Dancing Hours (4 page)

“Not this time, kiddo.  That’s between Ms
Bastion
and your mom.  It’s not my story to tell.”
He said.

I jumped on his a
dmission.  “So there’s a story?
” 
Did
I sound too excited? 
Probably
.
 
So much for my cool façade.

“I didn’t say that, but if there is one, it’s not for me to share.  Go ask your mother.”
He said. 
Damn.  That was always the final word on any subject from my dad. 
Go ask your mother.
  I’d just have to find out some other way.

The attic was full of old treasure
s
: 
VHS tapes
, books,
my baby clothes
and in one dusty box:  yearbooks. 
My mother’s old yearbooks, to be specific.
  I thought the pictures inside might yield some clues.  They clearly hadn’t gone to the same elementary school, but it looked like they had the same 7
^th
grade class.  There were no extracurricular activity pictures with both my mom and Theresa, though.  Then in high school, it looked like they had homeroom together one year. 
Trixie
hadn’t ever signed my mother’s yearbook and then in 11
^th
grade
Trixie
disappeared from the yearbook altogether. 
Where did she go?  I know Mrs. Merchant
didn’t move
.
  There were only two high schools in the immediate area and you only got transferred if you moved or got kicked out of one.  Maybe she’d been kicked out.

I shared my theory with
Kate
who was more than happy to share her dad’s yearbooks.  He was a year older than my mom and
Trixie
, so his senior yearbook would have had her picture in it
if she’d gone to the other school
.  But it didn’t, and he couldn’t rec
all
her by name.  I thought I might have hit a dead end, but then I had a stroke of genius. 
The place to go when you needed to know anything – Nan.
 

I knew Nan was volunteering at the senior center that
day and it was on my way to the
Meals on Wheels
office,
so I figured I could log an hour helping her out.  She looked
audacious
in a bold flower print dress with a trim 50s cut and large buttons on her wide belt. 
The
dress flared and twirled around her knees as she taught a simple dance to a small group of women. 
Her
legs were enviable for a woman of any age.  I knew th
e
dance and stepped in
beside
her
easily
picking up where she was
.  She shot me a
mischievous
smile and I knew she was about to show off a few moves.  All the other w
omen and I could do was watch as she ended the danc
e
with a flair that was all her own. 
A round of applause naturally followed.  Nan
curtsied
gracefully and motion
ed
to another woman to take over fo
r the last dance of the session, a “cool down” dance of sorts.

I followed her as s
he strutted to the exterior of the room then plopped onto a bench and began to fan herself.  “Never let them see the effort, sweet pea, it ruins the performance.”
She explained breathing heavily.

As Martha Sutton, 94, emerged from the room first to go home, Nan stood up and brightened again like someone had turned on a light switch. 
She kept up the bright smile
and easy banter while t
he usual niceties were exchanged
with all the ladies as they left class
, then Nan and I were left alone.

“It’s so nice to see you here, my dear.”  She said as she gave me a
squeeze.  “I thought you were doing that meal delivery thing
today.”

“I am.  I mean, I do have to go over there in a few minutes.”
I stumbled on my words.

“Well, then, to what do I owe the honor?”
She asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to come see you
”  I
fibbed.  She eyed me suspiciously.  I’m not a good liar, I realized.

“Don’t try to con a con man.” She
quipped
“Spill.”

“Okay, I was with mom at
Mrs. Merchant’s
the other day and we ran into
Trixie
Bastion
and she and mom were being weird with each other and…”  I continued explaining the interaction and about looking them up in the yearbooks.  I told Nan that I was curious about her.

“Does this have anything to do with those gorgeous sons of hers?”
Nan
asked.

I flushed.  Was it that obvious? 
Yes!

“No, of course not.”
  I lied again, badly.

To my surprise, she grabbed and hugged me.  “I think you’re going to be late for
your shift
.” 
She said. 
I looked reflexively at my watch. 
Damn.  I was
going to be late
.

“That’s
a
story that would take a few minutes to tell, but I’ll tell you what I know, provided you do me a little favor.”
She said.

“Anything
.
”
I accepted.

“I’ve got some dirty laundry in my car.  You bring it around to my house later tonight
clean
and folded and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
She said, clearly thinking she was getting the better end of this bargain.

I’ve made worse deals with Nan.  At least she wasn’t going to keep me in the dark.

5

Handing me a mug of hot cocoa
later that night
like I was
8 instead of 18
, Nan wrapped up in a blanket
on the couch
.
She was wearing a bright kimono type robe and ran her fingers through her short, dark curly hair. It was the end of the day and her carefully coifed curls had begun to loosen.
  The roots of some gray hairs were beginning to show.

“Theresa
and your mother were never really friends, and that might be partly my fault.  Years ago, we all went to the same church and I thought that since the girls were the same age, maybe they’d like to play together.  Rosalie felt differently.  You see, back then she was one of those people who thought that she had a monopoly on God
.
  
I
n her book, which she believed was the only right
one,
I was a bit too flashy.  She thought that I would be a bad influence on her daughter and therefore
your mom might be bad news too.”

She sipped from her mug and continued. 
“Now, I’m not debating that I’ve done some colorful things, but your mama’s been a perfect peach her whole life and it hurt me that she might suffer because I was being judged.  So, when the girls were old enough to choose their own friends, I told your mom what Mrs. Merchant had said.  Sometimes I wish I hadn’t done that.  I treated her more like a friend than a daughter in those days.”  Nan looked away wistfully as if remembering some old regrets that she could never repair for just a moment then returned to her story.

“I hear tell that Mrs. Merchant wasn’t just a sour puss to me.  She was very strict with
Theresa
go
ing
so far as
telling her what to wear, who to talk to and where she could hang out
-
which was mostly at church.  When
Rosalie’s
husband died in … well, must have been their 10
^th
grade year… I imagine things got pretty bad around there.  I heard once that T
heresa
still had an 8 o’clock bedtime.  Can you imagine?  Not just home, but in bed by 8 pm at 16 years old?”
 
Nan
still seemed shocked by the indignity of it. 

I shook my head silently, not wanting to interrupt the story.

“Anyway, I think
Theresa
called your mother a few choice words that would never apply to Josephine and they just did not ever get on friendly terms.
”  She continued “It’s not really her fault, you know
.  It’s the dogs that don’t get loved enough that bark the loudest.”

“Well, what happened to her after high school?”
I asked.

“Oh, she never did graduate.  The poor girl ran away from home.  I don’t know where she went off to, but she came home a couple years later, when you
r
mom was off at college, with a
young husband who needed work and a beautiful baby boy – that was David.  She must have been pretty desperate to come back
here
.”
  Nan said.

“Rosalie was just despondent when Theresa took off
as a girl
.  She stopped going to church and left her house
only
to work and go to the store. 
When Theresa came back with her family, t
hey stayed for a couple of years and then must have saved up enough money to move out once and for all because that’s when I heard they moved to California.  They came back
again maybe
ten years later for a summer when Theresa’s marriage went south, but from all accounts it wasn’t a happy reunion. 
Rosalie
was basically a shut-in after that.  Once in a while, one of
you
kids would go visit and convince her to come to a church picnic, but not very often.”

“How sad.”
I thought out loud.