Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (13 page)

 24 

D
id she say . . .
dance
? “What?” Jim asked.

“Would you like to learn how to dance?” Audrey said again. “You said something to your wife about being willing to learn how to dance if it would get her to come home. I think your exact words were, ‘I’ll take these stupid dance lessons with you, if that’s what it takes.’”

Did he really say that? He must have. But how could dancing matter? Marilyn wouldn’t leave him over something as silly as that. Besides, he needed her to come home
now
. That’s what Mort said. They needed to be in counseling before the big deacons’ meeting in ten days. “Dancing lessons would take too long,” he said.

Audrey looked confused. “Too long? How do you know they’d take too long?”

“Well, I’m sure they will. I have less than two weeks. There’s no way you could teach me to dance by then.” He sighed. “Nobody could. You probably also heard her say I didn’t even dance with her at our wedding. I didn’t dance then and haven’t danced
since. That was twenty-seven years ago. I don’t dance, Mrs. Windsor.”

Audrey’s look of confusion grew stronger. “Please, call me Audrey.”

“Audrey, then,” he said. “The point is, there’s no time for me to learn how to dance. And besides, I don’t see what good it would do if I could learn. She won’t even talk to me. How am I going to get her to dance?”

“I don’t understand the urgency. What’s going to happen in two weeks?”

“Less than two weeks. Really, ten days.”

“Okay, ten days. What’s going to happen then?”

“I’d rather not get into it. It’s kind of complicated. I appreciate the offer, but honestly, I can’t see how me learning how to dance helps our situation. I don’t know everything that’s eating her, but I can’t imagine dancing is high on the list.”

“It’s the first thing she mentioned,” Audrey said. “I think that’s significant.”

“Maybe. I think she just came out of a dance lesson. If she was coming out of a theater, she’d have said, ‘You never take me to the movies anymore.’ Our problems aren’t going to be solved by me learning how to dance.”

“I agree.” Her confused look was gone.

Now Jim was confused. “You do?”

“Your marriage problems are much bigger than your unwillingness to dance.”

“It’s not that I’m unwilling. I don’t know how. I stink at it.”

“Well, we can talk about that later. But I agree, you learning how to dance isn’t going to make your marriage problems go away. Not your biggest ones, anyway.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“Because it just might soften Marilyn’s heart. Think about it. You said she left a week ago. And what’s one of the first things she does now that she’s free from you—I’m sorry. That’s a terrible thing to say.” Jim shrugged. “She signs up for dance lessons. A few minutes ago, she brings up the fact that you’ve never danced with her, not even at your wedding.”

Jim thought a moment. “You think it really matters?”

“It might,” Audrey said. “Back when Ted and I hit the twenty-five-year mark, we weren’t getting along at all. Our kids were grown, it was just the two of us, and we realized we didn’t have anything left. He didn’t like me, and I definitely didn’t like him.”

“But did you leave him?”

“No . . . but I wanted to. I was certainly thinking about it. About that time, some friends at church—a couple our own age—came alongside us and helped us out. They told us some things we’d never heard before. It didn’t happen overnight. If I recall, it took several months, but things began to improve once we started doing what they said. It’s sad when you think about it. People get married all the time, but we don’t have a clue about what makes marriages work. Looking back, I don’t think I was happy with Ted for most of those first twenty-five years. Maybe certain moments here and there. But we stayed together, year after year, banging our heads against the wall. And here the doorway to being truly happy was just a few steps down the hall. We never knew. If those precious friends hadn’t shared with us what they did, I think Ted and I would have split up.”

Could this lady be on to something? He had been pretty happy before all this, had been for most of their marriage. But Marilyn wasn’t . . . sounds like for a long time. He definitely related to the “banging our heads against the wall” part. Felt
like he’d been doing that all week. “So what does all this have to do with me learning how to dance?”

“I’m sorry. I got off track. I wasn’t talking about dancing then. Well, in a way I am.” She paused, as if she had more to say, then changed her mind. “The point is, if you’re willing, I’d be willing to teach you how to dance. Six lessons, one each week.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Windsor—I mean Audrey. I don’t think that’s something I’d be interested in. Besides, like I said, I don’t have six weeks. I have less than two.”

“I understand.” Suddenly her face became very serious. “Well, Jim . . . I
don’t
understand. I don’t understand what your less-than-two-week deadline is all about. I do understand your marriage is in serious trouble. If you really want to win Marilyn’s heart back, you need to consider how much effort you’re willing to put into it. Seeing where she is now, I’m not even sure you can win her back at all, let alone in two weeks . . . excuse me,
ten days
. There’s no quick fix when it comes to relationships.”

It felt like she’d thrown cold water in his face. He knew what she said was true. He had no idea what it would take to turn things around with Marilyn. Not in ten days, two weeks, or two months. What if it was already too late? What if he had lost her for good?

Audrey’s face softened. “I can’t teach you very much in ten days, Jim. But if you’ll give me six weeks, I’ll not only teach you how to dance, I’ll share some of those things Ted and I learned from our friends. You’ll learn some dance steps and a whole lot more. And you’ll see your marriage in a whole new way. Over the years, we helped lots of couples make a fresh start. Some whose marriages were as bad off as yours.”

Was their marriage really as bad as that?
Listen to yourself.
Of course it is. Marilyn all but hates you now. Maybe she does
hate you.
Then another thought repeated in his mind.
You’ve lost her heart.

This was true too. Marilyn wanted nothing to do with him. She couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with him. He remembered the last words she’d said, just before she drove off. After he’d offered to take those “stupid dance lessons” with her.

“If you do, I’ll leave and never come back.”

He was fooling himself. He had absolutely no idea what it would take to win her back. He still had no clue why she’d even left. What did he have to lose? “Where would we do this? These . . . dance lessons?”

“In my home,” she said. “I still occasionally give private lessons, so I cleared all the furniture out of our family room and made a nice little studio there.”

“Would we be alone?”

“Just you and me.”

“How much would this cost?”

“I won’t charge you a dime.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said, handing him a card. “My phone number and address are on this. Call me after you’ve had some time to think about it.”

He took the card. “I might take you up on this.”

“Well,” she said, “don’t say yes too quickly. It’s not going to be easy. I can already see that. In fact, you might find these to be some of the hardest lessons you’ve ever learned.”

“Because I’m such a lousy dancer?” he said, smiling.

She smiled back, pulled her keys out of her purse. “I wasn’t talking about the dance part.”

 25 

T
he weekend passed without any more confrontations with Marilyn. Jim had decided to back off after the heated exchange last Thursday night at the dance studio. If he kept pressing her, she’d be convinced he had begun stalking her, which, of course, was absurd. All he wanted was to find out where she was living. It didn’t seem like such an outrageous request.

It was Monday night; he’d gotten off work about an hour ago, stopped off on the way home to get some Chinese takeout for him and Doug. They had settled into an odd routine over the last week or so, now with Marilyn firmly out of the picture. Jim didn’t like it, but he didn’t know what else to do about it at the moment. The new format had them spending even less time together than before. With Marilyn in the house, he and Doug would connect at the dinner table, at least to some degree. Doug would mostly keep to himself as he wolfed down whatever she’d cooked, offering short answers to Marilyn’s attempts to ask him about his day.

Now Jim had even less interaction than that. He’d set the boxes of Chinese food on the kitchen counter. Doug had figured
out which ones were his and said a quick “Thanks, Dad” as he’d headed back to his apartment over the garage. Jim wanted to yell after him and insist he come back and eat with him. But what was the point? Doug would dutifully obey, the whole while he’d want to leave. They’d sit staring at each other, listening to each other chew. Jim could have tried to come up with topics they could talk about, but he knew what would happen. All the things that bugged them about each other would find their way to the surface, and they’d end up in a conflict . . . without Marilyn there to referee.

So Jim sat there on a bar stool, eating his Kung Pao chicken and fried rice, alone. His chopsticks were still in the bag. Doug had figured out how to use them. Well, there was something they could have talked about . . . for three minutes.

Jim looked at the digital clock on the stove. He had ten more minutes before he needed to get ready for his first dance lesson with Audrey Windsor. What was he thinking saying yes to this crazy idea? He’d wrestled with it all weekend. But every argument he’d come up with to cancel met one singular and much stronger argument to follow through . . . the words Audrey had said last Thursday night.
You’ve lost her heart.

Jim had no other options. Even this option might fail. But he had to try, so he decided to give it at least a few weeks.

A few weeks.

That part bugged him too. Once he’d agreed to go through with this, he’d called Audrey on Saturday to set up a schedule, hoping to cram in as many lessons in the shortest time possible. But due to “other pressing commitments,” she insisted she could only meet once a week, on Monday nights. Pressing commitments? Jim thought when he heard her say it. What kind of pressing commitments could she possibly have? She was
retired, and at least seventy years old. He’d offered to pay her, thinking she was probably giving preferential treatment to her paying customers, but she’d said no. Money had nothing to do with it. Besides, she’d said, he would need the time in between each lesson for homework and practice.

Homework and practice? What could that possibly mean?

His phone rang, startling him. He reached for it across the counter. No, no, he thought when he saw who it was. Not him, not now. But he had to take the call, and he knew what he was calling about. “Hi, Mort, how are you?” It took some effort, but he tried to sound upbeat.

“Not bad, Jim. I’m on my way home from work, thought I’d give you a buzz. Our big meeting is one week from tonight.”

“I remember,” Jim said. He wished he could forget.

“How are things going with Marilyn? Any progress?”

“Some,” Jim said. “We had a fruitful chat on Thursday night. Think I understand now a little more about what’s bugging her. I’m working on a plan.”

“So I take it she hasn’t moved back in yet.”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping we’ll get—”

“Did she tell you why? What it’s going to take to make that happen? There’s not much time left.”

“I know, I know.”

“Did you offer to go to counseling with her? Most women respond pretty well to that.”

How could he tell Mort they didn’t get that far in their “fruitful chat”? Should he tell him that he still didn’t even know where she slept at night? “I’m definitely open to that, Mort.”

“But is she?”

“I’m not sure yet, to be honest.”

“Not sure? Jim . . . did you even ask her?”

“No. I wanted to, but . . .” Jim should just tell Mort the truth. There was no way he’d get Marilyn back in the house or in marriage counseling before the deacons’ meeting next week.

But he couldn’t.

“Should I start preparing the board to go with Sam Hall’s property? He’s been calling me about it all week, brought it up again . . . yesterday at church.”

That last remark was something of a jab. Jim had skipped out on church again yesterday. He’d planned to go, but at the last minute his stomach wouldn’t cooperate. “Let’s don’t go there yet, Mort. Can’t you give me a little more time? I’m still hoping Marilyn’s going to snap out of this, any day now.” He’d said it, but he didn’t believe it.

There was a pause. “I guess I can wait until Friday. But seriously, Jim . . . if there isn’t real progress with her by then, you need to come clean with me. I don’t want any surprises at this board meeting.”

“I’ll definitely let you know by then.”

“And by progress, I mean she’s either moved back in or you’ve at least gotten her to agree to go to counseling.”

“I understand.”

“Well, let’s keep in touch.”

After he hung up, Jim berated himself for not being straight with Mort now. There was no chance Marilyn would agree to either of those things before Friday. Why hadn’t he just said so? Glancing back at the clock, he realized he needed to get upstairs and get ready. That phone call ended his appetite anyway. He folded up the little white boxes of Chinese food and shoved them in the refrigerator, then hurried upstairs.

He didn’t have that much to do, mainly just change out of his suit into some casual clothes. He’d asked Audrey what he
should wear, and that’s what she said. Nice casual, no jeans. He’d asked if he needed to buy dance shoes (he couldn’t even believe the words had come out of his mouth), but she said no, not tonight anyway. Tonight was going to be a little different. Which, of course, made no sense, because he had nothing to compare the evening to.

After changing, he scrambled down the steps, then remembered he’d forgotten to tell Doug he was going out. He pulled out his phone then changed his mind. Doug would have his headphones on and probably wouldn’t hear the phone ring; he never listened to Jim’s voice mails anyway. It was his way of forcing Jim to learn how to text. Besides, Jim needed to work a little harder at having actual conversations with him.

He locked up and left the main house, then walked across the backyard to the garage. As he clicked the garage door opener, he tried to figure out what he was going to say. He climbed the steps, mentally rehearsing a few options. There was no way he was going to tell Doug the truth.

No one could ever know the truth. Not Doug, not Tom or Michele, and certainly not Marilyn. Jim would rather eat broken glass or drive his car into a drainage canal than tell anyone he was taking dance lessons.