Moon Dance (4 page)

"Aw, there are some opportunities that a man just can't pass up," Matt said. He opened the cab door and hopped out. "You wait here, Artie. This is strictly a one-man job."

"You look like you could use a little help," Matt called to her.

Matt's long legs had carried him halfway across the parking lot before the blonde was able to grab the errant bag. He picked it up with one hand, and with the other, reached for the box that was wobbling perilously on her knees.

"I'm afraid I'm one hand short," she said, her smile pure sunshine, her voice carrying the traces of an unheard symphony.

She was even prettier up close, he discovered, with eyes a sultry green, skin clear and fresh as a newborn's. She even smelled wonderful.

"You're in luck. I have two to spare." He reached down and offered her one. She held one small hand up to him, and he took it, helping her to pull herself up to a standing position.

She was even smaller than she had looked from across the parking lot—shorter in height; her bone structure fine and almost fragile.

"Thank you. I'm usually not this clumsy. I should have made two trips and saved myself from this futile balancing act," she said wryly.

"But then I wouldn't have met you, would I?" He grinned.

They reached the back of the inn, and he was just about to add that he hadn't actually met her, since he didn't know her name, when Jody, the inn's young cook, pulled into the parking lot and came to a screeching halt in her vintage Buick.

In customary shorts and T-shirt, Jody always appeared younger than her late twenties. She had a
pretty face, a saucy manner, and a one-track mind: the culinary needs of the Bishop's Inn.

"Oh, Matt, I'm glad you're here," she called from the open window even before she turned off the ignition. "I need a hand carrying this meat order into the kitchen. Mr. Haley couldn't make the delivery today because his son broke his foot over the week
end and he's shorthanded…
"

Alighting from the car, she glanced over her shoulder to where Matt stood close by the pretty little blond woman.

"If Laura sees you hitting on the guests, she'll have your head," Jody teased. "Now, if you wouldn't mind
…
"

The little blonde laughed and set her large canvas bags onto the ground, then rea
ched for the belong
ings that he had carried for her.

"I can manage," she told him. "I'll come back for the bags."

"Oh, but—" Matt protested.

"I'm fine, really. I think your hands are needed more elsewhere." She looked up into his face, and he thought he'd never seen a sweeter smile in all his life.

If only he'd canceled his office hours for this afternoon, he could stay awhile, and bask in the glow that seemed to surround her. Right at that moment, nothing else seemed nearly as important.

Grumbling, he turned his attention to assisting Jody in removing several heavy boxes from the back of the car. When he turned back around, seeking one last glimpse of long blond hair and faded blue denim, the woman was out of view.

He shrugged reluctantly. Not that it mattered; their paths weren't likely to cross again.

Matt hoisted the box over his shoulder and headed for the back door that led into the kitchen. By the time he came back out, even her canvas bags had disappeared.

two

G
eorgia had always been somewhat of an early riser, but
this,
she thought as she trudged behind Laura across a hard packed stretch of beach,
this is the middle of the night.
The
stars were still out, a cloud-
shrouded moon hung low over a barely visible ocean, and it was cold as hell.

"Let's get up early tomorrow and watch the sun come up over the ocean," Laura had suggested the night before.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, in this predawn hour, Laura's words rang through Georgia's mind in singsong fashion.

Georgia grumbled aloud. "Whatever was I thinking?"

"Did you say something?" Laura called back over her shoulder.

"Nothing important." Georgia sighed, stopping where Laura had stopped, down closer to the water,
where the sand was a little softer and the sound and smell of the sea were more acute.

The wind whipping fiercely off the ocean threatened to knock Georgia from her feet, and she swayed slightly in resistance.

"You'll thank me later," Laura assured Georgia as she unrolled the down sleeping bag she had brought for warmth. Without waiting for a comment, she tossed one end of the sleeping bag to Georgia and said, "Here, wrap up in your end and I'll wrap up from the other, then we'll sit down at the same time."

"Okay," Georgia said without enthusiasm.

Laughing at the younger woman's attempt to be a good sport, Laura wrapped the thick layer of down around her body and motioned to her sister to sit.

"Tell me again what the point of this little igloo-type thing might be?"

"To keep us from freezing while we wait for the sun to appear." Laura cozied back into her half of the shelter they had created. "It may not be particularly pretty, but it will keep your butt from turning blue."

"You're too late. My butt is
already
blue," Georgia muttered. 'It's been blue since we left the inn. Laura, it's
cold
out here!"

"
Ummm
, it is, isn't it?" Laura tilted her head to the heavens and drew in a piercing breath of frigid air. "It's lovely."

"You're crazy."

"Quit whining and snuggle yourself back into the down. It'll keep you warm, I promise."

Georgia did as she was told and waited for the warming process to begin.

Laura coaxed her hands out of heavy fleece gloves and poured a cup of steaming coffee from a thermos into one of the plastic cups she had tucked into her backpack. "Here, this always helps, too." She passed the cup to Georgia, who took it gratefully and wrapped her fingers around it.

"You sound as if you do this often."

"As often as I need to."

"Why would anyone
need
to get up in the middle of the night, trek across the frozen tundra, and sit on a cold, deserted stretch of beach in frigid weather in the dark?"

"Ask me that again later."

Georgia shivered and sank back a litt
l
e farther into the plump nylon cocoon that surrounded her. She did feel a little warmer.

Together they stared out across the unseen ocean, eyes searching for that first thin slice of light that would signal the impending dawn, that faint whisper of gold in an endless blackened sky that would soon be alive with color.

There.
There, smack in the middle of the horizon. Gold and yellow, then yes, just a hint of orange followed. Inch by regal inch the day unfolded and spread its gentle majesty around the two women sitting on the sand. Lifted by an unseen hand, the ball of fire rose dramatically, bright and alive, and the glow fanned out from its center to push toward the edges of a near-purple sky. Streaks of light flashed across the surface of the water, a golden carpet being unrolled across the distance to the
shore as the very sky seemed to raise itself up from the ends of the sea.

The two women sat wordlessly sharing the morning, watching the show unfold.

The ocean began to shimmer with the reflected light, and Georgia leaned against her older sister and sighed gratefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'd forgotten just how spectacular a sunrise could be."

"Most of us do need reminding from time to time." Laura nodded.

A line of birds in crisp V formation crossed the skyline.

"Geese?" Georgia whispered.

"Double-crested cormorants," Laura replied.

Georgia frowned. "How can you tell the difference?"

Laura laughed and sipped at her coffee. "By their crooked necks. Geese hold their necks straight out when they fly, as do most of the cormorants. The double-crested, however, fly with their necks sort of bent."

"You bird-people are all alike. You're almost as bad as Zoey. She thinks she's an expert on birds because she went on a bird count at Devlin's Light with Nick and India," Georgia grumbled, referring to their brother and sister-in-law, who lived on the Delaware Bay. "Zoey has gone twice now, and thinks she's an authority on seabirds."

"Don't you go with them?" Laura asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"If I tell you, you'll laugh at me."

"No, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"I get seasick."

"You do?"

"Yup." She shook her head. "Remember when we had to take the boat out to the lighthouse for Nick and India's wedding? I thought I'd die. Literally. It was all I could do to keep from getting sick over the side of the boat."

"I remember. If I'd known ahead of time. I'd have gotten you some medication to keep you from getting sick." Laura pulled her hand out from the down wrapping and patted Georgia on her shrouded knee. "Remind me, next time."

"Next time?" Georgia raised an eyebrow.

"Sure. If you think watching the sun come up over the ocean is a thrill from the beach, wait till you've watched from the prow of a boat afloat in a dark
sea.
"

Georgia blanched at the thought. "I think this is as much early-morning drama as I can handle."

"When we were little, our dad used to take Matt and me out on this old Boston Whaler he had. We would sit right up front on the prow and watch the little shards of light come alive on the water." Laura smiled at the memory. "It's like nothing else you'll ever see. It's always surprised me that Matt didn't go into a field that would have kept him near the water; he's always loved it so much."

"What does he do?" Georgia asked, curious about the boy who had been adopted by Laura's adoptive parents.

"Matt finished veterinary school last year and is doing a sort of extended internship at a vet hospital up toward Cambridge. Eventually he'll be opening his own clinic."

Georgia was about to ask where Matt wanted to go into practice when Laura shrugged out of her wrappings and stood up.

"I really should get back to the inn and help Jody with breakfast. We were shorthanded yesterday— flu season, you know—and I don't know who will be showing up to work this morning." She leaned down and stuck the thermos bottle in the sand next to Georgia's foot. "You might want a little more of this."

"Wait. I'll come with you and give you a hand."

"No." Laura s
aid firmly. "You are on a well-
earned vacation and you are going to relax. You just sit and watch the ocean; it's beautiful this time of the day."

"But I
could wait on a few tables…"

Laura had already turned toward the d
un
es. "No, you can't," she called over her shoulder.

Georgia peered out from the dark-blue hood of the sleeping bag that was draped over her head. The beach was deserted for as far as she could see. She wondered what time it was, but there was no way to tell. Sliding her hands out of her gloves, she poured a half cup of coffee and watched the steam rise from it before taking a tentative sip.

If I were back in Baltimore, I'd probably just be getting up now. Maybe go for a run. Back to the apartment for a shower and a light breakfast. Probably wouldn't have seen a soul I knew or spoken a word aloud until
I
got to the studio.

She contemplated the difference between waking in Baltimore and following her usual routine, and waking in Bishop's Cove to watch the sun rise over the ocean with Laura. There was, she concluded, no real comparison to be made. Nothing—but nothing—could have been more wonderful than sharing this cold, early morning with her older sister. It had filled her somehow in a spiritual way, and she felt better for it.

Of course, she reminded herself, now that the sun had risen and the day had begun, there were hours to fill with
…
what? Back in Baltimore, a typical morning would find her at the studio no later than nine-thirty. By ten she would be at the barre for an hour or so, practicing endless plies in all five of the classic ballet positions before moving to the center of the room, where another hour would be spent working on jumps and pirouettes. Then, if there was a performance to prepare for, rehearsal would begin immediately after the exercise session had concluded. If Ivan was feeling generous that day, they might have a lunch break that lasted more than thirty minutes. However, because the breaks were generally so brief, allowing for little time for their food to digest, few of the dancers ate more than yogurt or fruit.

A tide of panic began to rise inside Georgia. She should be there, at the studio, changing into well-worn pointe shoes and pinning up her hair; not here, on a quiet stretch of beach, fighting back the feeling of playing hooky. But of course, she sighed, she had pretty much burned that bridge when she told Ivan that she would like to take a leave of absence.

She had tried to make a private appointment with Ivan to discuss her wish to take some time off. She began the conversation in the doorway to his office, fully intending to close the door behind her to ensure that whatever transpired would be kept private. But Ivan had walked past her, forcing her to follow him into the studio as he walked away and gestured for her to follow behind and continue talking, as Georgia had feared he might do.

Ivan's eyes had smoldered as the full meaning of her words sank in.

"
A leave,
Miss Enright?" he had crowed archly. "A
leave?"

He stood in the middle of the studio floor, hands on his hips, his head tilted to one side with a slight exaggeration of motion.

''Quiet, ladies," he waved at the chattering dancers, a breezy command made with one hand. "Miss Enright, I don't recall that anyone has ever taken a
leave
from this dance troupe."

He had glared at her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a tiny pucker. Whatever she said from this point on would be met with scorn. Georgia had seen him punish so many others for any number of sins or omissions over the years. Today would be her turn, and she braced for it.

"It's out of the question," he told her before she could respond. "Simply impossible. This is a dance
company, Miss Enright, not a social club." He half turned toward her, his brows arched.

"Ivan, I had every intention of discussing this with you in private—" Georgia began in a low voice, exuding a carefully rehearsed calm she most certainly did not feel.

He waved away her response as insignificant. "I demand an explanation. What could possibly be so enormously important that you would even consider disrupting not only my schedule but that of your fellow dancers, as well?"

"I want to take some personal time off."

"Personal
time?" He thundered. "There is no
personal time
in a dance troupe, Miss Enright. And why now, Miss Enright? Did I not make myself clear enough when I offered you the opportunity
to dance a principal role…
?"

A sly, malicious smile spread slowly across his narrow face.
"Ahhhh,
but perhaps Miss Enright is afraid to take such a giant step away from the security of the corps. Perhaps she fears that she will discover that she was meant always to be a sparrow, but never a swan?"

"Ivan, I would be more than happy to discuss this with you in your office, but I really don't think that this is the—"

"Well, that's it, of course," he interrupted caustically. "You know that you are not now, and never will be, the stuff prima ballerinas are made of, don't you? That you are good, but not good enough? That this chance that I offered you will be as close as you will ever get to dancing so much as a solo?" His voice became harsher with every word, his eyes
widening and taking on a barbarous glow. Georgia knew the signs all too well. And Ivan was just warming up.

"'This is ridiculous." Recognizing the futility of attempting a serious discussion with such an individual, Georgia shrugged her shoulders and turned toward the dressing room, wondering if she would be able to escape with a scrap of dignity intact.

"What?" He bellowed at her back, grabbing a white towel from the barre and throwing it at her head. He missed, but didn't seem to notice.