Dance with the Doctor (17 page)

“Is it a very big stage?” Zoe asked.

“It’s a pretty big stage,” Darcy said. “You’ll have a chance to run through your number on it before the show so you can see what it’s like.”

“It’s big,” Hannah confirmed. “My brother Ben is in high school and we saw him in a play there.”

“You’ll be up where the audience can see you, but the lights make it difficult for you to see them,”

Darcy said. “Which is a good thing. It’ll help you be less nervous. But because you’ll be farther away from them, you want to be sure to wear stage makeup.”

“Do you mean like a clown?” Debby asked.

“Not exactly,” Darcy said. “But more blusher and lipstick and eye shadow than you’d ever wear in public. You’ll see how the older dancers do their makeup and your moms can help you copy them. Now let’s get started. We have a lot of work to do.”

They spent the next hour drilling the routine, working on the fine details that took the dance from exercise to art. Darcy smiled at her young students in the mirror as she led them once more through the moves. They were so excited. Like any group of dancers, some were more talented than others, but all of them had gained flexibility and self-confidence these past weeks.

“Great job,” she told them when class ended. “I’m very proud of how hard you’ve all worked. Remember, next week is dress rehearsal, so bring your costumes. And invite all your friends to come to the show in two weeks.”

“Goodbye, Darcy!”

“See you next week!”

“See you tomorrow, Taylor!”

When the others had left, Taylor lingered behind. “I guess your dad’s running late again, huh?” Darcy said. Was Mike that reluctant to see her again?

“You said I should stay late again this week so we can finish my costume. Then you’re going to take me home. Don’t you remember?”

In everything that had happened this past week, Darcy had forgotten, but she didn’t let on to Taylor. “Sure,” she said. “Come on into the house and try it on.”

“Oh my gosh!” Taylor squealed when Darcy pulled the completed costume out of the closet. “I love all the sequins you added. It’s even more beautiful than I remember.” She held it out to admire it, then threw her arms around Darcy. “Thank you so much. I love it so much. I love you for making it for me.”

Darcy patted Taylor’s back and swallowed a knot of tears. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I love you, too.” For a long moment woman and girl embraced, Taylor’s arms tight about Darcy’s neck. As much as she regretted that things hadn’t worked out with Mike, she mourned almost as much that she could never be more to this dear girl than a teacher and friend. What would she do when the class ended and she didn’t see Taylor every week?

“I’d better go try it.” Taylor pulled away, leaving Darcy bereft. “I can’t wait to see what it looks like on.”

Taylor skipped into the bathroom and returned only moments later, walking on tiptoe with her arms outstretched. “How do I look?”

“Like a princess,” Darcy said. “A beautiful princess. Now come stand on the chair so I can make sure the hem is straight.”

Taylor obligingly mounted the chair. “Can you help me with my makeup at the show?” she asked. “I don’t have any of my own.” She made a face. “Dad says I’m too young for makeup and won’t let me wear it.”

“Your father’s right, but this is a special case.” Darcy adjusted the skirt. “I’ll help you get fixed up. Don’t worry.”

“I came home from Mom’s once wearing makeup and he got really angry.”

“As I’ve told you, fathers sometimes have a hard time watching their little girls grow up,” she said. Mothers too, but most hid it better, she thought. “We won’t tell him beforehand and if he’s upset later he can take it up with me.” He already thought she was irresponsible when it came to his daughter, so a little makeup wasn’t going to destroy her reputation.

She debated dropping Taylor off without speaking to Mike, but that was the coward’s way out, so she followed Taylor up to the house, as if this was any other Wednesday afternoon, and not the Wednesday after he’d slept with her then left her with his sick daughter and run roughshod over her feelings.

“Come on in,” Taylor said. “Dad has some awesome pictures of the storm.” Mike was nowhere in sight when they entered the house.

While Taylor searched for the pictures on her dad’s computer, Darcy nervously roamed the room. She’d thought she could get through this, could see Mike again and act like everything was fine, but there were too many reminders here of the man behind the doctor’s white coat: pictures of a laughing, smiling Taylor on the swings in a park, a funny clay bird obviously crafted by a child’s hand, Taylor’s toys and school supplies scattered around the room.

His whole life revolved around his daughter. Why had Darcy imagined he’d ever have room in it for her?

She was hit by such overwhelming sadness she had trouble breathing. “Taylor, honey, I’m going now,” she said. “I’ll see you next week.”

Before the girl could protest, Darcy slipped out the door. She was fumbling with the key when a familiar masculine voice called out, “Darcy, wait.”

Mike wore a white dress shirt, and a purple paisley tie Darcy guessed was Taylor’s choice. He was the picture of the handsome, eligible doctor, and her stomach did a backflip at the memory of him holding her in his arms.

“I’m glad I got to see you,” he said, stopping a few feet from her car. His gaze searched her, as if looking for symptoms of some disease. “I wanted to say how sorry I was about the way things ended Sunday.”

She nodded, blinking rapidly. She absolutely was not going to cry in front of him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him—not at the handsome man she loved, but at the overprotective father who’d driven her nuts. “You were only doing what you thought was best for Taylor.”

“And for you. I thought having the nurse there would make things better for you, too.”

“I guess my…insecurity just proves I’m not ready yet to handle a relationship,” she said. “Especially with a child involved.”

“I guess I’m not, either. Maybe when Taylor’s older…” His voice faded away.

“I’m glad she’s okay,” Darcy said.

“I’m not sure I can explain what it’s like. Every illness is a flashback to that worst one, when I almost lost her.”

“Maybe it will get better in time.” Though could it, really? Did parents of chronically ill children ever regain the sense of ignorant imperviousness they’d known before their child was stricken? They knew a reality that was only abstract to everyone else—that the one thing you treasured most in this world could be snatched away from you in the blink of an eye. Was it any wonder Mike was determined to hold so tightly to Taylor? “I understand,” she said. “I really do.”

“I spent so many years raising her by myself—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

She slipped into the driver’s seat of her car and started the engine. “Goodbye, Mike. Take care.”

She backed out of the parking space, glancing up only once to see him in the mirror, a solitary figure, hands in his pockets. She felt a heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Maybe that was the worst part of this—that a relationship once filled with hope and promise had ended, not with an explosion of emotion, but with a quiet slipping away. As if both of them had been so wrung out by grief and the weight of responsibility that they didn’t have any fight left in them.

“Why was she in such a hurry?”

“She wasn’t in a hurry. But she had to go.” They’d both said all there was to say, so why prolong the pain?

Taylor sat on the sofa. “Dad, did the two of you have a fight or something?”

Her accusatory tone made him wince. “Not exactly a fight…. Look, honey, I know you like Darcy. I like her, too. But my job right now is to look after you and my patients. I don’t really have time for anything else.”

Taylor dismissed this reasoning with a shrug. “If she’s mad at you about something, you should say you’re sorry and promise to make things up to her.

She’ll understand.”

“Oh, she will?” Taylor’s certainty was almost amusing. “And what makes you such an expert?”

“I never said I was an expert. But I’m a girl.” She tried to balance a pencil on one finger. “You should call her up and ask her out this weekend. Take her someplace romantic.”

How pathetic was a man when his ten-year-old daughter started planning his dates for him? But Taylor definitely seemed to have everything worked out in her mind. “What are you going to do while I’m on this romantic date?” he asked.

“Well…” Her gaze was fixed on the pencil. “I could go to this party I’ve been invited to.”

“What party is that?”

“It’s a birthday party for this kid in my class.”

Her evasiveness aroused his suspicions. “Does this kid have a name?”

Taylor blushed a deep pink. “It’s Nathan Orosco.”

“Na—isn’t that the boy you gave a black eye? The one you punched for saying mean things to you?”

“Well, yeah.”

Mike sat in the client chair across from her. “Taylor, why would you want to go to a party given by a boy you dislike so much you fought with him on the playground?”

She dropped the pencil and looked at him at last, her eyes pleading. “I don’t dislike him. I mean, I was mad about what he said, but I don’t dislike him. And he said he was sorry.”

“He said he was sorry,” Mike repeated dully.

“Yeah. And Darcy and I talked about it. She explained about the way guys think, so his acting so stupid made sense—well, it made sense for a guy.”

“Darcy explained… Then why don’t you explain it to me so I can understand? You didn’t like this boy, but now you do?”

“I didn’t like him because I thought he didn’t like me. But Darcy explained he probably really did like me and he was only trying to get my attention. She said guys do dumb things like that because they aren’t always good at saying what they really feel.”

Mike could concede that a fifth-grader might do something dumb like call a girl a name to get her attention, but grown men didn’t act that way.
He
certainly didn’t act that way. And as far as not being able to express his feelings, he’d told Darcy he loved her and he meant it—how much clearer could he be?

“Can I go to the party, Dad? Please?”

“When?”

“Saturday night, from seven to ten.”

“At night?” Weren’t kids’ parties supposed to be in the daytime?

“Yes. His mom and dad are taking us to the ice-skating rink and for pizza.”

Ice-skating sounded safe enough. As long as Taylor didn’t fall and break something. “You promise me you’ll be careful.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ll be careful. Please, Dad.”

He sighed. What happened to slumber parties with girlfriends, or cake and ice cream with a clown in the afternoon? He supposed Taylor was getting too old for such things, though he hated to admit it. “I’ll call and speak with Nathan’s parents.”

“Don’t embarrass me by giving them a bunch of rules and telling them about my heart. Please.”

“They need to know.”

“They don’t need to know. I’ll tell them if anything important comes up, but you’ll just freak them out. They’ll tell Nathan and he’ll look at me different. He’ll think I’m some kind of weirdo.”

“Taylor, having a heart transplant does not make you a weirdo.”

“It makes me different. In fifth grade, that’s enough.”

She wanted so much to be like everyone else, but he could never see her that way—she was special simply because she was his daughter. But he wanted her to be happy as much as he wanted her to be safe. “I won’t say anything. But I will call and introduce myself. That’s only right.”

She stood and came to hug him. “Thank you.”

He held her longer than was absolutely necessary, reluctant to let her go. She was getting so independent, growing up so much faster than he wanted.

He’d known the day was coming, but he wasn’t ready yet.

But the morose, heartbroken man she’d expected to find was nowhere to be seen. Dave greeted her with a bear hug and a kiss. “Come on back to the kitchen with me,” he said. “I was just getting ready to baste the ribs.”

The old-fashioned kitchen was clean but cluttered, the Formica countertop crowded with jars of spices and bottles of ketchup, molasses, vinegar and half a dozen other ingredients. “I’m experimenting with a new sauce,” Dave said as he lifted the lid on a pot and stirred the contents. The sharp aroma of spices and vinegar made Darcy’s eyes water.

“It smells wonderful,” she said. She settled onto a stool at the end of the counter.

“I’m thinking of entering the barbecue competition the Lions Club sponsors in June,” he said. He pulled a pan out of the oven and peeled back the foil to reveal a rack of smoky ribs.

“You’d get my vote,” Darcy said. “When do we eat?”

“These need to cook another half hour or so.” He began to baste the ribs, coating each one in sauce with all the meticulousness of a painter.

Darcy looked around the room. The red teakettle no longer sat at the back of the stove, waiting for Carrie to brew a pot of the tea she preferred over coffee. The puppy dog calendar had been replaced with muscle cars. The lace curtains she’d made were still at the windows. Had she left them to remind Dave of what he was missing?

“Have you heard from Carrie?” she asked.

“She posted on Facebook that she was settled into her new place.”

“So you checked her page?”

“She’s still on my friends list.” He shoved the pan back in the oven. “Carrie and I don’t hate each other,” he said. “We’re both better off now.”

“How can you say that? You loved each other. You were together for five years.”

“I loved her, but not the way she wanted. We were only together so long because I didn’t want to hurt her. But I wasn’t the man she needed—I didn’t even want to be that guy.”

“Didn’t you want a home and family?”

He shook his head. “I’m happy with my life the way it is,” he said. “Some of us are better off alone.”

“I don’t believe that.” The idea was a weight pulling her down, and she fought against it.

“So how are things with you and Mike?” Dave asked.

She took a deep breath. “They didn’t work out.”

“No? I thought you were really into him.”

“I was, but…” But what? The timing wasn’t right, and they weren’t ready. With Taylor in the picture, everything was too complicated. Since when had anything about love been simple? “It just didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine. Do you want me to set the table?”

“Yeah. I made potato salad, too.”

She thought of the dinner Mike had made for her. What was it with all these independent men who could cook and keep house and live fine on their own and didn’t really need women for anything?

She stood and began pulling silverware from the drawer. Not that she wanted a helpless man—far from it. She only wished Mike had seen her as more capable. More worthy of his trust.

“You’ll find someone,” Dave said. “You seem ready now.”

“What do you mean, ready?”

“Less sad, maybe? I’m not saying you don’t still miss Riley and Pete—of course you do. But you don’t seem as weighed down by the grief, as if there’s room in your life now for more.”

“You noticed all that?”

“Hey, I’m a man, but I’m not completely clueless.” He pulled her to him in a rough hug. “Besides, I look out for my little sister. I want to see you happy.”

“So you’re okay alone, but I’m not?”

“I know how much having a family means to you. If this Mike guy wasn’t right for you, you’ll find someone who is.”

“Maybe I should be on your barbecue cook-off team,” she said.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? It sounds like it would be a great way to meet guys who can cook.”

He laughed. “You can be on my team if you promise to wear your belly dancing outfit.”

“To cook barbecue?” She laughed.

“Absolutely. Most of the judges are men. You wear your costume and we’ll be sure to pull in the most votes.”

“I thought the barbecue was judged on how it tastes.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got that sewn up. But there’s a showmanship trophy, too. We might as well go for that.”

“Maybe I’ll get a few friends to come. We’ll call it belly-licious barbecue.” She could picture their costumes—sort of a caveman theme, with leopard-print pants and wild fringe, maybe orange and red to resemble flames. Out of washable material, of course. She wouldn’t want to risk anything fragile around all that barbecue sauce and beer. They’d dance to music with a strong drumbeat and a primitive sound. “I’ll do it,” she said. “You will win that showmanship trophy.” She hugged him, hard. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, returning the hug.

“For reminding me of what I’m good at,” she said.

“You mean dancing? You’re the best.”

“Not just dancing, but costuming and choreography and teaching.” Maybe she wasn’t an expert nurse or the world’s best mother, but she had found her niche in the world. Dancing had gotten her through the worst time of her life, when she’d lost her husband and her son. It would get her through the loss of Mike and Taylor, too. And maybe, when Mike saw her dancing at her show he would realize that competence was sometimes overrated, and there was a definite place in the world for passion.