Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (9 page)

 16 

T
om walked around the corner toward the Starbucks and noticed through the wrought-iron fence a few empty tables in the café area. A moment later, a hand waved at him. It was Doug sitting next to Michele at a table under a green umbrella. Tom came around through the opening and joined them. They didn’t have drinks. “You guys aren’t thirsty?”

“We’re plenty thirsty,” Doug said. “We don’t have jobs.”

Tom laughed. “So . . . I’m paying?”

“You’re the one that dragged us down here,” Michele said. She was kidding.

“Guess it’s my treat then,” Tom said.

Michele told him what she wanted and said, “I’ll stay here and keep the table.”

Doug began giving Tom his order. “Uh-uh, little brother. I can’t carry three cups back here.”

“Just ask for those little cardboard containers,” Doug said.

Tom shook his head. “Off your butt, c’mon.” They walked through the glass door and stood in line. “You know, I would
have given you a ride.” Doug still lived at home, which was a little farther out than where Tom lived.

“I know,” Doug said. “But I was already more than halfway here. Met some friends this afternoon for a movie at Universal City Walk. Then we grabbed a bite to eat.”

“Good to know you have money for some things.”

“Yeah, but not much. Dad’s cut my allowance in half this summer.”

They stepped up to the counter. Tom ordered his drink and Michele’s, Doug ordered his. After paying, they stepped around to the side counter and waited. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting a job this summer?” Tom said. “You know, that’s how most people solve their money problems.”

“Now you sound like Dad.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Tom smiled. Doug made a face. “What are you, seventeen now, Doug? You don’t even shave yet.”

“I’ve been shaving for over a year, almost two.”

“All right, the point is, you’re at the awkward age between being a kid and becoming a man.”

“Oh, man. Really? This is how you’re gonna make me pay for the coffee?”

“This isn’t a lecture,” Tom said. “I’m just saying, you’re used to Dad always paying your way. I get that. Did the same thing myself once. But in the real world, things don’t work that way. We’ve got a word now in society for guys that refuse to grow up, who live with their folks forever and won’t take responsibility for themselves. Begins with an
L
. . . a big
L
.”

Doug’s face confirmed he knew the
L
was for
loser
. “Okay, big brother, now you sound even worse than Dad. First off . . . as you pointed out, I’m only seventeen. I’m not ‘living with
my folks forever.’ Second, I’m not refusing to grow up. I’m not grown up, not yet. Just got my driver’s license a year ago. I can’t drink alcohol. I can’t even vote.”

“Here’s your drinks, guys,” the barista said. They walked over to another counter to fix them.

“Good points, Doug. I came on too strong.”

“Apology accepted,” Doug said. “But I didn’t get to my third point. You’ve probably heard, the economy isn’t so good.”

“No, I hadn’t heard,” Tom said sarcastically. “So you’ve been out there beating the bushes every day, trying to find a job, and you keep getting turned down. Is that it?”

A long pause.

“Guess that answers my question,” Tom said. “C’mon, Doug, lighten up. I’m not ragging on you. I just know the reason Dad keeps bugging you about getting a job is that his business isn’t doing so well. Did you know that?”

“No, he never mentioned that.”

“It’s like you said, the economy isn’t doing so good. Dad’s lost a lot of clients. He’s having to pay mortgages on a number of properties with no rent coming in.”

“Really?”

“Really. He doesn’t have the kind of money flowing in he had a few years ago.”

Doug put the lid on his caramel macchiato and took a sip. “He told you that? Why didn’t he tell me? All he does is nag me and make me feel stupid.”

Tom thought a moment and realized that Dad hadn’t told him about his finances, not in so many words. Tom figured it out by piecing different parts of conversations together. “You know Dad, he doesn’t share his thoughts and struggles that easily.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“The other thing is, with Mom walking out like this, I’m sure he’s worried about what that might do to their finances. But let’s hold up on that until we sit down with Michele.” He opened the door for Doug. They walked out and sat at the table. “Here you go.” Tom handed Michele her drink. “You like it how it comes, right?”

“You remembered.” She took a sip. “So . . . what’s on your mind? Obviously, it’s about Mom and Dad.”

“Guess we’ll skip the small talk,” Tom said.

“I already did my small talk in line,” Doug added. “Tom knows I shave now.”

“That’s great.” Michele took a sip of her latte.

“Well,” Tom said, “I just thought the three of us should meet, make sure we’re all on the same page about what’s going on with Mom and Dad.”

“The same page?” Doug said. “What page is that?”

Tom sat back. “Just that we’re all in agreement, we want Mom and Dad to get back together as soon as possible, and we don’t want this thing ending up with them getting divorced.”

“Divorced?” Doug said. “Are things that bad?”

“I haven’t heard Mom talk about divorce, Tom,” Michele said.

“Maybe not. But you know how these things go. She’s moved out, Michele. Dad said she won’t even talk to him.”

“I know that. But she told me she just wants a little time away, to sort out how she feels.”

“Okay . . . and what if after a little time away, Mom decides she feels like she doesn’t want to be married anymore? She wants to make this permanent. What then?”

“You’re taking a big jump,” Michele said. “She’s only been gone a few days.”

“You’ve said it yourself, Mom’s unhappy,” Tom said.

“Real unhappy,” Michele added.

“Like enough to move out,” Doug said.

“Right.” Tom sat forward and reached for his cup. “And unhappy people are usually depressed. And depressed people are often vulnerable. They might do all kinds of things they wouldn’t normally do to break out of their depression.”

“Like what?” Michele said.

“Like . . . what if some man starts showing her a little interest. Sees her as an available single woman? She’s pretty attractive for her age. If Mom’s been unhappy a long time—”

“There’s no
if
. She has, Tom. A very long time.”

“You’re just strengthening my point, Michele. All the more reason for us to try and do what we can to push her back toward—”

“We can’t push her, Tom. Not now. Believe me, that would definitely backfire.”

“All right, push isn’t the right word. I mean . . . try to influence her not to let this thing drag on too long, before something happens.”

“Guys,” Doug said. “I don’t see Mom going out on Dad. She’s not like that.”

Tom looked at him. “Anyone is capable of doing anything when they’re unhappy, Doug, believe me.” Both gave him a look that said,
What are you talking about?
“I’m not saying I know firsthand,” he quickly added. “Well, in a way I am. That’s how I got stuck buying this inflated house we’re in right now.”

“Buying an overpriced house is not in the same league as adultery,” Michele said. “Mom has a strong walk with God.”

Tom looked at her. “Michele, tell me you think there’s no way something like that can happen. You know Mom better than any of us. Are you absolutely sure?”

She didn’t answer.

“See?” he said. “You know it’s possible. And even if that doesn’t happen, it’s still not good for them to be apart like this. We need to do whatever we can to help her see that. At least get her to be willing to see a marriage counselor, get the two of them talking again.”

“I don’t have a problem with what you’re saying,” Doug said. “But I don’t see how I can make any difference. What can I do? She’s not even in the house anymore.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “Start praying, for one thing. Ask God to start softening her heart.”

“You mean both their hearts,” Michele said. “I’d say Dad’s heart’s even harder than hers.”

Tom doubted that. “He’s not the one who walked out.”

“No, but do you understand
why
she walked out? Have you spent any time thinking about how unhappy she must have been to do something that drastic?”

Tom realized he hadn’t. But to him, it didn’t matter. You don’t walk out on your marriage. Period. “I don’t see Jean ever walking out on me like that,” he said. “Short of me being unfaithful . . . which isn’t going to happen.”

“Are you
absolutely
sure?” she said, somewhat mocking the question he’d asked a few moments ago. She set her coffee down. “Like you said, people are capable of doing anything when they’re unhappy.”

 17 

I
t was Tuesday evening, a little after six-thirty. Marilyn and Charlotte had just finished eating another Lean Cuisine dinner. Marilyn had worked during the day today and had intended to come home and fix them both a real dinner. But she still wasn’t used to being on her feet so long. She knew as soon as she’d walked through the front door, she didn’t have the energy to start cooking.

She came out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth and stopped a moment in front of her dresser to admire her music box. She must have polished it three times already since bringing it home.

Home . . . it felt funny thinking of this little apartment bedroom that way. She couldn’t resist it, so she lifted the lid of the box. The music started playing, and the beautiful dancing girl started twirling around.

“I love that song! From
Doctor Zhivago
, right?”

Marilyn looked up to see Charlotte’s happy face in the doorway.

“All right if I come in?”

“Sure.”

“I saw that sitting on your dresser yesterday, and I wanted to open it in the worst way. I thought maybe it was a jewelry box, so I didn’t.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Marilyn said. “I got it at Odds-n-Ends, with my employee discount.” She felt silly saying it so proudly.

“She’s gorgeous,” Charlotte said. She began humming the melody. “She’s not really a ballerina, though. The dancing girl.”

“No, she’s not. I think that’s what caught my eye,” Marilyn said. “Besides the song. She’s dressed more like she’s doing a waltz. She reminds me of my daughter Michele when she was younger.”

“Does she dance like that?” Charlotte asked.

“Not really. When she was a little girl she did.” Marilyn told Charlotte all about how she and Michele used to dance together in the living room. When she was done, Marilyn noticed the business card the elderly woman had given her at the restaurant, sitting there on the dresser beside the music box. She picked it up.

“What’s that?” Charlotte said, standing right next to her. “The Windsor Dance Studio . . . where have I heard that name?”

“An elderly woman gave it to me Sunday when I was eating dinner with Michele at Giovanni’s. She heard the music playing, and we chatted a little while. She loved the song too. She said she and her husband used to dance to it, before he died, and he’d sing the words. She was so cute. I think they used to own the studio. She still goes there to help out sometimes.” Marilyn closed the music box.

“That’s right. That’s where I heard the name. A young girl came into Urgent Care a few days ago with a sprained ankle.
It happened at that studio, and she was trying to get them to pay the bill.”

“Oh my.”

“The owner came down—I guess the new owner—he was a real looker, I’m tellin’ ya. Think his name was Roberto. Tall, dark, and handsome.” She smiled. “All the nurses were talking about him after he left. Can’t repeat some of the things they were sayin’, if you get my meaning. But I was thinking, I could just see him out there on the dance floor. Kind of reminded me of that Latin actor, you know, what’s his name?”

“Antonio Banderas?”

“That’s it. Only this Roberto guy was taller. Listen to me, like I know how tall Antonio Banderas is.”

“So this girl sprained her ankle dancing?” Marilyn said. She didn’t like the sound of that. She had actually half-talked herself into giving it a try.

“Yeah, she made quite a scene. Roberto wound up covering her bill, but he made it pretty clear he didn’t think his studio was responsible.”

“Do you know what kind of dance she was doing?”

“It was a swing class. But this Roberto said she was showing off, doing all kinds of moves that he wasn’t asking them to. Her partner was apparently flipping her all over the place. Through his legs, over his head, things like that.”

Well, that was some relief. Marilyn had no interest in anything that radical.

“Why, you thinking about taking lessons?”

“Maybe. Michele thinks I should.”

“Have you ever taken lessons before?”

“Are you kidding? Jim would never let me do that.”

“You serious? He would actually forbid you?”

“Well, maybe not
forbid
me. But I never felt like I could even bring up something like that. I already told you how much he hated dancing. So why would I even consider it? Besides, who would I dance with?”

“Obviously not with him, but seriously, Marilyn, you should do it. Dancing’s back in vogue these days. You see all those dance shows on TV. People of all ages are learning how.”

“But I can’t do something like that . . . alone.”

“Who says?” Charlotte started walking toward the doorway, then turned. “It’s not like you’d be going out on Jim. It’s a dance studio. There’s probably lots of people there without partners. Dancing with someone isn’t the same as dating or getting into a relationship. You just do it for the fun of it. Just because you want to. What’s the harm?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m making some decaf, want some?”

“I’d love some.”

Charlotte walked out. Marilyn set the business card on the dresser beside the music box and reread the information. Could she do something like that, take dance lessons? By herself? It was a crazy idea. It was probably too expensive anyway. She had to start being careful with her money now.

Just then Charlotte poked her head inside her door. “You know what? They’re probably open right now. Most people work during the day and take lessons at night. Why don’t you call down there, get some more information?”

“You really think I should?”

“I definitely do. Sounds like your daughter thinks so too.”

Marilyn picked the card back up. “But I wasn’t thinking about taking swing lessons, at least not at first.”

“I’m sure they teach all kinds of dance styles down there.
Swing, ballroom, country western . . . probably even the polka. Give them a call. Can’t hurt.”

She was right. It couldn’t hurt to call. Charlotte walked out again. Marilyn got her phone out of her purse and dialed the number. It rang two times, and she hung up.

I can’t do this, she thought. Who am I kidding?