Last Dance

by Renee Fowler

  At the restaurant, Sarah eats the barest minimum of food before skipping off to play on the indoor jungle gym.

  “He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive,” Jack says with a forced laugh.

  My eyes shift from Sarah, who is stomping up the molded plastic staircase of the playland, back to Jack. “Who?”

  “Mickey. Whatever the hell his name is.”

  I start to crack up. “He would go ballistic if someone called him that, and we’re just friends. I told you that.”

  “You’re right,” Jack says miserably.

  “No. Not us. I mean Mikhail, and I.” I picked up my cup, swirled the ice around a bit. “Are we friends, Jack? What is this?”

  He leans his elbows on the table, and sighs. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, in either case. Mikhail isn’t even a friend, and I doubt he was looking at me like anything. He dumped me. He just thinks my name will sell tickets for this gala.”

  “I can’t believe he’s the one that dumped you.”

  “Believe it. He sent me a text after my accident.”

  Jack scoffs. “How could you want to work with him again?”

  “I don’t. I want to dance again.”

  Jack picks up my hands and presses them flat between his palms. I try to ignore the warmth of his fingers engulfing mine, the sweep of his thumbs over my wrists. “Jack, what is this? What’s going on here?” I ask again.

  “I want to be the man you deserve. I want to be able to give you everything, all of me.”

  “But you need more time.”

  He lifts my hands to his lips, and nods. There’s so much going on behind the grey-blue of his eyes. He looks so conflicted.

  “I’m here, Jack. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You shouldn’t have to wait. It’s not fair.”

  “Sometimes life isn’t fair.” A sentiment I think both of us sitting there at that table understand all too well. “And something tells me you’re worth waiting for.”

  “Why?”

  Because I’m already madly, deeply in love with you. Because I’ve never felt like this about another man a day in my life. “I don’t know, Jack. Call it a hunch.”

  He clears his throat, and lays my hands back on the tabletop gently. “I made an appointment to go see that shrink.” He gives an embarrassed chuckle.

  “Good. I’m proud of you.”

  His eyes flick over in Sarah’s direction and he jumps up to go and pull her down from the outside of the playland. “You need to save that for the next time we go rock climbing, monkey.”

  Jack gives a rather bad impression of a monkey. Sarah giggles and promises not to do it again.

  “You should’ve seen her up there today,” he says, lowering himself into the seat across from me. “She’s a natural. She really does take after her mom.”

  “Claire was good at that sort of thing?”

  He nods. “She loved it.”

  Jack has been opening up to me more, bits and pieces about Claire and his life, which are all so closely entwined since they grew up together. “I don’t know if I could do it. I’ve always been a little afraid of heights.”

  “I was too at first, but she talked me into it. There wasn’t much that scared her.”

  “She sounds brave and persuasive. I don’t know if anyone could talk me into something like that.”

  One corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up. “And I was going to ask you to come with us next time.”

  “How tall is this wall?”

  “It’s not that high up, and you wear a safety harness.”

  “I’ll have to think about it, or maybe you need to work on your powers of persuasion.”

  “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want.” He takes my hands again, and interlaces our fingers. “But you might like it.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Then we’ll find something else you like.”

  What I like is Jack. I love him, and in some weird, twisted sense I like the fact that he loved Claire enough to do something that scared him. At least I know he’s capable of that depth of feeling, because I’ve met plenty of people who weren’t. “I guess it can’t hurt to try it.”

  Jack’s demeanor shifts, and he squeezes my fingers with his a little tighter. “So far there’s been no decent leads on your case. They caught him on security footage at one of the gas stations, but it was all grainy, and the angle was bad, plus he was still wearing that hat. Right now the only hope is they try to hock that necklace at a pawn shop, but if they’re smart they won’t go to one around here.” He shakes his head. “It’s bullshit. I want to find this guy so bad.”

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up, Jack.”

  “How can you be so calm about this? You should be furious.”

  “I am a little, but I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

  “Worse? Anna, he put you in the hospital! It’s not right that he’s going to get away with it.”

  “Maybe it’s not right, but I can’t change it. I don’t see the point in losing sleep over it.”

  “I wish I could see things like that.”

  “Maybe talking to this therapist will be good for you, because I couldn’t see things like that at all before I did.”

  “Maybe it will.”

  ∞∞∞

  Despite what I told Jack the previous night, I do experience a flicker of fear passing that ally where I was attacked, and walking inside that familiar coffee shop the next morning makes my stomach twist, but I try my best not to let it shake me.

  Mikhail is already seated at one of the tables by the window. He’s reading a newspaper when I stroll up. “Sorry if I’m late.”

  “You’re not. I got here a few minutes early.”

  I unwind the scarf from around my neck, and shrug off my coat before sitting down. Mikhail folds the newspaper into a neat rectangle, and slides his reading glasses off. He makes a gesture towards the waitress with his hand. When she arrives at our table, he orders two coffees and two danishes.

  “I already ate this morning.”

  “You can eat again,” he says in his usual brisk manner.

  I don’t bother arguing with him. I know better than anyone it’s useless, but I am a little surprised that he’s not telling me to cut back. I’m fifteen pounds heavier than before my accident.

  He taps a finger on the slim, folded over, local newspaper. “There’s not a lot that goes on here, is there?”

  “Uh, not really. It’s a small town.”

  “But you were attacked.”

  “Well, I guess that sort of thing happens everywhere.”

  “You like living here?”

  “Sure. I like it so far.”

  He stares out the window at the empty sidewalk, and not very busy street beyond. “I never imagined you in a place like this.”

  “Neither did I, but I felt like I needed a change, so… here I am.”

  The waitress returns with our coffees and pastries. She gives Mikhail the once over with an intrigued look. He’s still handsome for a man his age, I guess. It’s a little hard for me to judge accurately. The way he ended things between us has colored my perception of him a great deal.

  He watches me intently while I stir a sweetner into my coffee. “Does he make you happy?”

  “Huh?”

  “The man that came in last night while we were talking, the one with the child. I assume that’s who you’re seeing.”

  I’m not sure how to respond. “We’re seeing each other,” I say vaguely. It’s not a lie. We do see each other plenty.

  “And does he make you happy?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “You don’t sound so sure about that, Bella.”

  “First off, don’t call me Bella. I already told you that. Secondly, why the hell do you care?”

  “I care about you a great deal. I always have, and your happiness means everything to me.”

  “Can we cut the bullshit? Do you want me to d
ance at the gala or not?”

  The corners of his mouth turn down. “Yes. Absolutely. That’s why I’m sitting here.”

  “Then let’s talk about that, and leave our personal lives out of it.”

  Mikhail nods curtly, and pulls his phone out. “I’ve been working on something.”

  “Already?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it since the night I saw you at the theater.”

  “It’s a good thing I agreed to do this then.” I take the phone from his outstretched hand and hit play on the video.

  Brooke wears a flesh colored leotard and white tights as she moves across an empty stage to no music. The choreography is a bit bolder than I expected, bordering on avant garde. Maybe some of her movements lack grace, but her execution of each Arabesque and Pirouette is flawless. Her Grande Jeté is perfect.

  “I’m working with a composer,” Mikhail points out. “With the music, it’ll be-”

  “Amazing, but I think you should have Brooke do it.”

  “I wrote it for you. I want you to do it, Bel… Anna.”

  “I won’t be able to do it this well.”

  “Brooke is a child.”

  It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes or make a face. “I’m not sure if I’d say that, but I can’t imagine she’ll be happy about giving up the lead role for an event like this.” The two galas each year are a big deal at the theatre, and Brooke was always kind of competitive, hungry for something bigger and better.

  “But this is only a short piece. She’ll be involved as well.”

  “It doesn’t feel right. If there’s someone else that can do it better...”

  He gives me a warm smile. “You never wanted anything handed to you. I always respected that. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

  “What the hell.” I start to stand up.

  Mikhail grabs my hand before I can go. “I didn’t say I was in love with you now, but you were always willing to work hard, and I know you’ll give this everything. I think you can bring a maturity and depth to it that she can’t.”

  God, why does it have to be him. I need the money this show will bring, and I’ll need it even more once the bill arrives from my most recent hospital stay.

  Plus some small, selfish part of me still wants another chance on stage. One last goodbye.

  “I’m the director,” Mikhail says. “It’s my decision, and you’re the one I want.”

  I shake my hand free of his. “I’ll do it on one condition. You and I never happened.”

  His face twists in agony. “But we did.”

  “And I think both of us sitting here can agree it was a mistake, so why keep bringing it up?”

  Mikhail sets his mouth into a thin line. “If that’s the way it has to be, I’ll never mention it again.”

  Chapter 23

  Jack

  After I put Sarah in bed that saturday night, I forced myself back into that room. The therapist I’ve seen a few times now agreed it was an important step. I can’t believe how much I’ve paid that lady to listen to me whine and tell me something I already knew.

  I don’t make piles to keep, donate, or throw away as Anna suggested. I pull all of Claire’s clothes out of the closet, and out of the drawers. Everything. Well, not everything. Her wedding dress is packed away in the attic. Sarah may want that one day, but all the rest is laying in one big heap on top of the bed. All I can do is stare at it. Why is this so hard? All of it’s been sitting here for six years rotting. It’s no good to anyone.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve stood frozen in one spot when Jamie appears in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It’s about time,” she says weakly.

  “Yup.”

  “Do you need some help?”

  I start to shake my head, then slowly nod.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to keep any of this?” Jamie asks in a thick voice.

  I nod again, and watch her roll up the bed sheet beneath it at all four corners. I should at least help, but I’m rooted in place. Drawing breath in and out is all I’m capable of at the moment. She twists the sheet together at the edges and drags it out of the room. Moments later I hear the door out front open and close, and I can see her in my mind’s eye hoisting it up into one of the empty garbage cans at the side of the house.

  When she comes back up, I’m standing in the exact same spot. She’s crying, and holding an unopened bottle of Jim Beam. “It was leftover from the party.”

  I shrug and take it from her outstretched hand. I crack it open, take a big swig and cough. Jamie laughs at the face I make. When I pass the bottle back to her, she sets it on the dresser and peers into the mostly empty closet. “What’s left?”

  “Pictures mostly.”

  Claire didn’t keep a lot of shit hanging around. She was kind of a minimalist, which makes this a lot easier, but nothing about it feels easy at the moment. Jamie pulls everything else out of the closet, and I take a few more big drinks. We sit up there for hours going through the odds and ends, and looking at those pictures.

  At some point I get drunk enough I can actually laugh at some of them. Claire captured some of the goofiest stuff. She wanted to remember everything. We took a lot of weekend trips, and she often talked me into detours to see things like an Elvis themed diner, or this museum of medical oddities. She liked to visit supposed haunted sights too, even though she didn’t believe in ghosts. She just wanted to go places. She wanted to take it all in.

  She also had this weird fascination with building fires. Our fire pit in the backyard got used all the time, and she was so particular about the way the logs and kindling were arranged. “What the hell? Why did she take pictures of all these fires?” I ask, laughing.

  “She was a pyromaniac. Remember when we were kids, and she almost caught the woods on fire?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jamie arranged a dozen or so of the fire pictures side by side in a long rectangle. “They’re kind of pretty though.”

  Every one of those fires was a night we sat out back drinking a few beers, talking, just being together.

  I dry my eyes on the inside of my shirt, and take a look around the bare walls of the room. “I’m thinking about selling this place.”

  “Really? But you two put so much work into it.”

  And that’s part of the problem. Claire is everywhere here. I’ve erased traces of her from elsewhere in the house, and she still haunts me there too. Six years after the fact, I can only assume she’s always going to be with me. “I don’t know yet. It’s just a thought, but it’s not like I need a place this big.”

  “Is this your subtle way of telling me to hit the road?” Jamie asks as she shuffles the pictures of flames into a neat stack.

  “Nah. If I did move, you could come with me.”

  “Would there be room for one more?”

  “You are not moving Wayne in here. No fucking way.”

  “We only went out a few times. It didn’t really go anywhere, and I haven’t been seeing him.”

  I groan. “Is it Cole?”

  “Not Cole.” Jamie took the bottle from my outstretched hand, and sat it on the carpet between us. For the first time I realize she hasn’t been drinking at all. I’m the one who’s downed almost a half of that bottle. Jamie picks at a piece of lint on the leg of her pants. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Nope.”

  Suddenly I feel nauseous. “Jamie, you can’t have this baby.”

  Her mouth falls open. “Yes, I can. I’m good with kids, and for all I know this might be my last chance. I’m thirty two, and I already wasted so many years waiting on Cole to pull his head out of his ass. I don’t have time to wait anymore.”

  Fresh tears blur my vision. I think I’ve cried more in the past five days than I have in the past five years. “What if something happens?”

  “I’ve already been to the
doctor. Everything looks fine.”

  “Everything looked fine with Claire too.”

  “Jack, that’s not going to happen again.”

  “I know,” I say, although I don’t know any such thing. No one knows for certain. The worst thing imaginable can happen with no warning at all. “Who’s the father?”

  “His name is Dylan.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  I huff a short laugh. “Seriously?”

  Jamie rolls her eyes. “I ran into Cole and that stupid tramp he left me for. I was upset, so I… made friends with this guy who just happened to be passing through town.”

  “And you didn’t happen to catch his last name?”

  Jamie can’t meet my eyes as she shakes her head.

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re really going to have this baby on your own?”

  “I guess.”

  “I mean, you wouldn’t be on your own. I would help you.”

  “I’m not asking for anything, Jack.”

  “You were here for me and Sarah. I would’ve never gotten through it without you.”

  “And I’ll be here in the morning when she wakes up too. You are gonna feel like dog shit tomorrow, you know that right?”

  “You could’ve just brought a beer or two up.”

  “It seemed like a whiskey kind of night.” Jamie looks around the room. “What are you going to do in here now?”

  I shrug. “Turn it into a nursery I guess.”

  “Nah. I need to get out on my own.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “I’m not leaving tomorrow, but I’ve never been on my own before, and if things keep going well with Anna…”

  I laugh bitterly.

  “Don’t fuck this up, Jack. She’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, she is pretty perfect,” I admit, but I’m not. I’m the one crying over pictures of bonfires, a wax Elvis statue, and misshapen skulls six years after the fact.

  “I’m going to turn in,” Jamie says, hoisting herself up off the floor. “You better get some sleep too. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “I’ll turn in soon,” I promise.

  Jamie pauses for a moment by the door, then closes it behind her.

  I drink some more, and look at some more pictures, not of wax Elvis, fire, or medical oddities. I stare at those pictures of Claire, and the two of us.