Pretending to Dance (37 page)

“Morning,” I said, my cheeks warm.
Oh my God,
I thought. What would my parents say if they knew he'd been in Amalia's room, maybe all night long? I knocked on their door while Russell slipped his room key into his own door and stepped inside.

Mom opened the door, one of the hotel room's little black plastic coffee cups in her hand. “Oh good,” she said. “You can help me sit Daddy up. I think Russell must still be sleeping.”

“Hi, darling.” Daddy smiled from his pillow. “Did you two get any sleep last night or were you too wired?”

“Not a lot,” I admitted. Stacy had spent much of the night talking about how Joey looked like Bryan, and I'd felt my brain ping-ponging between the magic of the concert and the reality of Chris. Now I moved to the side of the bed next to my father, while Mom knelt opposite me on the mattress. We both got a grip on him beneath his shoulders. “One, two, three,” Mom said, and together we propped his back up against the pillows. We had it down to a science.

“Much better,” Daddy said. Mom had made him a cup of coffee and I held it to his lips. “Even better,” he said after a sip.

“Russell's up,” I said. “He's in his room.”

“How do you know?” Mom asked.

“I saw him in the hallway,” I said. “He was coming out of Amalia's room.” I waited for their reaction.

They looked at each other, their faces too blank to read. Then my father let out a laugh. “So much for discretion,” he said, and my mother smiled.

“I think you're old enough to know, Molly,” she said.

“Know … what?” I asked.

“They're a couple,” Daddy said. “We've kept it from you because they're not married, obviously, and we thought it could be confusing, but … you're not a kid anymore, are you?”

“No,” I said. Still, I was shocked. Not because Amalia and Russell weren't married, and not because he was black and she was white. I was shocked this had been going on between two people I thought I knew so well and I'd never had a clue.

“How long have they been … a couple?” I asked.

“Year and a half?” Daddy looked at my mother.

“More like two years,” she said.

“Two
years
?” I couldn't believe it. “Why don't they get married?”

“A little challenging for them right now, with Russell always at my beck and call,” Daddy said.

I imagined what Russell's life was like. He was so thoroughly tethered to my father. How could he and Amalia ever have a normal relationship as long as he worked for us?

I thought about my dance lesson the other day, when Russell pushed Daddy's wheelchair out to the road. I remembered the way Amalia'd touched his arm and looked into his eyes. I thought she'd been communicating worry about my father to him, but maybe she'd been communicating something deeper than that. I felt afraid all of a sudden that they might get married and things would change. But Amalia loved my father. She and Russell both did. That was one thing I was sure of. They would both always want to do what was best for him.

I thought of how Nanny tried to keep Amalia away from Daddy and had to smile to myself. “Does Nanny know?” I asked.

“Good Lord, no,” Daddy said. “She couldn't handle it.”

Mom knocked on the door that connected their room to Russell's, and in a minute he was in the room.

“Ready to get out of bed, Graham?” he asked, all business and avoiding my eyes.

“Molly's on to you,” my father said.

Russell glanced at me. “Yes, I figured she might be,” he said, and I thought he was fighting a smile.

“It's okay,” I said, sort of shyly. It was too weird to imagine him and Amalia together, and I needed a change of subject. “Do you want me to get some muffins from that coffee shop in the lobby?” I asked my mother.

“Good idea,” she said, and reached for her purse.

“Blueberry for me,” Daddy said as Russell wheeled his chair to the side of the bed. “And get me two, please,” he added. Clearly, Daddy was no longer counting his calories.

I left the room and turned in the direction of the elevator. I thought about Amalia and Russell and shook my head with a smile. I never would have guessed, and I wondered what other secrets I was missing at Morrison Ridge.

 

50

San Diego

Aidan and I work at our desks in our home office. He's checking e-mail. Across from him, I'm supposed to be working on a property settlement for a client. Instead, I'm looking at maternity clothes in an online catalog. Sienna is popping out of everything she owns and I want to buy her a few things. What I really would love to look at is baby clothes, but I won't let myself do that. Not yet.

Our landline rings. The phone is on Aidan's desk and he glances at the caller ID. I don't even bother to look away from my screen. We've been talking about ditching the landline altogether. The calls are always solicitations for one thing or another.

“It says ‘unknown,'” Aidan says, and before I can tell him to ignore it, he picks up the receiver. “Hello?” he says, then he glances across our desks at me. “Yes, she's here.”

I stand up to reach for the phone, then sit down again. “This is Molly,” I say.

“Molly, it's Dani.”

I can't remember Dani ever calling me. I didn't even know she had my number.

“Hi, Dani. What's up?” I ask, but I'm afraid I already know and the muscles in my chest tighten.

“I thought I should let you know that Amalia passed away,” she says. “I didn't want to just write it in an e-mail.”

“Oh.” I hear the lack of emotion in my voice, but my insides are churning. “Was it that infection you told me about?”

“Yes. She just couldn't fight it. My mother heard about it at church.”

“Oh,” I say again. I feel as though I'm standing outside myself, trying to figure out how I'm supposed to react. I'm aware that Aidan's watching me from across our desks.

“Molly?” Dani prompts. “They had a service for her at some art studio in Asheville. I'm sorry I didn't know about it in time to tell you.”

“I … It doesn't really matter,” I say. Did she think I would have gone?

“I thought you might want Russell's number.”

“Maybe you could just e-mail it to me.” I feel as though I might get sick. “I have to go, Dan—”

“Don't get off yet,” she says quickly.

I wait, staring out the window. From where I sit, I can see the three white Spanish-style houses across the street. One of them is in desperate need of painting. I think about that instead of Amalia as I wait for Dani to continue.

“Aunt Nora called me last night,” she says. “She really wants to talk to you. She asked me to plead with you to call her or let her call you. Can I give her your number?” she asks. “Or at least your e-mail?”

“I'm sorry. No.”

Dani says nothing and an uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I'm ready to hang up when she speaks again.

“She's your mother, Molly,” she says finally, as if I've forgotten.

“I know,” I say. If Aidan wasn't sitting across from me, would I say more? I don't think so.

“She loves you,” Dani says.

“I need to go. Thank you for letting me—”

“You know what, Molly?” Dani suddenly barks at me.

“What?”

“You're an unforgiving bitch,” she says. “And I'm done with you! I've had it.”

The line goes dead.

I think of saying good-bye, putting up the pretense that the call has ended normally for Aidan's sake, but I'm too numb to fake it. I set down the receiver on my desk and look over at him.

“Your cousin?” he asks.

I can't answer. I see Amalia in the slave quarters, dancing across the floor.
Dance what you feel, baby.
I lower my head to my hands, and before I know what's happening, I'm sobbing and Aidan is at my side, leaning over, his arms around my shoulders. I cling to him like he's a life preserver, and when he says, “Talk to me, Molly. Please,” I know I'm going to tell him the truth.

At least, most of it.

 

51

Morrison Ridge

At breakfast Saturday morning, I stared at my pancakes and grapefruit, unable to eat. Tonight was the family meeting and I hadn't heard a word from Stacy about Chris getting together with me at the springhouse. She was supposed to talk to Bryan about it and he was supposed to talk to Chris and get the map of Morrison Ridge to him, but I didn't know if any of that had happened. I'd tried calling her a couple of times, but there was never any answer at her house. I worried she'd forgotten. Or worse, that Chris was seeing that other girl and no longer cared about me and Stacy was afraid to tell me.

Russell fed my father an entire stack of pancakes in the time it took me to eat two segments of my grapefruit.

“What's the matter, Molly?” Mom asked. She'd eaten two pancakes herself and was now sipping her coffee, one hand locked with my father's on the arm of his chair. She didn't usually sit right next to him at the table like that, especially not when Russell was feeding him.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just not very hungry.”

“I'd like some time with you today,” Daddy said to me. Russell blotted a drop of syrup from my father's chin with a napkin.

“To type?” I asked.

“No, just to visit.” Daddy smiled. “We could meet in the springhouse if you like.”

That suggestion completely derailed me. The thought of spending time with my father in the springhouse hours before I'd—maybe, possibly—be there with Chris felt too weird.

“Maybe someplace else?” I said. I really didn't feel like a big talk with him today, either. Ordinarily, I loved time with my father, but right now I wanted to be by myself. I wasn't going to be able to concentrate on anybody or anything with all I had on my mind.

“Want to suggest a place?” he asked.

“Maybe the screened porch?” I said.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intent on me that I looked down at my nearly intact grapefruit half again.

“All right,” he said. “I want to spend some time with Nanny this afternoon, so how about this morning? Say an hour from now? Do you have anything else on your agenda today?”

I shook my head. “Just reading,” I said.

“I'll take you over to your grandmother's a little before seven tonight,” Russell said.

“Okay.” I looked at my mother. “May I be excused?”

“You didn't eat a single pancake,” Mom said.

“I'll eat hers,” Daddy said with a smile. “Wouldn't want them to go to waste.”

*   *   *

Stacy finally called later that morning as I was heading out to the porch to sit with Daddy. I answered the phone in the kitchen, and when I realized it was Stacy, I stretched the cord so that I could talk to her from the hallway, afraid my father might be able to hear me through the kitchen window.

“It took forever!” She sounded breathless. “But Bryan finally reached Chris last night, and he'll do it! He'll be there at ten tonight.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“You'll be there, right?”

“Absolutely. Does he have the map?”

“Bryan's dropping it off at his house this afternoon,” Stacy said. “What are you going to wear?” Then she laughed. “Not that it matters. You won't be wearing it long.”

I didn't answer. I felt prickly all over, as though I might be breaking out with a rash.

“Is someone there?” Stacy asked. “You can't talk now?”

“Right,” I said. “I'll call you tomorrow?”

“I can't wait to hear everything!” she said, and then she was gone. And for the first time since I'd given the palm stone to my father, I wished I had it back to hold in my pocket.

*   *   *

“Glad to see that smile,” Daddy said, as I sat down on the old white rocker next to his chair. “What's up?”

“Oh, Stacy just called.”

“You two still high from the concert?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It was awesome.” The concert seemed like a lifetime ago.

He looked toward the mountains in the distance. “Nice out here,” he said. “I'm glad you suggested the porch. I haven't simply sat and admired this view in a long time.” He looked thoughtful. “I should have done more of that,” he said.

I looked toward the mountains myself. I briefly wondered how much of the view he was able to see, but the truth was, all I could think about was me, tonight, opening the springhouse door and finding Chris inside. I didn't know how I was going to survive until then.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.

“Nothing special,” he said. “Just wanted time with my daughter.”

“Well, here I am.” I felt awkward. I didn't usually feel that way with him, but I worried he would somehow know what I was up to, as though it might be written on my face.

He looked at me. “Ever since you and I talked about that day Amalia brought you to us, I've been thinking about it.” He smiled. “Remembering it. It was such a shock. Can you imagine? Suddenly there's this fully formed little human being you created but who you never knew existed.”

“Must have been weird,” I said. I was over that whole topic and surprised he was still thinking about it.

“So, what do you think you'd like to be when you're older?” he asked. The question was so insanely out of the blue that I thought I'd misheard him.

“What?” I asked.

“What are you hoping to do with your life?”

I was exasperated by the question. I wanted to be upstairs in my room, looking through my closet as I figured out what to wear tonight. Maybe I should change the sheets on one of the beds in the springhouse, I thought. And I should probably take down the New Kids and Johnny Depp posters, too.