Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  Sue begrudgingly nodded. “So keep her enrolled in that crazy class, but you’ve got to set some limits on that teacher.”

  “Actually, I can’t.”

  “You set limits with Eloise, and she’s strong-willed. That flighty teacher shouldn’t be any harder.”

  “Penelope won’t be teaching anymore.”

  “Have you been encouraging Eloise’s ideas about that teacher being her new mommy? I saw how you looked at her at that class last week as she pranced around half naked.”

  After last night, he couldn’t imagine Penelope doing anything half way, especially being nude. Besides, as he recalled, she had been wearing her standard dance fare: tights, leotard, and a skirt. If anything, she was more covered up than usual, wearing long sleeves and hiding her slender arms.

  “You’ll never find anyone as devoted as Catherine, but even you could do better — someone smart, mature.”

  “This is ridiculous!” His headache worsened, as had his mood. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. Catherine died, but I shouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life in a sort of monastic lifestyle. You’ll be happy to know Penelope is moving to New York.”

  Even he heard the anger in his voice and knew it would get him nowhere. He took a gulp of coffee, trying to regroup. Remembering how helpful his in-laws had been the last few years, he tried another tract.

  “Sue, we both love Eloise and neither of us wants to see her hurt. She’s suffered enough heartbreak in her short life.”

  He dreaded his daughter’s reaction to Penelope’s departure. Now, more than ever, he couldn’t afford broken ties with his in-laws.

  This time Sue reached across the table, patting his hand. “Don’t add to it by playing the fool. The sooner that woman leaves town, the better.”

  • • •

  The next few days passed in a blur. He had only one surgery on his schedule, but lots of follow up appointments. He struggled to keep track of his cases, having to rely more and more on his notes. If only he could sleep better … but he hadn’t slept well since curled around Penelope in what seemed like another lifetime. Most evenings, Eloise fluttered around the house, wondering what the fairies would leave her the next time she rebuilt their house. Who knew an icicle would bring a child so much joy? She created paper dresses for the fairies to wear in their newly expanded house and hung up sloppy paper snowflakes she made by herself. She set aside her favorites to show Miss Penny. He knew Eloise would be crushed in a matter of days when Penelope left town permanently. This week, at least, she’d been delighted to receive a postcard from her. In one small way, Penelope had kept her word.

  He supposed she’d been right to ask for the chance to say goodbye to Eloise on her own terms. When she called, he would allow them their day of fun. He owed it to Eloise. He wished he had a better grasp on what he owed himself.

  On Friday, he returned home and checked his answering machine. As he scuttled around the kitchen, grabbing plates and cups for Pizza Night while Eloise put out napkins and silverware, Penelope’s sunny voice sang out. “Hi Carson, it’s Penelope Glazier. I have a line on some tickets for the special exhibit at the Art Institute for December twenty-fourth. I need to know tonight if that would work out or if you two already have plans. Otherwise, I’d like to take Eloise on the free day on the twenty-seventh. Please return my call when you have a chance.”

  “Daddy, Miss Penny called!”

  “Yes, sweetie.” She sounded so formal, like when she first called to convince him to register Eloise for the creative movement class. He missed her normal enthusiasm, the sense that at any moment she would burst into laughter.

  “You have to call her now, Daddy! I want to talk to her, please!”

  “Our pizza will get cold.” He’d be more comfortable calling later, in case unresolved issues from last weekend came up. Like him begging her to stay.

  Eloise looked ready to lash out either at him, the dinnerware, or the pizza box. The bridge of her nose seemed to narrow as she scrunched up the skin around her eyes. Distraction sometimes worked. So did moving her to another place. Tonight he tried a new technique — compromise.

  “We’ll call Miss Penny after you’ve had at least one slice of pizza.”

  His normally leisurely eater finished her pizza in record time. He groaned, realizing he’d shoveled in three slices during that same time. He looked up Penelope’s number for appearance’s sake, though he committed it to memory several weeks ago. It rang three times. He prepared himself to leave a message when a breathless voice answered.

  “Hello?” Why did she sound so out of breath? Did she have a man at her apartment? Had he misjudged her character?

  “Hello, is this Miss Glazier?”

  “Yes.” She sounded cautious.

  “This is Eloise’s father returning your call. Is this an okay time to talk?”

  “Certainly. I was practicing, so I’m a bit winded. If you don’t mind, I’ll put you on speaker phone so I can stretch and avoid a muscle cramp.”

  He exhaled. She had to be alone if she was willing to use the speaker phone. He relaxed, questioning his jealous response. She’d decided to cut him from her life, pursuing the spotlight. He needed to distance himself, even if he couldn’t manage a complete break until Penelope and Eloise shared their goodbyes.

  “You called about Christmas Eve, right? Actually, Eloise and I are going to Christmas Eve services with her grandparents, so that won’t work.”

  The background clonking stopped. She sounded different, that cool professional edge returning to her voice. “Actually, these are daytime tickets. I can get up to four tickets for a guaranteed ten-thirty entry into the Degas exhibit. If we went on the twenty-seventh, Eloise and I would have to arrive early to get in line for the special tickets and even then, we could end up with as late as a four P.M. entry time, if we even get in. I need to double-check the train schedule, but I should be able to have her back home no later than three on the twenty-fourth, if that would be acceptable. Degas did all the paintings and sculptures of dancers. I thought Eloise would like it.” Excitement returned to her voice as she talked about the museum.

  “I know who Degas is. I’m not a complete cultural dolt.” He scowled. Eloise aped his expression and he softened, amused by her efforts.

  “I never said you were.”

  “The twenty-fourth is fine on one condition — I get to join you. You said you could get up to four tickets.” He justified his presence under the guise of protecting Eloise, but really, he wanted to watch Penelope sharing her joy with Eloise. He missed her more than he wanted to admit.

  “Great!”

  “And don’t worry about the train schedule. I’ll drive.”

  Chapter 7

  After breakfast, Penelope changed clothes four times trying to find the right outfit. She wanted something casual, yet sexy. Something that said, “Eat your heart out, Carson,” without being over the top. She settled on a blue knit wrap dress with boots and a trench coat. She took similar care with her hair and make-up, striving for pretty, not fussy. Lastly, she put on a silver basic chain necklace, the only grown-up looking jewelry in her possession. She slipped two blank notebooks and a small pack of twist-up colored pencils into her purse. Anxious for their arrival, she put on some music and sang along.

  As much as she wanted to see Eloise today, seeing Carson would be bittersweet. She didn’t understand why he’d been so angry that she was auditioning. She never hid her intention to do so. If she focused on his hostility, she could avoid her own guilt. She couldn’t forget the look of shock and hurt on his face when she accused him of loving his dead wife. She spoke in anger, saying words best left in her head. She wasn’t proud of her actions, at least not those during the light of day. The night, on the other hand …

  Pounding on the door startled her. She hoped they hadn’t
been out there long. She opened the door. Heat rose in her cheeks at the sight of him. She quickly shifted her gaze to Eloise, resplendent in her purple coat. Her smile softened.

  “Come in while I get my coat.”

  Eloise bounded in and Carson followed, looking less delighted than his daughter.

  She watched as Eloise’s eyes grew wide as took in the space. “I brought you a present, Miss Penny! That looks just like dance school with all the mirrors! I can see your bed! Do you have a bathroom? Why is your Christmas tree so small? Were you singing just now?”

  She laughed and swung Eloise around twice. “One at a time. Those mirrors are my pretend studio. You can see my bed because I have just one big room for everything, not separate rooms for sleeping, playing, and eating like you do. I do have a bathroom, and you could use it if you would like.”

  “No, thank you. I want you to open your present now. I wrapped it myself.”

  “Okay. Let’s go by my little tree. I only have a little tree because I live in a little apartment. My parents live in the house by the driveway. I helped them decorate their big tree and I’ll spend Christmas Day with them. I’ll turn off the music — and yes, that was me singing.”

  She struggled through many layers of tape, until Eloise helped her find the box hidden underneath the paper. Lifting the lid, she exclaimed, “How lovely! Did you make these snowflakes for me?”

  “Yes.” The little girl beamed with pride, reminding her of their moments in the classroom.

  “Thank you.” She wrapped the girl in a hug. “I’ll put them on my window later today, all except for this one. I’ll fold it up right now and put it in my wallet so I’ll always have something special to remind me of you.”

  “I’m right here, silly.” Eloise gave her a big wet kiss on the cheek. It was so sweet, she just wanted to wrap her arms tighter around her and never leave. Her eyes grew moist at the thought of not watching her grow into the wonderful person she would be.

  A loud clap interrupted the moment.

  “Let’s go, girls. We don’t want to miss our tour time at the museum.”

  • • •

  Glimpsing the long list of entry times with the words “sold out” beside them, Penelope sighed with relief and rubbed the tickets in her hand. She owed her parents’ friends a big thank you for the tickets. Even with advance tickets, they waited in line for fifteen minutes before entering the special Degas exhibit. Fortunately Eloise chattered away, making the time fly by. By focusing on Eloise, she could try to forget the taciturn man beside them.

  As they neared the ticket collector, she pulled out the notebooks and two plain pencils, handing one of each to Eloise.

  “I saw how nicely you wrote your name on the card for me today. I thought you might like this book so you can write down your favorite works of art. I’ll write down mine, too. Either your daddy or I can help you if the words are too long. I even have some colored pencils in case you would like to make a drawing of the art.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Penny!” She turned to Carson. “See my pretty book, Daddy?”

  Watching him admire the simple sketchpad his daughter held, she nearly threw her arms around both of them. She wanted to hold them close and never let them go. But she couldn’t. Today was about fun, but it was also goodbye. In a few days, she’d return to New York, staying there just long enough to ring in the New Year and pack up her belongings. One of the theme parks wanted her for a third audition and fitting. She expected she’d receive a formal job offer at that time. She might see them again, but it would be different. They would be casual friends, there to enjoy the rides and perhaps share a meal or two with her. Under no circumstances would there be bed sharing.

  She needed to protect her heart. Today was the last day she’d allow herself to be open to Eloise. It was too late where Carson was concerned. She understood that every step she took physically closer to him added another string connecting her heart to his. The severing would hurt more than when her harness broke all those months ago.

  • • •

  Carson let Penelope lead the way. She had planned this trip and he’d tagged along for selfish reasons. It hurt, watching her interact with Eloise. She let Eloise’s interests guide them, reading aloud about each piece of art that captured his daughter’s attention. She pointed out small details about fabric folds and named the different poses in each image. After a leisurely turn through the packed crowds of the Degas exhibit, they entered the modern art gallery.

  He wanted to stay angry with her. It would simplify his life since she planned to abandon him after doing the unthinkable and making him feel alive. He hoped today he’d find a new reason to dislike her, but so far she’d been nothing but kind and thoughtful. Heck, she’d been patient listening to Eloise invent songs in the car, even asking her to teach them to her. Listening to Penelope sing about abandoned cars on the side of the road, he imagined her singing lullabies to a very lucky child. He nearly ran off the road when he realized the vision took place in his house with him standing in the doorway. He couldn’t think about what a great mother and partner she would be. It was just another way of setting himself up for heartache.

  They chatted amicably, sticking to safe topics like the art in front of them and the weather. He tried not to think about how that dress made her eyes bluer than ever or how it draped across her like a second skin, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew it wasn’t right, but every time she slipped a step or two ahead of him, he took in the rear view, trying to determine if she wore underwear or not. She guided them to the museum’s permanent collection of impressionists just outside the Degas exhibit.

  She touched his shoulder to get his attention. Her fingertip grazed the skin on his neck, making his skin flush with anticipation of further touches. It wasn’t fair. Why had he set himself up for this torture knowing she was, in essence, already gone?

  “Excuse me. I see an acquaintance of mine. I simply must go say hi.” She turned to Eloise. “Make sure you stay with your daddy while I talk to a friend. Let me give you the colored pencils now so you can draw your favorite picture in this room for me.”

  His little girl’s eyes sparkled with delight as she clapped her hands and accepted the pencils.

  He watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips and confident strides. Then he saw her “friend.” The man was a little taller than her, but if she wore heels she’d be his height if not taller. He wore an expensive sweater and the sort of slightly floppy haircut that only male models and actors can get away with. She gestured to capture his attention, a flirty finger wave. The man recognized her, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.

  Carson chomped on the inside of his lip, trying to alleviate some of the tension growing in him. He watched as the man put both hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. His fingers clenched almost involuntarily. He needed action. He rested one hand on his daughter’s shoulder, trying to guide her close enough so he could hear their conversation. She stubbornly stomped her foot, refusing to move until she finished her drawing. The din of the museum drowned out all but the closest of conversations, but it couldn’t silence the voice in his head that told him he was a fool.

  • • •

  Penelope couldn’t believe her luck. Summoning her professional confidence, she took leave of her companions and walked right up to one of the most interesting choreographers working today. She had an in, so she could be more than a fawning fan or someone appearing as desperate for a job as she actually was.

  “Felix Hart, is that really you?”

  The man turned. Confusion and a flicker of recognition flashed across his features as he affirmed his name.

  “You probably don’t remember me, but we met at a festival in Marseilles several years ago and then again in Edinburgh. You received top honors at both, as I recall.”

  “Yes, yes.”
Felix spoke with a heavy Austrian accent at first, but then mellowed into strange hybrid of British English, American English, and German. “You were the principal with the group that came in second in Edinburgh. What was it called? Some type of biscuit.”

  “The Graham Project. Yes.”

  “Remind me of your name again?”

  “Penelope Glazier.”

  “Ah, Mez Glazier. What a pleasure to meet you again.” He kissed her in the continental fashion. “Where have you and your legs been hiding? I haven’t seen you for at least a year.”

  She was flattered he remembered her. He met hundreds of dancers vying for his attention at the festivals.

  “The company folded for lack of funding. I toured the U.S. with a production of Peter Pan, but that’s over with now. I’ve got a few auditions lined up over the next few weeks, nothing likely to go to a festival though.”

  He clucked his tongue as his eyes slid approvingly along her body. “Such a waste. As I recall you have excellent bending and balancing.”

  So far, so good, she thought to herself. Better than good. “Tell me, Herr Hart, why are you in Chicago for Christmas? I thought you lived in Europe.”

  “Felix. Love does strange things to a man, as my Jules says.” Remembering he was the touchy-feely type, she lightly touched his arm as they laughed. “And you, Ms. Glazier? Why are you at the museum?”

  “Penelope, please. I’m visiting my parents. They live in the suburbs. I love the Art Institute. It’s so inspiring, even without the Degas exhibit.”

  “Yes, I love it, too. That one with the farmer and the Chagall. Wonderful, wonderful. It has given me whole new ideas.” He spoke rapidly, his accents and languages getting more and more tangled as he grew more enthusiastic. He gestured about the room, drawing attention from other patrons. When he gestured toward the far corner, she noticed Carson glowering and chewing his lip.