Dancing in the Dark (7 page)

Diane looked up to see her daughter standing in the doorway. There
was a white towel twisted around her head and a larger, longer one
wrapped around her body. Was she imagining it, or did Michelle’s
shoulders look bonier than the last time she had seen them? Diane tried
to think back. They hadn’t been at the beach or at a pool together all
summer. When Diane came home from work in the evenings, Michelle
usually had on a cotton T-shirt. Come to think of it, she’d been
wearing ones with long sleeves, always complaining that the apartment
air-conditioning was too cold. Diane hadn’t thought anything of it,
until now.

It was a real drag that the Richeys didn’t have a television set.
But since this wasn’t the first time Carly had babysat for them, she
had known enough to bring her Walkman and some magazines. Hannah and
Sarah had been worn out from the heat and a long day at the beach and
had conked out only an hour after their parents left. They were sound
asleep now in their bunk beds pushed against the canvas wall.

Carly got up from the wicker chair and wandered into the kitchen,
stopping to adjust the air conditioner. There was no way she would have
taken this job tonight if the Richeys hadn’t had air-conditioning. She
could live without TV for a couple of hours, but she wasn’t into
sweating. But even cranked up as high it could go, the air conditioner
was fighting a losing battle against a heat wave that just wouldn’t
quit.

Carly pulled open the fridge and rifled through the contents. She
spied some ice pops wedged on top of the ice cube tray in the tiny
freezer section and selected an orange one.
Lots
of bang for the caloric buck
,
she thought as she pulled
off the paper wrapper. And all water, nothing to bloat her. Carly
patted her stomach to make sure it was still as flat as it had been the
last time she checked, about an hour ago.

She wanted to look great for Shawn when she met him at the Stone
Pony later. He wasn’t the best looking guy she had ever dated, but
there was something about him that really appealed to her. Shawn had
the sweetest way about him. He actually listened when she talked—not
like other guys, who were more concerned with what
they
had to say than what was on her mind. Carly
really liked Shawn, and she could tell he felt the same about her.

Another thing she appreciated about Shawn was the fact that he
didn’t make her uncomfortable. He didn’t leer at her, making her feel
so uneasy. Not the way Mr. Richey had when she’d arrived tonight.

The only thing that bothered her about Shawn was the fact that he
hadn’t looked for Leslie Patterson. Just because they’d broken up
didn’t mean he shouldn’t be concerned about what happened to his old
girlfriend.

Going back to the front of the tent, Carly curled up in the wicker
chair and opened the new issue of
InStyle
.
She was engrossed in the pictures of Cameron Diaz’s lean legs
when she heard the screen door creak.

“It’s me, Carly.” Helen Richey whispered the announcement as she
tiptoed into the tent. “We’re home.”

The mother went directly to look at her sleeping girls. “How were
they?” she asked softly as she gently pulled the thumb from her younger
child’s mouth.

“Fine. They were great, Mrs. Richey. We played a couple of rounds of
Candy Land, and then they actually asked to go to bed.” Carly looked at
the screen door again. “Where’s Mr. Richey?”

“He’s looking for a parking space. He dropped me off.” Helen
continued tucking in the cotton blankets on the bunk beds.

Carly began to gather up her paraphernalia. “Okay, Mrs. Richey. I
guess I’ll be going then. Call me again whenever you need me.”

“Oh no, Carly.” Helen straightened up from her bent position and
went to open her purse. “You have to wait for Jonathan. I want him to
walk you home.” She pressed the folded bills into Carly’s hand. “Thank
you so much,” she said.

The thought of walking alone with Mr. Richey creeped Carly out.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Richey. Really. It’s such a short walk. I’m fine
going by myself.”

Before Helen Richey could utter another word, the babysitter bolted
out of the tent.

Jonathan found a place to park right around the corner from the
tent, but he took his time getting out of the car. He was in no rush. The thought of going back to the tent
made him claustrophobic.

He stared out the windshield trying to summon up his resolve. He was
going to break the news to Helen tomorrow. This would absolutely be the
last summer vacation he would spend in the tent. If his wife wanted all
of them to be together next year, they should spend this week looking
for a real house down here.

He opened the car door and got out but decided not to go to the
trunk and get the portable TV. There would be time enough tomorrow to
have a fight. No sense having one tonight—not that they could have
anyway, considering how everyone lived cheek by jowl in these damned
tents.

As he was about to come to the corner to make the turn onto Bath
Avenue, he saw a figure sprint across the street in the moonlight. It
was Carly, her blond hair flowing behind her. He had forgotten he was
supposed to walk her home. It would have been nice to have a little
harmless fantasy, getting to spend a few minutes alone with her.

Jonathan was about to call out to her but thought better of it.
Instead he just followed her.

The bath didn’t help. Neither did the cup of herbal tea. Diane just
couldn’t fall asleep. She lay alone in the darkness and wished that
tonight, more than any night since he’d gone, Philip was lying beside
her.

She turned over and pulled the pillow from his side of the bed,
holding it close.

Visions spun through Diane’s mind, things she hadn’t thought much of
when she noticed them. Michelle’s recent preoccupation with exercise,
her insistence that she get her run in every day, along with making
sure she followed the instructions on that exercise video she always
seemed to be playing. Diane had written it off as simply a teenage girl
becoming more aware of her figure.

The container of ice cream that had been sitting, unopened, in the
freezer for months. Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, Michelle’s
favorite. For years Michelle had requested it every time Diane went for
groceries. Again, she hadn’t been concerned, knowing that what a kid
loved wasn’t always what a teenager preferred.

Diane hugged the pillow closer as she thought of Michelle’s garlic
bread in the trash and tried to recall her daughter’s eating habits of
late. There hadn’t been enough family meals since Philip went to
prison. Many evenings she’d gotten home from work and Emily and the
kids said they’d already eaten. Truth be known, Diane guiltily admitted
to herself, she’d been relieved on lots of those nights. It was easier
to pour a bowl of cereal or scramble a couple of eggs for herself and
eat in solitude with a magazine, not having to expend the energy to
engage in conversation. The stress of having her husband away in such
disgrace along with the pressures at the office left Diane wrung out at
night.

Though she had been making it a point to avoid speaking engagements,
dinner plans, and anything else that would keep her from being at home
with the kids in the evening, Diane mentally berated herself. Being
there physically didn’t mean she’d always been there emotionally. She
realized now that perhaps she had been so wrapped up in her own
heartache and worry, she hadn’t been paying enough attention to her
daughter’s.

But she had damn well better start paying attention now. Diane
punched the pillow resolutely. If this was the start of an eating
disorder, it had to be dealt with immediately and decisively. It would
affect Michelle’s health and could lead to even more destructive
behaviors. Look at Leslie Patterson. How ironic that just this morning
she had been feeling sorry for the Patterson family when Diane could be
facing the same problem herself.

Thank God, Michelle wasn’t cutting herself too, or at least Diane
didn’t think she was. Her heart beat faster at the thought. She
wondered what had come first for Leslie Patterson. Did the cutting
follow the eating disorder or vice versa? Did the two destructive
behaviors go hand in hand? Diane squeezed her eyes shut tighter and
concentrated.

Dear Lord, please help me nip this in the
bud.

She felt a bit of ease as she silently prayed, but in the back of
her mind, she knew that asking for God’s help was only part of the
solution. Diane was going to have to stay on top of this.

Carly searched the dimly lit room until she spotted Shawn behind the
bar. The slender blonde maneuvered her way through the crowd and slid
onto an empty stool. Shawn’s face lit up when he saw her.

“I thought you’d never get here.” He leaned over the bar and spoke
loudly into her ear to be heard over the band.

“Me, neither,” Carly shouted back.

“What’ll you have?” he asked.

“A Coke, I guess,” she answered glumly. “Unless you feel like
surprising me.”

Shawn made no comment. He knew Carly wasn’t of legal drinking age.
She was old enough to drive a car and vote and even serve in the armed
forces. But she wasn’t legally allowed to have an alcoholic drink in
New Jersey. It didn’t make much sense.

He partially filled her glass with Coke and quickly splashed in some
rum. If the boss found out he was mixing a drink for someone underage,
he would be out of a job so fast it would make his head spin. But the
boss wasn’t around right now, and it wouldn’t hurt Carly to have a
drink or two.

“Do you think you should take it a little bit easier, Carly?” Shawn
asked as he watched her suck the contents of a second drink through a
straw. “At least just take sips.”

“Don’t worry about me, Shawn,” she said with a smile. “I can hold my
liquor. Hey, do you ever get a break? Do you think we can get in a
dance?”

Even in the crowded room, she stands out.
She’s pretty and animated and looks happy. And what a dancer! She
gyrates to the beat of the music as though she’s been doing it all her
life. She’s so obviously enjoying herself.
It’s good that she’s so petite. It’ll make things much easier.

The music stopped. Carly and Shawn went back to the bar while the
band took a break.

“How was the babysitting?” he asked in an even voice, now that they
didn’t have to yell to each other to be heard.

“Oh, fine. The kids are really cute, and Mrs. Richey pays well. But
that Mr. Richey…”

“What?” Shawn encouraged her to continue.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly fit the ‘tent’ mold. I mean, I
don’t think he’s too happy about being there.” Carly decided not to
mention the way Mr. Richey looked at her. She wasn’t sure yet if Shawn
was the jealous type. She decided to change the subject. “Have you
heard anything more about Leslie?” she asked.