Could I Have This Dance?

by Harry Kraus

  “I’m sure. Can I come over to see you? When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. I want to get back to Lafayette a few days before I need to be back in the hospital.”

  “How about this evening? I could drive to Stoney Creek. We could—”

  “John,” she interrupted. “I’m not sure this should happen. I’m confused enough about my life and relationships. Maybe it’s best if we just leave things like they are.”

  “There are still things to talk about. We’ve never really processed what went wrong between us.”

  She sighed. “It’s complicated, John. It’s more than one thing. And frankly, I don’t have the energy right now to sort it all out.”

  “You have a new boyfriend?”

  She hesitated. Is that what she called Brett? “Only since our engagement was broken.”

  She could hear his breathing. His frustration was almost palpable. She knew the answer hurt him, but lying would have been worse.

  “Can I come to Lafayette to see you? After you’ve had some time to work through your feelings?”

  “Maybe.” She looked at the Bible on the kitchen table. “All I really know is that my life has been way out of balance, John. And it took losing my brother and getting away from Lafayette for me to quiet myself enough to hear.”

  “Claire, I still … well, I still have strong feelings for you.”

  The phrase brought a smile to her lips and a memory from her heart. It took John months of dating Claire exclusively before he said, “I love you.” He danced all around it, saying he cared, he had strong feelings, or he loved being with Claire, but never, “I love you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. But I know things were good between us before HD. But after, I felt so betrayed, so unloved. I couldn’t see God’s love, much less yours.”

  “Claire, you can’t blame our relationship bombing on HD.”

  “But you’d have held me tighter if I hadn’t discovered the family curse. I know that. I’ll bet you were relieved not to have to deal with it anymore.”

  “My feelings for you didn’t change because of HD.”

  It sounded nice, but Claire didn’t buy it. How could the idea of a loved one suffering such a tragedy not change his feelings? And even if the misunderstanding about Brett had precipitated their breakup, certainly his response had to have been modified by her newly found at-risk status. “Look. We’ve been through some great times together, Cerelli. I’m going to focus on what we did right. I just don’t have the energy now to figure out what we did wrong.”

  “So it’s back to Lafayette tomorrow?”

  She sensed his frustration with her schedule. “John, it’s less than two months until the second-year residents are selected. Surgery has to be my focus right now. It’s my dream.”

  “I think you should go for it. It’s right for you.”

  “Really?”

  He hesitated. “Sure.” He thickened his voice into a Scottish accent. “It’s when you feel God’s pleasure.”

  She laughed. He’d remembered, Chariots of Fire. She paused for a moment. “I’m sure we’ll talk again. I’ll let you know about the selections.”

  They said good-bye, and Claire hung up the phone before listlessly gazing at the mountains through the kitchen window. She thought about the rigors of competition in the months ahead and tried to rivet the peaceful view of the Blue Ridge securely in her mind.

  She knew she was going to need it.

  Della saw Doc Jenkins at the grocery checkout and maneuvered her cart between his and the shelves of individual candies placed at eye level for the impulse buyers. She kept her voice low and leaned over her bulging cart. “Thanks for being around during the funeral. The family appreciated your support.”

  He nodded. “Sure.” He began placing items on the black grocery conveyor.

  “I felt a piece of me die when I put that boy in the ground.” She sniffed. “Tell me, Jimmy. What did you feel?”

  Jimmy shifted his eyes around the store. “Nothing. I felt sad, of course. But what do you mean? Something special, a part of me?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “That was your boy, Jimmy. You know it, don’t you?”

  He stiffened and returned her stare. “Don’t do this, Della. Nobody knows that for sure. It was a long time ago, and now Clay’s gone, and no one will ever know for sure.”

  Della sighed. “I guess not. But I just had such a curious feeling watching his casket being lowered in the ground.” She broke eye contact and looked down. “I just wondered if I was alone.”

  “Clay was your son. Clay was Wally’s boy. He always has been and he will always stay that way in the memory of those who loved him. We’ve never had proof of anything different.” He paused and continued unloading his cart. “And now that Clay’s gone, we’ll never know anything different either.” He leaned toward Della. “But what about Claire? How is she handling the Huntington’s risk? You haven’t talked to her about us, have you?

  “Of course not. But she’s not so upset about it like Clay was.”

  “Claire is a woman of deep water, Della.”

  Della smiled. “Like her mother.”

  “There may be trouble brewing beneath the surface, and we’d never sense that something dark is lurking. She worries me.”

  “Claire is a smart girl. She can handle this.”

  “Can she keep a secret?”

  “She doesn’t need to. There’s no reason for her to know.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  On Wednesday, Claire caught an afternoon flight back to Boston and drove Brett’s Mercedes south to Lafayette. As she traveled, she back-burnered Clay’s accident, letting her thoughts simmer in hopes of stumbling across some hidden clue. And as much as she wanted to leave the police work to Detective Beckler, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they weren’t doing enough to uncover the events behind Clay’s crash.

  The one item that seemed to concern her was the new information that Dr. Jenkins had shared. Clay had just been started on a medication for anxiety. Could Clay have overdosed and have lost control because he was abusing a medication?

  She shared her newest thoughts with Brett, who had stopped over after work with a pizza.

  She watched with fascination as Brett shook a heavy dousing of crushed red pepper over a slice of sausage and mushroom. “I’m frustrated by the PD’s lack of enthusiasm. The detective I talked to promised to look into the accident, but I think he was just saying that to get me off his back. I think they just want to assume Clay fell asleep at the wheel.”

  “Why can’t you let it rest? Clay probably did fall asleep at the wheel. I think we both know we’ll never know for sure.”

  “But nothing about this thing feels right. And I get the feeling that the PD isn’t doing anything. They don’t smell a case.”

  “What detective did you talk to? Beckler?”

  “That’s the one. How did you know?”

  “I saw him the night of the accident. But then last night he paid me a visit, asking me about my truck.”

  “What?”

  “They found a chip of orange paint on the back bumper of your car. So ol’ Beckler puts on his thinking cap and remembers that I was driving an orange truck on the night of the accident. So he wants to compare the paint. I told him not to bother. I knew it’d be a match. I bumped your car the other week when I pulled in behind you out front.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you bumped my car?”

  “Claire, did you notice any paint on your bumper?”

  “No.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t tell you. It was so minor, and your car, well, it wasn’t exactly a new car or anything.”

  “Careful, Daniels. You’re insulting my car. I loved that old bomb.”

  “What is it with this detective anyway? I stop to help, and he basically twisted it all around until I was the bad guy or something.”

  She gripped his hand. “Don’t worry about it. The guy didn’t st
rike me as being the brightest guy on the block.”

  His eyes glistened as he looked back at Claire. “That whole experience was horrible for me. And to have that jerk suggest that I was responsible, well …”

  She leaned forward and put her finger on his lips. “Shh,” she said, “I know the truth. You did your best to save Clay’s life.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  She turned to the sink and began rinsing her plate in the sink. In a moment, Brett was behind her, with his lips against her neck. She chilled with the sensation of goose bumps on her arms.

  He kissed her lightly at first, then more passionately, and slipped his hands beneath her blouse.

  She stiffened and pulled away. “I’m not ready, Brett. Especially not for that.”

  He took a deep breath. “But you act ready.”

  “It’s different for me.” She paused. “I need time to sort out my feelings. I did a lot of soul-searching when I was at home.”

  “What do you want? In a relationship, what are you looking for?”

  “I always dreamed of having a Christian family.” She halted. “But finding out about Huntington’s disease has changed all that. The thought of carrying an HD gene and passing it on complicates everything.”

  “It hasn’t stopped me from wanting you.” He pulled her face forward, and she accepted the gentle caress of his lips against hers.

  “Brett,” she whispered before clearing her throat. “I need a Christian man who understands my faith.”

  He released her and met her eyes. “I’m a Christian.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Don’t look so surprised. My parents took me to church.”

  “Going to church doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a Christian.”

  “And not going doesn’t mean I’m not,” he countered.

  She sighed. “Then there’s hope for me, too.”

  “Hey, I’m just like you. I’m a resident. I don’t have time for church services. It’s the life we’ve chosen.”

  She studied his blue eyes. They were misted, full of sincerity. How can I make him understand?

  “I’ll support your religion,” he said. “I know it’s important to you.”

  But it has to be important to you, Brett. “It’s funny. I haven’t always been very good at knowing what God wants for me. He put a passion in my life for medicine, and I’ve pursued it with everything I am.” Her eyes met his. She hesitated to continue.

  “What else is in your heart, Claire? What do you feel?” He reached for her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. “Desire? Maybe God gave you that too.”

  “This year has been the worst and the best of my life. And every time I’ve been afraid, you’ve come to my rescue.” She shook her head. “And even in Clay’s accident, who was there to help?”

  She paused, looking at the hand in hers. It was beautiful, smooth and strong, with long fingers possessing the gentleness needed for delicate surgery. She turned his hand over, palm up, their fingers still intertwined. She focused on their fingers together, side by side, before letting the image blur. In that way, she couldn’t distinguish their fingers. They were together, woven in one, each one independent, but not clearly his or hers. After a moment, she wiggled her fingers, bringing them back into focus as her own.

  “I don’t know, Brett. It seems that over and over, you’ve been there when I was in trouble. Why did you stop at my house after Roger Jones threatened me? Why were you the one to help my brother? I can’t seem to shake the feeling that maybe God keeps putting you in my path.”

  “These aren’t coincidences, Claire.”

  The thought chilled her, bringing excited tingles to her shoulders again. God?

  He coaxed her forward, kissing her again, caressing her lips, his mouth warm, seeking more.

  “We need to go slow, Brett,” she cautioned, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. Brett was right. He could sense her desire to give in. But she knew she needed space, an opportunity to regain balance in her life, balance that had been upset by her dedication to surgery, and the overhanging cloud of risk that HD had become.

  She gently extended her arm, moving her hand against his chest. “If this is right … if we are right for each other, I’m sure God will keep bringing you in my path.”

  His eyes were searching. “I’m here now.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Brett,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to be distracted from my goal. A romance with you is so appealing, but—”

  “But what? How can you resist what’s in your heart?”

  She took a deep breath. A deep, cleansing breath. “HD is changing the way I look at my future. It complicates things, Brett. It complicates love, marriage, having kids, my life as a surgeon, and the way I look at the future. I may only have a few years left. I want to be sure I make the right choices.”

  “That’s why you should only live for today. Embrace love today, Claire. We don’t know what tomorrow holds.”

  She could see the hurt in his eyes. And knowing he yearned for her so badly made it agonizing to say no. She shook her head. “I need time, Brett. I want to be sure.”

  He looked away. Was he shielding his eyes, to hide his hurt? He walked to the entrance to the den before he turned around, his manly physique perfectly framed in the doorway. “Remember when we first met, how we walked on the beach?”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s do it again, Claire. I’ll make dinner Saturday night, a celebration of sorts, a toast to your commitment to making the right choices. We can stroll along the beach and dream about the future.”

  “The future,” she muttered. A dream or a nightmare? “It scares me, Brett.”

  “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be there to hold your hand.”

  She nibbled her lower lip. She didn’t want to cry.

  “Seven o’clock?”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It sounds wonderful.”

  Billy Ray Davis wasn’t used to being discarded like junk mail. Sure, he’d opened his mouth when he shouldn’t have, but he was doing it in an honest attempt to get Ramsey another case. If you could call anything that Billy Ray did “honest.” How was he to know that the tearful young woman in the chapel was Claire McCall?

  He huffed and yanked open a drawer of the metal filing cabinet in front of him. Ramsey couldn’t say he didn’t know what Billy was doing. In fact, over the years, Billy had honed the craft of squeezing his prey in just the right way to get the information he needed. And he’d done it under the tutelage of Ramsey Plank. So what gave Ramsey the right to blame everything on Billy Ray?

  He shuffled through the files in front of him, investigations past, the secret lives of clients, the dirt he’d dug, enough manure to fertilize a large vegetable garden. There had to be something here he could use to his advantage.

  Billy Ray paused and shoveled a handful of peanuts out of a glass container on his desk. He popped the nuts into his mouth, one by one, thinking of ways to even the score.

  He thought about Claire McCall, and her mistake which would cost the university a fortune.

  And he thought of Ramsey taking his third to the bank. Without Billy Ray.

  He thought about his unfortunate encounter with Claire McCall after she’d lost her brother.

  Hmmm. She asked me to talk to the Joneses and tell them about the doctor’s brother. She wanted to know if they were pleased with Ramsey’s services.

  An idea began to formulate. He slowly chewed a mouthful of peanuts. Hard thinking like this definitely demanded more calories.

  Ramsey seems to forget that I was the one who convinced Celia and Roger Jones to file this suit. I was the one who found them huddled in the hospital chapel after losing their little girl.

  Maybe it is time I paid Celia Jones a little visit, just to have a little chat about Ramsey and poor young Dr. McCall.

  The following day, Claire spent the morning nurturing her African violets and cleaning h
er neglected house. It wasn’t exactly her favorite vacation activity, but things had deteriorated to a level of intolerance for her, and the minuteness of sweeping and dusting seemed to settle her soul.

  At noon, she called Detective Beckler. She wanted an update, and he hadn’t returned her call.

  His voice was muffled, and she imagined him at his desk with a large deli sandwich. “I haven’t had much in the way of luck, Dr. McCall. Everything seems to check out okay.”

  “What about the skid marks? A sleeping man doesn’t brake.”

  “He does if startled awake just before running off the road.”

  Claire nodded. “Brett Daniels told me you talked to him about his truck.”

  “Another dead end,” he groaned.

  She heard a slurping noise. Make that a large deli sandwich and a drink. You probably don’t do diet soda, do you, sir?

  “What about Roger Jones? Did you ask him about chasing me?”

  “He’s got an alibi. His wife claims he was at church all evening.” He paused, and Claire could hear the rattle of a foil bag.

  Make that a large deli sandwich, drink, and a bag of chips.

  “I’m no judge, Mr. Beckler, but Roger Jones doesn’t seem the type to spend a midweek evening in church.”

  “His wife claims that she’s been trying to get him to come for a long time. He hadn’t gone since the funeral of his little—Oh, say, Dr. McCall, I’m sorry to bring that up.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Anyway, she says that her niece was being baptized, or something. He agreed to come and stood in front of the whole congregation for the ceremony. She said she’d give me a list of members if I wanted to question witnesses.”

  “Oh, I saw him at church. He chased me out of the parking lot.”

  “But that’s not her story. She says seeing you there flipped him out, that he wasn’t about to go in if you were there. So he stormed off. She says they weren’t chasing you.” He paused and slurped his drink. “Ms. Jones said she finally got him calmed down enough to return to the church.”