Pretending to Dance

by Diane Chamberlain

  I felt a chill from a couple of the sisters. A “what’s that white girl doing in our kitchen?” sort of chill, but maybe I was mistaken. Maybe they just had chillier personalities, but when you were the outsider, it was easy to misinterpret. The others were really nice to me, one of them handing me a sharper knife as I moved from chopping pickles to slicing tomatoes, and another told me I had the prettiest blue eyes. “They’re just like your daddy’s, aren’t they,” she said.

  “Rusty loves working for your family,” Russell’s mother said as she sprinkled paprika on the tops of the deviled eggs. Her graying hair was pulled back in a bun, and her face, unlike mine, was dry, as though her body had long ago gotten used to the heat of her kitchen. “He says you’re real nice folks.”

  A bunch of responses went through my head. How we really couldn’t get by without him. How he seemed to figure out what Daddy needed before Daddy even knew it himself. How he could do the most horrible tasks without complaint. “He’s more like family to us than just somebody working for us,” I said, the words surprising me. They sounded adult and I’d never verbalized them before, but they were the truth. I felt a couple of the sisters turn their heads toward me when I said it. One of them, Ree-Ree, laughed and said something I couldn’t hear under her breath.

  “Shut up, Ree,” Wanda said. I felt my cheeks color, wondering if Ree-Ree had been mocking what I’d said.

  “Everybody Rusty ever worked for says that,” his mother said proudly, ignoring whatever was going on between her daughters.

  It was the first time I thought of Russell working for someone else. I knew he’d had other aide jobs before he came to us, but now I felt jealous of those people. I wanted him to be ours forever.

  “But I never heard him like a job as much as this one,” Wanda said. I could tell she had a way of smoothing things over. The peacemaker in the family, I thought, like Aunt Claudia, and I looked at her with gratitude.

  * * *

  When all the food was ready and had been carried outside, Daddy and I sat at the table closest to the house. The Temptations were singing “Treat Her Like a Lady” from the boom box. I offered to feed Daddy so Russell could hang out with his family. Russell had a foot in two worlds, I realized, watching him joke around with his cousins and sisters. As comfortable and content as he seemed in our world, here he moved with a different sort of ease, his body relaxed, a perpetual smile on his face. I watched how he related to the women who were there, keeping my eye out for the one he told he loved on the phone, but he seemed to be related in some way to every single person he talked to. Maybe it had been Wanda or his mother on the phone, I thought, relieved. Seeing how close he was to his family, it would make perfect sense that he told one of them, “Love you, too.”

  “Now this is the way barbecue should taste,” Daddy said after swallowing a bite of the pork. He then got into a heated debate with Wanda’s husband, who sat across from us and who was from the eastern part of the state, where the barbecue sauce was vinegar based instead of tomato based, and if Daddy could have used his fists, I think they would have ended up duking it out. He was happy, though, and he didn’t seem to care a bit about the calories he was consuming. I must have fed him a dozen hush puppies along with the pork and all the sides that came with it, followed by a big bowl of to-die-for banana pudding. Once I’d given in to the fact that we were going to be hours later getting home than I’d hoped, I felt a sense of contentment come over me. Daddy was happy. Russell was practically glowing with the joy of seeing his family. I had New Kids concert tickets, sparkly fingernails, and purple Doc Martens, and with any luck, in a couple of hours I’d be on the phone with the boy who had captured my heart.

  33

  I thought something had changed at home while we were away. It was more of a feeling than something I could see or hear, and I knew it the moment we pulled up in front of our house and Mom came running down the porch steps to greet us in her white pharmacist coat. I’d gotten out of the van and she ran right past me and up the ramp to get to my father. I saw her crouch down next to his chair, one of her hands wrapping around his wrist, her other reaching up to touch his face. I turned away, jarred by the sheer intensity of her emotions. I caught Russell’s eye as he waited to unlock Daddy’s chair, and he quickly looked away from me. I felt alone, standing there. Alone and left out. And I remembered something Dani had said: She had to take you in to hold on to Uncle Graham. For the first time, I wondered if that was the truth.

  * * *

  There was an envelope addressed to me on the table in the hallway. No return address, but I knew who it was from and I stared at the way he’d written my name and address. I loved his handwriting. It was more like printing, actually, boxy and with a backward slant. It was very masculine, I thought. I carried my suitcase and the envelope upstairs, where I sat on my bed and tore it open. A note fell out along with a photograph. On the phone, he’d told me the picture was lame, but I thought it was beautiful. His hair was shorter than it was now and his blue-gray eyes were heavy-lidded and definitely sexy. His smile was cockeyed, and I couldn’t remember if it really looked like that or if it was just that way in this picture. He had a dimple in his left cheek. I didn’t remember that at all. It made sense that there were so many details I couldn’t remember, though; I’d seen him exactly once. And I desperately needed to see him again.

  As soon as I unpacked, I called Stacy from my bedroom phone to tell her about the concert tickets. I’d been worried that she wouldn’t be all that excited about the concert—she was far more into Bryan these days than the New Kids—but she screamed so loudly into the phone that I had to hold it away from my ear, and I grinned, relieved.

  “That is so cool!” she said. “And we’ll stay overnight in Atlanta? I’ll ask my mom, but I know she’ll say yes. Have you called Chris yet?”

  “As soon as I get off the phone with you.”

  “He is really into you, Molly,” she said. “I know he can’t wait to see you again.”

  “Me, either,” I said, and I got off the phone as quickly as I could, anxious to call him.

  * * *

  “So, who did you cut out of that picture you sent me?” Chris asked, right after we’d said hello. I heard the smile in his voice. I could picture his eyes and his long eyelashes. I could imagine that dimple flashing in his left cheek.

  “Just a friend,” I said.

  “Well, I’m glad you cut her—or him—out so I could just focus on you.”

  He was so sweet! “It was a her,” I said. “And thanks for your picture, too. It’s so good.”

  I told him about the tickets to the New Kids concert and was relieved when he said he thought it was cool Stacy and I would get to go.

  “This’ll be your first concert?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Awesome,” he said. “Me and Bryan saw Aerosmith in Charlotte a few months ago. It’s such a different experience, hearing a band live.”

  “Was that your first concert?” I asked.

  “Hell no!” He laughed. “That was Van Halen, 1984. So awesome. You never forget your first concert.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said.

  He was quiet a moment. “You never forget your first time, either.” He spoke slowly, as though he wanted me to get his meaning. It took me a minute, and when I caught on, my stomach knotted up and I didn’t know what to say. He kept on talking. “I want to be your first time, Molly,” he said.

  Oh my God. I couldn’t believe he’d come right out and say that to me. I was both happy and flustered. “I … um,” I stammered. “I’d like that, too,” I said, “but not for a while. Okay? I’m really … I just don’t want to…”

  He laughed. “Relax,” he said. “We have all the time in the world.”

  “Right,” I said, relieved.

  “But seriously, now, Molly.” His voice sounded so grown-up all of a sudden. He sounded like a man. “When do I get to see you again?”

  * * *

  A
t dinner that night—just salads for Daddy and me, since we were still stuffed from the pig pickin’—Mom told us that Uncle Trevor had brought a survey team out to look at Morrison Ridge while we were away. Her voice was tight as she talked.

  Maybe this is why everything feels different, I thought. Mom was upset over whatever Uncle Trevor was up to.

  “I told him to stay off our acreage,” Mom said, as she held a forkful of lettuce in front of Daddy’s mouth, “but I doubt he listened. He was already three sheets to the wind when I talked to him and it was only two in the afternoon.”

  My father shook his head, frowning. “His drinking has gotten way out of hand,” he said.

  “I’m almost certain Jim and Claudia let him on their land,” Mom said. “I don’t think they see the harm in it, and Trevor can walk all over Claudia.”

  Daddy ignored the lettuce. “Does my mother know he had a surveyor out here?” he asked.

  Mom shook her head as she lowered the fork back to my father’s salad bowl. “He’s keeping her in the dark,” she said.

  “Son of a bitch.” There was an uncharacteristic growl in Daddy’s voice. “He can be a selfish bastard when he wants to be.”

  “What does it all mean?” I asked, shaken by Daddy’s rare anger. We’d had such a good time on the tour and he’d been so upbeat. Now his good mood was disintegrating before my eyes, and I was angry with Uncle Trevor for being the cause.

  “He’s gathering more ammunition to try to persuade us to sell some of our land,” Daddy explained. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. He’s wasting his time and riling everyone up, that’s all.”

  I had a feeling it was worse than that, but Daddy abruptly changed the subject, asking my mother how the plans were going for the midsummer party. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about Trevor and the land anymore.

  “We met to assign tasks while you were away,” Mom said. “You and Molly are supposed to select the music. Bess says we need something for all ages, so you’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  “Nanny likes big band music and Frank Sinatra stuff,” I said, happy to get my father’s mind on something other than Uncle Trevor. I didn’t like Nanny’s taste in music myself, but I guessed she was right: we should have something for everyone.

  “Jim is planning to have a beer tasting,” Mom continued. “Claudia and I have been baking up a storm and freezing everything, and we’re hiring a couple of college kids to walk around with hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine.”

  “Fancy,” Daddy said. He sipped water through the straw my mother held to his lips.

  “We’ll check the weather a couple of days before to make sure we don’t need to set up the tent over the pavilion,” Mom said.

  Daddy groaned. “I hope not. Major production, during which I can only help by shouting directions that are never appreciated.” He smiled at me, but it looked like it took some effort. I remembered someone’s birthday party a couple of years ago when we had to set up the tent. Uncle Trevor ended up cussing Daddy out, shouting something like, “If you don’t like the way we’re doing it, you can come up here and do it yourself!”

  “What about chairs?” Daddy asked.

  “Trevor and Jim already carted them to the pavilion. They’re under tarps for now. They set up the lights, too. And the trash cans. And the volleyball net in case anyone feels like breaking an ankle in that rutted field in the dark.”

  Daddy sighed. “I’m exhausted just thinking about all the work they’ve done.” He sounded sad and I wished I had a magic wand to lift his spirits again. He shook his head at the cherry tomato Mom held on the fork in front of him.

  “Well,” I said brightly, “we’re taking care of the music, which is actually way more challenging than carting chairs across the field.”

  My parents looked at me with blank expressions on their faces. Then Daddy gave me a tired smile. “Nice try, Moll,” he said.

  “Well, it is challenging,” I insisted. “Putting together mix tapes and everything. We have to use our brains. Anyone can cart a bunch of chairs across a field.”

  “If you say so,” Daddy said. He really was tired.

  Mom looked at me. “You’ve invited Stacy, right?” she asked.

  “Right.” I was so tempted to ask if I could invite Chris and Bryan, too, but I didn’t dare. Daddy had never said another word about that crazy day at Stacy’s, and I didn’t want to remind him of it.

  * * *

  After dinner, Mom and I cleaned the kitchen while Russell got Daddy ready for bed. The trip had finally caught up with my father and he wanted to turn in early. I worried that all the talk about Uncle Trevor and the land had gotten him down and I was so angry at my uncle. Why did he have to stir things up? Did he realize how he was hurting my father? Did he realize how he was hurting everybody?

  I was loading the dishwasher, dancing a little to the music in my head, when I noticed my mother reach into the pocket of her white pharmacy coat where she’d hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Then she opened the cabinet near the stove and I could see one end of Daddy’s white-and-blue stained-glass pencil case sticking out from behind a bowl on the middle shelf. So that’s where the case was. Weird. I started to ask her what it was doing there, but something stopped me. I watched as she opened the case and dropped whatever had been in her hand inside it.

  Closing the cabinet door, she picked up a dirty glass from the counter and handed it to me. “He had a good time on the tour, didn’t he?” she asked. Her voice was soft and pensive.

  “He really did,” I said, drying my hands on a dish towel. “I think he loved every minute.”

  She reached out to touch my hair. “How was it for you, Molly?” she asked. Her voice was as tender as I’d ever heard it. “I worried it was too much responsibility for you, keeping those two men in line.” She smiled.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “They’re wild and crazy, all right.” I stuck out my foot. “See what Daddy bought me?”

  “Your Doc Martens!” she said. “I didn’t notice them till now.”

  Of course she didn’t, since she’d barely looked at me since we got home. But I felt her attention on me now that my father was no longer in the room to absorb it.

  “I love them,” I said. “And he bought me this cool nail polish, too.” I held out my hand and she took it in hers and studied my nails. I felt the warmth of her fingers and was surprised that I didn’t want her to let go of me. I thought of how Daddy was always after me to have deep conversations with her, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if that might be possible.

  “It’s so you,” she said, freeing my hand, and I was slow to lower it to my side. Then she picked up the sponge from the rim of the sink and began wiping down the counter. “By the way, honey,” she said, “there’s another family meeting next Tuesday night. Nanny will be at this one, so do you want to ask Stacy if you could sleep over—as long as her mother will be home?”

  Perfect, I thought. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll ask her.” Maybe Chris and Bryan could come over, and maybe Stacy’s mom would go upstairs and we’d have the living room to ourselves.

  I could dream, couldn’t I?

  34

  San Diego

  “Molly?”

  I sit at attention at my desk, my phone to my ear. By now, I recognize Zoe’s voice. I’m between client appointments at work. Every once in a while, I imagine Zoe will call to tell me Perky Patti needs to talk to me again. Since your home study, we’ve had some reports of your instability and Patti just wants to have a little chat with you.

  “Zoe?” I say into the phone.

  “Yes, it’s me. With some very good news!”

  I stand up from my desk and shut my office door.

  “Tell me,” I say. I sound like I’m pleading. I long for good news.

  “Sienna has changed her mind again,” Zoe says. “She’s been meeting with Kate, one of our counselors, and has decided she’d like to place her baby. She really would like to talk
to you and Aidan, but she’s a bit embarrassed by how she handled things before. Are you two still willing to meet with her?”

  “Yes!” I say. Maybe this was why I’ve been unable to stop thinking about Sienna despite our one brief contact. Have I been on her mind the way she’s been on mine? In the last week, though, I’ve tried hard to take Aidan’s advice and relax. He’s made it easy for me. We’ve taken walks through Kensington after dinner each evening and gone to the movies twice and out to dinner with friends once and we’ve made love. A lot. I took sleeping pills all week to try to keep Amalia out of my dreams and it’s worked. Aidan had been right. I needed to chill. And here, finally, is the payoff.

  “We’d love to meet with her,” I say.

  “She said she could meet you for lunch this Saturday if that works for you, but she’d rather not meet in Leucadia. She doesn’t want to bump into any of the girls she goes to school with. They’re still giving her a hard time.”

  Poor kid, I think. “We can meet in San Diego then,” I say, and I tell Zoe the name of a restaurant in Old Town. We set up a time, and when I hang up the phone, I sit still, eyes closed, trying to breathe. I’m so afraid to get my hopes up and don’t want to be alone with the anxiety for another moment. I reach for the phone again and dial Aidan’s number.

  35

  Morrison Ridge

  The afternoon before the party, Mom, Aunt Claudia, and Aunt Toni bustled around our kitchen, thawing all the food they’d been making over the last week and putting together a bunch of appetizers and desserts. The flurry of activity reminded me of the kitchen at Russell’s family’s pig pickin’, only our kitchen was bigger and brighter and quieter and you didn’t have to duck your head when you walked through the doorway of the room. The sense of anticipation was the same, though. Everyone was working hard and looking forward to tonight.

  While the food was being prepared, I sat on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, decorating my father’s wheelchair. He was napping, so I had the chair to myself for an hour or so. I unspooled Amalia’s long rolls of red, white, and blue crepe paper, weaving the streamers through the spokes of his big back wheels. I used to really get into decorating his chair for special events, but now it seemed sort of lame. I had the feeling this would be the last time I did it. I doubted he would mind.