked face and flipped a wave over her shoulder as she jogged up the stairs.
