Ask a Shadow to Dance (2 page)

“I’m glad you approve.” She was teasing, he knew. She’d always liked his hair collar-length and his beard neatly trimmed. She thought it made him look distinguished. He sometimes cut his hair and got rid of the beard during the summer. His older brother Joe—Marilu’s father—thought it made him
look younger. At thirty-five he was just beginning to give that consideration some thought. Fran had preferred him without the beard. Every time he thought about shaving it, he saw Fran’s face in the mirror, heard her laughter. In time, maybe he’d be able to shave it. But not yet.

A five-piece orchestra on the port side of the room played modern easy-rock selections as well as classic favorites. The room had been decorated to resemble its late nineteenth century counterpart, even though the ballrooms of the truly palatial riverboats would have been much larger, with chandeliers and grand staircases. Servers in black tuxedos threaded their way through the dancers with trays of canapés and sparkling white grape juice in champagne glasses. Pink and white flowers, floating in crystal bowls of tinted water, scented the room as the water swayed gently with the movement of the boat.

David had been glad to escort Marilu when Joe couldn’t attend the important function. A photographer elbowed his way past, around the perimeter of the dance floor, snapping pictures of dancing couples for
The Commercial Appeal
. If Marilu didn’t dance soon, she might be overlooked and miss the opportunity to have her picture in the newspaper tomorrow. David couldn’t let that happen.

“May I have this dance?” Her fingers, long and graceful, nails polished to the same hue as her dress, felt cool in his hand. Debutantes once wore gloves, but that custom seemed to have been abandoned. Fran had worn gloves even though the fashion had passed. She liked the gentility of quieter, more peaceful times.

A tap on his shoulder interrupted the waltz.

“May I cut in?”

The young man was dressed in tuxedo pants with a white dinner jacket. A pink rose decorated the lapel. His dark hair shone with careful grooming. His eyes never left Marilu’s face.

Watching them waltz away, David envied them. They were young and full of hope and expectation.

He’d been full of hope at fifteen, too. His dream to become a doctor had been realized when he graduated from the University of Tennessee with honors. Then he met Fran during his first year of residency at the Memphis Medical Center. She was assistant director in the Medical Records department. Her notes to David in files that lacked certain forms or signatures began professionally enough, but when she’d written, “How about signing these over dinner tonight? My place. Eight o’clock,” he’d rushed through afternoon rounds so he could get home, shower, dress, and arrive on her doorstep fifteen minutes early, wearing the best clothes he could afford as a resident.

She was everything he had ever wanted.

They had dinner that night, then went dancing on the weekend. He waltzed her into his heart, almost without trying. They were married. A year later, Alyssa was born, making their family complete. After the accident, when they’d both been tragically torn away, David couldn’t heal. Even five years later, he felt wounded and tender when thoughts of them surfaced.

Marilu and her dance partner approached. She had a sappy look on her face.

“Phillip Warner, I’d like you to meet my uncle, Doctor David Stewart. Phillip has just moved to Germantown from Midtown. He lives only a few blocks from us. He’ll be going to my high school.”

David shook hands with Phillip, noting a similar sappy expression on his face. “Have you ridden the
Memphis Queen III
before?”

“No, sir.
My family has lived in Memphis forever, but we’ve never ridden the riverboats. I’ll have to tell everyone how much fun it is.”

It was unfortunately true that many Memphis residents were never involved with the river or the part of Memphis that depended on the river. Memphis had become an “edge” city—most of its citizens living around the perimeter in the suburbs instead of in the interior. Joe had been urging David to move to Germantown for months. It was tempting, but he liked Midtown. Fran had loved it there.

He excused himself. Marilu and Phillip went toward the refreshment table. Lisette had to be among the crowd somewhere. A woman didn’t get off a riverboat in the middle of a cruise. Not easily, anyway. And she had to be the only woman dressed entirely in black.

After searching every inch of the boat, he was forced to admit she simply wasn’t there. How could she vanish?

Someone might recognize Jacob Morgan’s name. He questioned each of the chaperons, the crew and musicians. The General Manager of the Memphis Queen Riverboat Line, a good friend of David’s, was on board. The crew had lured him onto this cruise, then surprised him with a cake covered in candles, and a new cap to replace the one he’d been wearing for at least the last six months. David wished him Happy Birthday. He grinned his usual “Can you believe it?” grin, then checked the passenger list. Neither Jacob nor Lisette Morgan was listed. He had lived in Memphis all his life but was completely unfamiliar with Jacob Morgan or his daughter. He did remember reading about a company called Morgan Enterprises while at the University of Memphis, but that was in a history course. David thanked him for his help and let him get back to the party.

Even though it seemed pointless, he watched for Lisette the remainder of the evening. She never reappeared.

At midnight, when the
Queen III
docked and everyone prepared to disembark, Marilu and Phillip approached David with dreamy expressions. He knew without asking that Marilu was “in love.”

“Uncle David, Phillip has something to ask you.”

“Sir, I would appreciate the opportunity to drive Marilu home this evening.” He flexed his fingers repeatedly, shifting weight from one foot to the other, digging at his tight collar.

David remembered being that nervous once. And that speech! Did kids even think in such terms as “appreciate the opportunity” any more? Phillip was trying awfully hard. And it would save a lot of time, not having to take Marilu all the way to Germantown.

“I think that would be all right.” David glanced at his watch. “Have her home by one o’clock.”

Phillip grinned and released a big sigh. “Thank you, Sir. She won’t be late. I promise.”

“Thanks, Uncle David.” Marilu rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, whispering, “Dad would never have said I could.”

She left so quickly he could only stammer, “Wait! Maybe I should . . . Marilu!” Damn. Joe would probably have his head for this.

She grinned over her shoulder, but didn’t come back. Maybe it would be all right. Phillip seemed nice enough. And the memory of Lisette’s eyes, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and indignation, still dominated David’s thoughts completely. It would’ve been a strain to listen to Marilu chatter on and on about how wonderful a certain young man had become over the space of one evening.

And wasn’t it interesting how important a certain young woman had suddenly become in his life?

* * * * *

David lay awake for hours that night. Just as he was about to fall asleep—somewhere around three a.m.—he realized he was dreaming. Actually, he floated along in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness where the dream carried him along, but he was conscious enough to be able to watch himself move through it. It was an incredible feeling and quite stimulating, considering the topic of the dream.

He relived the encounter with Lisette Morgan on the riverboat. Every word, every nuance of her expression came back with breathtaking clarity.

Then the dream changed. She stood there, just inside the ballroom door, but this time he forgot about the plant being crushed and didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on her, determined to see where she’d gone.

Everything slowed to a fraction of normal speed. He took a long step toward her, reached for her hand and saw it melt away, along with the rest of her. She faded until, transparent and wispy, she disappeared altogether.

The scene changed abruptly. He found himself outside on the third deck, at the bow railing. The wind had grown colder and stronger. Even docked, a chilling wind swept across the boat. He shivered, then decided to go inside and headed for the staircase where he’d followed Lisette into the ballroom before.

“Doctor Stewart!”

David whirled around.
“Lisette?” He hurried toward her. “Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you. You have to tell me where you live. I don’t know your father, and—”

“I’ll tell you everything. We have to—”

A man’s voice interrupted. “Lisa! We’re docking! Do you have your things ready? What are you doing out here?” He came up the starboard staircase, a fairly young man with a full dark brown beard, dressed in a formal jacket that appeared to have come from an antique shop. From Lisette’s expression, David surmised she knew this man—and didn’t like him.

Lisette whispered, “I have to get out of here. Will you take me home?”

He was about to tell her he’d take her anywhere in the world she wanted to go—when the telephone rang. David sat straight up in bed, disoriented, searching for Lisette, then grabbed the phone. “What!”

It didn’t take long to determine the call was a wrong number. The caller apologized, he mumbled, “No problem,” hung up, then glanced at the clock.
Four-thirty. He never went back to sleep.

* * * * *

The next morning was foggy and damp. Even with little sleep, David decided to run as usual. He’d always loved jogging through the neighborhood surrounding their home. Now, misty with fog, the frosty breath of autumn left his face damp and tingling with early morning chill. A light breeze caressed the huge brown and amber sugar maple leaves that had fallen onto the lawns. A sprinkling of green grass still clustered about the base of the trees. Soon there would be night temperatures below freezing and much of the foliage would sleep for the winter. David felt most alive and most at peace with himself and the world on mornings such as this one. He would always feel alone and lonely without Fran and Alyssa, but he could sometimes be free of the pain of losing them for at least as long as it took to traverse the area around his home in Midtown.

Memphis held the promise of a gorgeous display of fall colors in a few short days. The ginkgo trees were already resplendent with brilliant yellow leaves, which would fall within a few hours after every leaf had changed color.

David allowed his thoughts to wander back to the brief encounter with Lisette Morgan. He wondered if he actually saw and spoke to her or if he’d fallen asleep and dreamed he’d found her there on the deck. She disappeared so completely it was easy to believe the latter. He almost dismissed the incident as something he’d imagined. It reminded him of the stories he heard from young patients.

As a pediatrician, there was nothing more satisfying than helping a child in pain to feel better and smile again. Having lost his daughter, David felt a keen desire to embrace all children as his own, to somehow fill the void that had opened inside him that terrible day. The children he treated loved to tell stories because he always tried to listen with rapt attention. Above all, he loved the children themselves, and they knew it. He never allowed himself to think he might ever have children of his own again. Until that time—if it ever came—it
was enough to be nurtured by the children he helped to be healthy and happy.

David’s breath came in heavy draughts, muscles flexing rhythmically, slick with sweat, lungs filled with sweet Tennessee air. One more block to complete one more mile.
The promise of a glorious day.

He’d been in Memphis since birth, attended Treadwell High School, then the University of Tennessee. He, Fran and Alyssa had lived in the house he still called home. For him, it would always brim with Alyssa’s laughter and the subtle magic of Fran’s smile. The memories kept David alive.

When she was three, Alyssa had attended nursery school. Every evening he hoisted her into his lap for a report of her day, complete with paintings, carefully-drawn letters and numbers and, on occasion, a clay or salt sculpture presented lovingly to “Daddy,” and cherished along with the child.

The children who came to see Dr. Stewart every day provided the only means available for expunging some of the pain and regret he felt.

He’d known Fran had been having dizzy spells and insisted she have some tests to see why. After the tests, Fran drove to pick up Alyssa, as usual. He’d wondered a thousand times if Fran had any warning before her heart arrested, sending the car crashing into an oncoming city transit bus.

The test results proved she was afflicted with Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome. The congenital heart defect could not be cured.
Once diagnosed, the rapid heartbeat and occasional fainting could have been recognized and precautions taken. But it was too late for precautions.

Everyone repeated endlessly that he had no reason to feel guilty, but he still had difficulty reconciling himself to losing them and to the loneliness surrounding him.

He’d thought about moving dozens of times but found it impossible. Leaving the house where they’d been a family would be like abandoning them, something he could never do. And he loved the old houses with their covered porches and nostalgic style too much to consider moving to Germantown, even though parts of it were just as old. Joe and his wife, Shawna, loved it there, but David’s heart was firmly rooted to Midtown, and there he would stay.