The Calling (6 page)

Miki hoped her mother had met someone wonderful. She deserved some happiness. She pushed her own evening out of her mind and, thinking of her mother, went to sleep with a smile on her face.

To her surprise, when Miki got up and staggered to the stove to heat water for tea, she was greeted by a smell from the Mr. Coffee and the rattle of the newspaper. Her mother sat reading the
New York Times
, sipping from her favorite coffee cup.

“Did you stay up late?” Her mother was too perceptive. And as usual she used good lawyer tactics of cross-examination.

“Sort of. But where were you?” Miki countered with her own attack. “I never even heard you come in.” Miki had no problem with a little white lie in order to hear about her mother's evening. “Hot date?”

“None of your business.” Her mother's face turned pink and she ducked her head back into the front page of the newspaper. It was the sports section, which gave away the pretense that she was actually reading it.

Miki took her mother's embarrassment to mean she felt vulnerable on this subject. She softened her voice. “That means you did. I'm glad, Mom. Share when you feel like it. Meanwhile I'll be forever curious, but patient.” Miki decided she needed the instant jolt coffee would give her versus the time-release caffeine of hot tea. She poured a cup and stirred in milk and sugar so the drink wouldn't be so bitter, all the while giving her mother some time.

She would like to be friends with her mother, and she had made approaches before, but her mother always responded in a businesslike manner, stiff and cool. It hadn't always been like this. Miki remembered their family as being close once, laughing and playing together, sometimes like three children. She had been ten when her father left, so there were some good memories that Miki could play back. Did Mom ever play them back, or were they too painful? How long did she have to live with the pain? Forever? Not knowing what had happened to him made the loss more difficult. Was he dead? Hiding, or living another life that he liked better?

On impulse, Miki stepped over and rested her hand on her mother's shoulder. At first she felt stiff resistance all through her mother's body. Then her mother relaxed a little and spoke quickly.

“Let's trade. You tell me about your new job, then I'll tell you about Chuck.” Her mother lay aside the newspaper with a shaking hand. Quickly she clutched her coffee mug to hide it.

“Chuck? Is he a cowboy?” Miki giggled and thought of Romney. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard a man giggle. She liked the funny habit.

“No silly, some New Yorkers are named Chuck. Charles is his real name, but he likes to be called Chuck.” Her mother folded and unfolded the paper, then finally gave Miki her full attention. “You first, remember?”

“Okay, I like the troupe. I—I'm almost afraid to tell you about the show, because it's kind of a weird concept. So you have to promise you won't have a heart attack when I tell you.”

“I'm going to have a stroke if you don't, Miki. How weird?” Her mother's voice tightened again and she seemed eager to disapprove. Miki should have chosen a better word to describe her new friends.

“Well, the dancing is combined with trapeze work, and everyone—well almost everyone—we—they pretend to be vampires.”

“Vampires? What is this bunch called?” Her mother looked skeptical, and Miki was afraid she was sharing her new friends too soon. She was so full of the joy and the fun and the newness of it that she wanted to share.

“They call themselves The Theater of the Dead. You know, vampires are called the living dead because they never die and—”

“I know all that folklore, Miki. Your father loved it. If there was a scary movie within fifty miles we had to go see it.” Her mother reached for a piece of toast and smeared too much butter on it. Then she turned it round and round and round as if she didn't plan to eat it, just play with it.

Miki realized her mother hadn't mentioned her dad for a long time. Maybe she could squirm the conversation around to finding out more about her father.

“I didn't know that.” She didn't want to say too much. “I know you went on lots of dates and didn't tell me where you were going, what you were doing. Why didn't you or he share that?”

“I told him I didn't want you following in his footsteps. Dancing like him was one thing. This was another.”

“The horror stuff?” Miki smiled thinking about this.

“After a time it wasn't funny. He was fascinated—no, more like obsessed—by the occult. Witches, vampires, ghosts, voodoo, you name it. He read every book, fiction or non-fiction, he could find about that stuff. I hoped he'd grow out of it.” Mom's voice trailed off. Then she got up abruptly and poured herself another cup of coffee. “But we were talking about your job. You like this group? I never heard of them. I hope you won't be disappointed when they fold after a couple of shows. Are they young?”

“Some are. The director isn't, and there's a light man, probably tech director who's, well, sort of middle-aged, I guess.” And he doesn't like me. Maybe she'd try to talk to Elah tonight. Maybe he was slow to warm up to new people.

“All dancers have big ideas, Miki. They live on hope—and cigarettes—and—” Her mother stared off into space for a few seconds. “I hoped … I hoped that by next year, Miki, you'd decide to go to college. Give up this idea of dancing as a career. Even trying can break your heart—and those around you—those who care about you.”

Miki knew the conversation had taken a different turn. It was now or never. “Mom, what happened to Dad? You know, don't you? He didn't just disappear.”

“Miki, I guess I haven't been fair about this, but—” Her mother sat down, sipped her coffee, and looked as if she was trying to collect her thoughts. “He left one night and never came back. I looked and looked for him. Waited and waited. He had been out of work for a long time. Then—then he said he'd found something hopeful. He wouldn't say what. He said he didn't want to say too much until he was sure.”

“He didn't even give you a hint?”

“No. He was really superstitious, Miki. A lot of performers are. He said if he told me too much, it wouldn't happen.” Her mother's hands shook as she poured cream into her coffee. Miki guessed that she wanted one of the cigarettes she'd given up three years ago. She said she'd never stopped wanting to smoke, needing to smoke. Only self-discipline—of which her mother had plenty—kept her from starting again.

“Why didn't you follow him when he left? Find out where he was going?”

“Miki, you have a lot to learn about trust. Wives don't do that to husbands they want to keep, want to trust. But believe me, I was tempted. Especially since he started to act really strange just before he disappeared.”

“How strange?”

“Distant. Moody. Behavior like that wasn't too strange for him, so I figured he was worried about the show. Or working too hard. He started being gone a lot.”

“Was he drinking?” Miki felt she had to know as much as her mother would tell her.

“No, he never drank. And he watched his diet. He stayed really thin—too thin to my way of thinking. Like you. Look at you. Did you have any dinner last night?”

“Mom, don't change the subject now. I need to talk about Dad, don't you realize that? I'm hurting, too. He disappeared out of my life, too.”

Her mother turned and ducked her head, obviously trying to stay in control of her emotions.

“I have a right to know as much as you know. Don't shut me out!” Miki fought back her own tears.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, her mother sighed. “Miki, your father was weak. I wasn't too surprised when he left. I was disappointed, heartbroken, since I really loved him, and I still do. But I wasn't surprised. And he had a lot of pride.” Her mother stopped any protest Miki might put up. “If that group he'd found failed before they opened, maybe it was the last straw. He couldn't come back and tell us, face us.”

“I know he loved us, Mom.” Miki sat down at the table and let tears fill her eyes. She wiped them and tried to swallow a mouthful of coffee.

“I know he did, too. He thought you were some kind of miracle. He sat with you in his arms for hours. Let you sleep on his chest while he lay on the floor watching you, as if you'd disappear if he put you down. I told him he was going to spoil you.”

“And what did he say?”

“That you can't spoil a baby. That you have to love babies to pieces, make them know you love them. That love is what makes babies into strong people. And look at you. You're ten times stronger than your father.”

“I don't think so, Mom.”

“I know so, Miki. But the bottom line is that I don't like the idea of your dancing with a troupe I've never heard of. I'm going to see what I can find out. Everyone knows everyone else in the dance and theater business. I'm going to ask around. And I'd like to come and meet the director as soon as possible.”

“Oh, Mom. Not tonight. Not for a few days. Promise? I don't want them thinking I'm a baby.”

“But you are.”

“I'm almost eighteen.”

“That's not old enough to make all your own decisions. I have to go to work.” She pushed away from the table and stood up. “I'll tell you tonight what I find out.”

Miki watched her mother leave, feeling as if she'd just lost a court battle. Her only hope was that her mother would get busy and forget to check on the vampire troupe. Or that she'd find out nothing and stop worrying. She'd remember that she didn't care what Miki was doing.

Miki didn't have much appetite now, but she had to eat. She remembered that she didn't have any dinner last night. She was too tired. She looked for ingredients to make a small omelette.

Searching the refrigerator, she realized her mother had forgotten to get groceries again. There was hope that she'd forget their conversation as soon as she got to the office and that would be the end of her worry or investigations.

Breaking eggs with one hand and gathering things to chop with the other, Miki stirred up a super herb-and-cheese omelette—no onions, no mushrooms, just because there weren't any. The smell made her realize she was starved after all.

She dumped the finished product onto her plate. Toast popped from the toaster, and Miki smeared two pieces with butter. She ate quickly, then got up and carried her empty plate and cup to the dishwasher.

While she showered and dressed for school, she made up her mind about one thing. She didn't think her dad had left because he didn't love her or her mother. There must have been a good reason. He just didn't have time to tell them. Or didn't want to tell them.

She loved the idea of her father sitting and watching her sleep, letting her sleep on his chest while he stood guard. Silently she thanked her mother for giving her that image. She'd hold on to it for a long time. And maybe she could ask for more bits and pieces of information about her father. She felt she had so little. She wished she remembered more. It wasn't fair for her to know so little about this man who had loved her so much.

But then what was fair? No one ever promised that life would be fair.

She'd had a break. A big break early on. At nearly eighteen she was part of a real dance troupe. “Think about that, Miki,” she whispered into the warm water splashing her face. “Think about tonight.”

When she did, she shivered. Last night was so—so—What words to use? Scary. Exciting. Romantic—certainly romantic. Could Davin like her, really like her? More than just for a dance partner? He'd kissed her. But that happened under the spell of the dance. Surely he wouldn't have done that otherwise. He was caught up in the emotion of the music the same as she was. A kiss was a natural end to the piece they'd danced.

Sure. He chases you. You turn and chase him. Then you kill him, since that's what black widows do. And after you kill him, he kisses you. That is really, super scary natural, Miki. Really normal.

Her mind skipped again. Her dad loved witches and ghosts and demons and vampires. He would have loved this troupe she had joined. He would have loved to see her dance.

Her dad loved her.

The glow from knowing that lasted all day.

Nine

“M
AYBE
I
SHOULD
go with you to rehearsal,” Paige said as Miki was getting ready to leave dance class. “I can't stand listening to what you're doing for much longer without seeing for myself. You're being selfish not to share them.” Paige pretended to pout, but Miki knew it was only half-real. And Paige was right. She was being a bit selfish, keeping this new experience all for herself.

“Give me a couple more days, Paige,” Miki begged. She didn't know what Paige would think of the troupe, of last night's rehearsal, but she suspected that she would disapprove. There, that was what was holding her back, making her not want to share. She couldn't stand Paige or her mother putting down what she was doing. Or worrying about it. “Remember that everyone is pretending to be a vampire. Can you handle that?”

“You, too?” Paige's eyes were huge. “You're pretending that you're a vampire?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I pretend I'm a victim. You'd have to see it to appreciate it. Just saying what we're doing sounds strange, I know. But it's really beautiful.”

“I stayed up late and watched
The Lost Boys
last night. Those vampires were really sexy until they tried to turn Michael into a vampire, too. Then they turned really ugly.” Paige shuddered. “I almost had to turn the TV off. Now I wish I had. Living that way is awful to think about. Not just living forever, not ever dying, but taking someone else's life to keep yours going.”

Miki pulled on her rubber boots. Now that it had started raining, she didn't think it was ever going to stop. “I guess so, but those vampire movies aren't real. And pretending is fun. I've never danced so well. Dancing with a troupe is different from being in class or even in recitals.”