Dark Turns (12 page)

N
ia’s phone buzzed across the kitchen counter like a fly. The sound woke her from the light sleep she’d eventually eked out on the couch. She buried her head beneath the thin throw blanket, hoping the noise would stop.

Peter didn’t know how to sleep in a small bed. He lay on his back in the center of her twin mattress, one arm flung across it, the other jammed against the wall. He had started on his side, hip bones pressed against Nia’s pelvis, arms draped over her back, but the position had led to another athletic round of intercourse that left them both too sweaty for close quarters. Afterward, he’d rolled onto his back and fallen into a dead sleep, apparently unaware that his broad body left her a four-inch-wide rectangle of mattress.

The phone continued vibrating against the counter. She must have forgotten to turn off her alarm. Ballerinas shared God’s work ethic—they rested just one day a week. Since Ms. V was Jewish, Nia’s Sabbath was Saturday. Having class Sunday also worked better since some kids went home Friday night and returned Sunday.

Nia stumbled over to the counter to silence the buzz. Her temples throbbed from a mild hangover. Her muscles felt tight. She wanted to crack her toes.

A text from Dimitri blared on the home screen:

Brunch. She’d forgotten.

The room smelled like stale sex. She couldn’t meet Dimitri like this.

Peter’s pupils moved beneath his thin lids, a sign of REM sleep. Air rumbled through his nose.

She tiptoed to her bathroom, shutting the door behind her before turning on the shower. She avoided wetting her hair in the stream. Not enough time for the blow dryer. Barely time for soap. And zero time to explain to Peter about brunch with her ex. She would let him sleep and text him that she’d had a meeting. They could meet up later.

She applied light makeup: lip gloss, a little blush, a neutral eye shadow. She wanted to look good without seeming like she’d made an effort. Getting dolled up for the guy who’d dumped you was desperate, and she wasn’t desperate. She’d met a very nice guy. A great guy, in fact.

Still, she wanted Dimitri to want her. She just didn’t know if that desire stemmed from unresolved feelings or a demand for revenge.

She slipped from the bathroom like a cat burglar and made her way toward the closet. It creaked as she opened it. Peter stirred in the bed, a slumbering Goliath on David’s pillow. She pulled a blue sundress from a hanger. The dress was summery, not fancy. Not trying too hard. She slipped it over her head and shoved her feet into her ballet flats.

Dimitri would need to leave the car in lot A, beside the football field. She texted parking instructions as she crossed the room to the exit. The girls’ quad was a short walk away. She would see him in five minutes.

“That’s not a leotard.”

The bed springs groaned as Peter rose from the mattress. His eyes were still swollen from sleep. “So,” he yawned. “Showered, nice dress. I was thinking faculty dining hall, but I take it you want to go out for breakfast.”

He lumbered over to her. Lips landed on her cheek. Nia stood paralyzed.

He stretched his arms as he walked into the bathroom. The door shut. The toilet flushed. The sink faucet blasted.

She called through the door. “Actually, I have—”

“What? I can’t hear you over the water. Just a minute.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Nia felt panicked. What if he somehow made it into her building and knocked on the door before Peter left? Meeting Dimitri with another guy would seem deliberately mean, as though she’d orchestrated Peter’s departure to get back at him.

She texted,

Peter rubbed his face and hair with the hand towel as he reentered the living room. Blond strands flopped across his forehead. Stubble dotted his jawline. “There’s this little country kitchen–type place in town. It’s on the first floor of a bed and breakfast. Great apple muffins.”

The back of her neck grew hot. “I’m sorry. I have plans. I’d told a friend that I would have brunch with . . .” she trailed off. No need to add a gender identifier. “It was before we had Friday plans.”

“Oh. Should we all go together? Just let me get on some clothes.”

Peter flung back the covers, revealing his wrinkled jeans and boxers from the prior night. He shook them out and then slipped them on. He peered behind the bed, hunting for his shirt.

“Actually, ‘friend’ might not have been the right word. A professional contact.” She feigned nonchalance, as if she wasn’t struggling to find gender-neutral pronouns. “Just someone I used to dance with who works at the New York City Ballet. I need to keep up my connections. There’s a lot of crossover between NYCB and some of the companies that I hope to audition for this winter.”

Peter continued searching for his shirt.

“Anyway, we were just going to talk shop. Ballet gossip. You know, who is dancing where, which choreographers are being groomed, kind of inside-baseball. It’s really more of a professional meeting than friends catching up.”

She was talking too much, but she couldn’t stop. Words vomited from her nervous gut. She wasn’t practiced in lying.

“I should probably go. I said we’d meet on the quad at ten.”

“Okay.” Peter smiled. It looked forced. “Would you like to grab dinner later?”

Nia couldn’t imagine Dimitri staying until dinner, but she didn’t want to risk it. What if they decided to eat in Claremont? She might not make it back in time. She didn’t want to tell Dimitri that she needed to return for a dinner date.

“I don’t know. Can we play it by ear?”

He found his shirt on the side of the bed and slipped it over his head. “Yeah, sure.”

Nia’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the text:

Peter grabbed her waist. He pecked her lips. “Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

He opened the door and then turned back toward her. Another kiss landed on her mouth. More passionate than the first.

For a moment, she forgot about Dimitri.

The door closed behind him. The phone buzzed.

*

Nia descended the steps into the girls’ courtyard. It was a fall morning. Goosebumps broke out on her shoulders and upper arms as she stepped into the shady quadrangle.

Peter was still walking across the courtyard. She watched him pass the magnolia trees. A door slammed. A couple girls hustled down the steps of a neighboring building. They waved to Peter as they turned in the direction of the dining hall. He was a popular teacher. He must be good at it.

“Nia.”

Dimitri’s voice. She searched for the source. He sat on a metal bench pressed against the side of her building, beside the stairs. The wind jostled his wavy dark hair and loose button-down shirt. Tan forearms, slender yet muscular, peeked from beneath three-quarter sleeves. The memory of her body in those arms—the way they had cradled her, thrown her, supported her—sent a shudder down Nia’s back.

She walked down the remaining steps. Dimitri ran over and threw his arms around her waist. Her feet left the ground as he spun her around. “I’ve missed you.”

The embrace felt like returning home. She wanted to relax into it but couldn’t. He wasn’t her home anymore. Moreover, she worried Peter would glance over his shoulder and see that her “friend” was more than that—or had been. He hadn’t yet made it off the quad.

She pushed both hands into Dimitri’s chest. He dropped his arms from around her waist. She stepped back.

“Hey,” she said.

The warmth left Dimitri’s smile. The expression froze on his face, toothy and awkward. “Something wrong?”

“No. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

Dimitri followed her gaze over his shoulder.

Even though Peter had made it to the edge of the quad, she could still tell his clothing was rumpled and used. The walk of shame wasn’t as obvious as a woman in a cocktail dress on a Sunday morning, but it was close.

“I thought guys weren’t allowed in the girls’ building.”

Nia squinted as though she couldn’t quite see the subject of his curiosity. “Oh. That’s Peter. He’s a teacher.”

Dimitri tilted his head. “And he’s on the girls’ quad on a Saturday morning?”

She felt a flush of guilt. She told herself that the emotion wasn’t warranted. Dimitri couldn’t have expected that she’d
spent the past year without any romantic relationships. He’d undoubtedly seen many girls since their breakup.

Hurt crackled through Dimitri’s chestnut-colored eyes. He knew. There was only one reason a thirty-something guy would be on the girls’ quad on a Saturday: to see a woman. And she was the only woman around.

His mouth twisted in disappointment. “He came from your room?”

This was not how she’d imagined the reunion with her ex: him in the self-righteous position and her struggling to explain herself. He’d ended things. Why should she be on the defensive?

“Wait a second. You break up with me a year ago, then call out of the blue, and you want to start with the third degree?”

“Well, I didn’t think you would have some dude with you.”

“I didn’t have him with me. He’s across the courtyard.”

“You’re sleeping with him?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Honestly? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m kidding about you sleeping with some guy?”

“No. You must be kidding coming here and acting like you have a right to know. You wanted to see other people. And now you’re acting possessive, like I’m wronging you by seeing someone?”

Anger made her theatrical. Her hands flitted around like a hummingbird, brushing her brow, flying out toward him. She pivoted toward her dorm. “You know, this was a bad idea. You should just go.”

He grabbed for her hand. She pulled both into her chest.

“Okay.” Dimitri’s stance softened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just wasn’t prepared. Where would you like to go for brunch?”

“I don’t know the area too well yet. There’s a pay cafeteria—”

“I was thinking someplace more private.”

“Apparently, there’s a brunch place in a nearby bed and breakfast. I don’t know the name, but we could search for it.”

“Sounds good. My car is in the visitors’ parking, down the hill.”

He again reached for her hand. She kept it at her side.

She felt the warmth of his presence behind her as she led the way down the sloping path. A pink blush crept up the tips of the broad-leaf maples lining the walkway. Soon the green landscape would turn red and gold.

“It’s nice here,” Dimitri said.

His fingertips brushed her thumb. She stopped walking and kept her hand steady. He read the signal. His palm engulfed her fingers.

“You look beautiful.”

She turned toward him. He smiled. The expression seemed sad.

“Thanks. You look good, too. The same.”

“I’ve missed you.” He reached for her other hand. His thumbs stroked her wrists.

She steeled herself with a shrug. “Well. You wanted to see if you would.”

His full lips curled inward. He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I should never have asked for space. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

The words cut through her. Distance had dulled the pain of their breakup. Dimitri’s sudden proximity sharpened it into a stabbing sensation.

His chocolate eyes took on a syrupy quality, threatening to melt her anger. She held her breath, trapping the hurt, and forced a sarcastic snort. “Why?”

His pectorals lifted and fell, highlighting the crevice where her head had once fit perfectly. She tore her gaze away.

“I was stupid. I’d felt overwhelmed and everyone kept saying, ‘You’re young, you can’t know what you want.’” He touched her chin, forcing her to look up at his deep brown eyes. “But I did know. I knew I wanted to be with you the first time I saw you.”

She coughed, clearing a way for speech in her cinched throat. “I mean, why do you know this now? Did you break up with someone or—”

“No. I mean, I dated. But no one came close to you. I thought about going to see you, but I didn’t know what it was like for you on the road . . .” He rubbed her hands again. “That’s no excuse. I should have come sooner.”

She blinked at the sky to keep the tears from falling. It was a smoky blue today. Gray blue. Like Peter’s eyes.

“You’re right. You should have come sooner. I’m seeing someone right now.”

“It can’t be like us.”

“It’s new. But I’m not going to break it off just because you’ve decided you made a mistake. All I can offer right now is friendship.”

He looked away. She braced for his response. Maybe friendship wouldn’t be good enough. Maybe he’d decide that coming to see her had been a mistake. Maybe she was blowing her one shot to make things work with him again.

She pressed her lips together, stopping herself from proposing anything more. She couldn’t run back to him. It wouldn’t be fair to Peter, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to her.

“Okay. I understand. I’ll take it.” He sighed. Another sad smile creased his face. “Where are we going to brunch?”

“I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” He jostled her arm playfully. “So, want to dance?”

D
imitri stood in front of the wall of windows overlooking the lake. He jumped in a perfect stag leap—front leg bent, back leg extended behind him. For a moment, he looked as though he were floating in air. He landed, perfectly, on the pads of his sock-covered toes. He hadn’t brought ballet slippers, and street shoes were not permitted in studios. Hard soles scuffed floors.

Nia fiddled with the computer on the wall. A gentle waltz slipped through the speakers. She twirled into him. He grasped her waist. She rose to the tips of her satin-wrapped pointe shoes and, facing him, extended her back leg into arabesque. He rotated her sideways and slipped his hand beneath her raised thigh. She readied to fly.

He lifted her high above his head. She bent her knee and pointed her foot to her thigh, confident that the movement wouldn’t upset his hold.

After a moment, he placed her pointed foot back on the floor. He stepped to the side, hand still outstretched, offering his physical support for whatever she wanted to do next. She dipped forward and extended her raised leg behind her into a straight line with her standing leg—scratching her earlier itch to showboat during penchée practice.

“Nice. You can balance that on your own now.”

“Ruban taught me some things.” She lowered her leg and traveled forward on her toes as she talked.

He followed behind. She caught a flick of his heel in the air. She copied his pas de chat, leaping from one foot to the other, bringing her knees up to form a diamond. They leapt across the room, alternating between the “cat’s step” and the foot-fluttering entrechat.

They landed each jump at the same time, completely in sync. He’d always been the perfect partner. She could read the step he wanted from the micromovements of his body: the flick of his wrist, the slope of his arm. He could stare at her face while following her footwork, always in the right position to execute the next lift or turn.

She twirled around his muscled body and then slowly lifted a leg in front of her. Suddenly, she tossed herself backward. He caught her and lifted her horizontal figure to his chest. She might not trust him as a lover, but after years of dancing with him, she would always trust him to catch her if she fell.

He lowered to one knee. She dismounted and his hands encircled her waist. He spun her in front of him, then pulled her into his body.

His chest rose and fell against her own. They were too close to dance anymore. She looked up at his lowered head. His chin tilted to the side. His nose grazed her cheek.

Too close.

She jumped backward, freeing herself from his embrace. No more dancing.

“The students might need this room soon,” she lied as she shut off the music. “We should probably go.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” He grabbed his leather loafers from the side of the room and slipped them onto his feet. “So how is teaching going?”

“Good. The students’ levels are pretty varied. But there are two girls who are really, very good. One was at ABT for the last two summers.”

“Must be fun to choreograph for them.”

Nia grimaced. In her attempt to sound more important during their phone conversation, she’d inflated her job description. Her earlier excuse for needing to leave the studio was already one lie too many.

“To be honest, my role has been more about demonstrating Battle’s choreography suggestions. He likes to see his ideas in action.”

“Oh.” He tied his shoe. The silence that followed dwelled on her lie. She needed to break it.

“The school has been in the news a lot lately.”

“Yeah. I saw. I meant to ask you about that. Did you ever meet that boy who killed that girl?”

Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Nia figured she couldn’t fault Dimitri for the assumption. Until last night, she’d also thought Theo did it.

“I did, and I doubt he did it. There’s a student who might be able to place Theo off campus at the time of Lauren’s death.”

“Might just be one of his buddies trying to cover for him.”

“I don’t think so. The student doesn’t really know him. She just saw him.”

Dimitri stood. “Well, that’s not good.”

“Why? He’s probably innocent.”

Dimitri walked toward her. Concern creased between his brows. “Because it means the real murderer is still walking around.”