Dancing on the Sand

by Marilyn Baxter

  “So without further ado, the winner is Ryan Kidd. Stand up and take a bow, Whiz,” Ace said excitedly. “The prize is seventy-five hundred dollars to be donated to the charity or charities of his choice.”

  Ryan stood and waved.

  “Congratulations,” Amara said. “Charity Grambling will be glad to know her favorite contestant won. She thinks you’re hot stuff, by the way.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes in response. “Don’t get me started about her and her sister—”

  “And now for the results for which all of you so patiently waited,” Ace continued, interrupting him. “Our second runners-up will receive a very generous gift card from Casa Blanca’s award-winning restaurant, Junonia. And they are…” Ace paused for effect before continuing. “Ebonie Weaver and her dance partner, Doug Hoffman. Come to center stage, you kids.”

  It didn’t matter that Doug sported a head full of silver hair and the program had listed Ebonie as partner in a prestigious Tampa law firm. Only Ace seemed to think they were kids.

  The couple came into view, and Lacey Walker, who along with her husband Clay, owned the resort, handed each of them a large envelope.

  “Give them a big round of applause, folks. Wasn’t their waltz amazing?”

  The crowd complied, and the couple waved, then repeated the opening few steps of their routine.

  “And the first runners-up and winners of gift cards from Junonia and Eucalyptus as well as a two-night stay at Casa Blanca are…”

  Amara held her breath and willed the man not to say her name. Say any other name, she thought. Jasper Vonderleith. Tiffany Jones. Glynnis—

  “Ryan Kidd and Amara Perez,” Ace announced with flair. “Are you able to come to the stage, Amara?”

  Disappointment settled onto her like the marine fog that often blanketed the island in early morning. They had been perfect. Surely better than Glynnis and Nino Rossi, the only couple besides Jasper and Libby that she had seen dance. She wanted to shake her head that no, she couldn’t leave the comfort of her ringside hideout. But not wanting to appear a sore loser, she stood and leaned on Ryan’s arm as he led them toward the floor.

  “You were robbed,” Jasper whispered as she passed him. “Robbed.”

  Easy for him to say since he’d probably just won.

  “Congratulations,” Lacey said as she handed each of them their prize. Amara could see the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa logo on the heavy linen envelope. “Call the resort any time and schedule your stay,” Lacey continued. “There are no restrictions.”

  Ryan beamed as he accepted his prize. He probably hadn’t expected to do this well. He waved, then smiled at Amara.

  “We did good, huh?” he asked with the enthusiasm of a toddler on Christmas Day.

  “And now the announcement you’ve all been waiting for. The grand prize winners, each taking home a week-long stay at Casa Blanca Resort & Spa complete with spa treatments and dinner each night at Junonia plus a cash prize of five thousand dollars each are…”

  Amara didn’t want to know. Didn’t care who won. Her inner petulant child wanted to stomp her foot and whine that it wasn’t fair. She wouldn’t do that, though. Aside from making herself look ridiculous, that sort of behavior wouldn’t reflect well on Allegro, and she wouldn’t do that to Jasper.

  “…Nino Rossi and Glynnis Chappell Wells.” Ace inflected the words as if he were announcing a grand-slam homerun.

  Nino jogged onto the stage with Glynnis in tow. He reprised his boxer’s victory salute, then hugged Glynnis.

  Amara felt Ryan’s elbow in her side.

  “Well, that sucks majorly,” he whispered against her ear. “He lives here and from what I’ve heard, he cooks as well as the chef at the restaurant. I guess it’s a treat for Glynnis, though. And I told you we couldn’t compete with that schmaltz.”

  She kept the smile plastered on her face and refrained from answering him. Yes, it sucked majorly because that schmaltz had cost the literacy center a lot of money.

  But next time – if there was a next time – she would make sure the routine had an entertainment factor.

  ***

  Amara changed back into the linen pants and tunic she had worn to the resort and packed her dance costume and shoes in her tote. Carefully holding onto the wrought iron railing, she descended the stairs and made her way to Bay Laurel’s sumptuous living room. She made a mental note to thank the Beckers again for their hospitality. Having the villa prior to the competition had been convenient; having it after her collapse had been a godsend.

  She still didn’t remember much about what had happened, and had relied on Jasper’s overly excited account of the event to piece together the story. She had returned to the villa immediately after the winners were announced and taken a brief nap. Ryan had insisted she go to the emergency room, but she’d refused. Dr. Austin had agreed it wasn’t necessary since there was little they could do for her.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Ryan was waiting for her. He had changed from his suit and tie into faded jeans and a Bucks tee shirt that stretched across his chest and accentuated his strong arms. Strong arms that had carried her from the spa to the beach, and then back to the villa. Carried her while she protested all the way that she was perfectly capable of walking under her own steam.

  “It’s time to use that blood test thingy again. I still wish you’d let me take you to the emergency room.” He moved to her side and held out a glass of orange juice.

  She dumped her tote bag and purse on the sofa and took the juice. “I tested upstairs and I’m fine. And I don’t need to clutter up the ER on a Saturday night. You heard the doctor. Besides, I told you I’ve dealt with this since I was a child, and I’m fine.”

  “You collapsed right in front of me. I’d say that’s anything but fine.”

  “Jasper said you froze,” she stated bluntly.

  “Don’t change the damned subject.”

  “Who’s changing the subject? If that doctor hadn’t been there to inject me, we could be talking about more than the emergency room now. It could have been very serious.” She could have died had no one been there to inject her. As it was, there had been a doctor in the house and now she was okay. Or as okay as she could be all things considered. Her thigh ached from the thick substance that had been injected into it, but she had learned long ago that was a small price to pay.

  “I know. Jasper made that painfully clear as he was screeching at me to stab that needle into you. Why didn’t you tell me you were diabetic?” The accusatory tone in his voice was evident.

  “I didn’t think it was necessary. It’s not who I am. I try not to let it define me. I don’t dwell on it.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but it damn well slammed me between the eyes tonight. The doctor said the exertion and excitement of the contest was probably what caused you to collapse. Do you have any idea how frightening that was?”

  Amara forced a laugh. “I believe I do. I was the one doing the collapsing.” She pulled her cell phone from her bag and tapped the screen to life. “I texted the valet to call a taxi. I don’t want to drive quite yet. I’m all right, but you know, just in case.”

  Silently she hoped Ryan would offer to drive her home. Walk her to the door again. Pull her into his arms again. Kiss her senseless again. He wasn’t a client any longer. They could take things to the next level with no worries.

  “You’re changing the subject again, Amara. Why didn’t Jasper give you the injection? He seemed to know about your diabetes and what to do if…that happened.”

  Amara shook her head. “Jasper? Give me an injection? The man faints at the mere thought of a needle. I’m surprised Dr. Austin didn’t have to revive him if he was there when she injected me.” She took three steps and placed a hand on Ryan’s arm. “I’m not blaming you for anything. You were caught off guard. It could happen to anyone.”

  Her phone dinged with an incoming text. “My taxi is here,” she said after checking the screen. “You know, I think I
’ll have the driver drop me at the Causeway Café. I’m getting hungry and don’t feel like cooking. They have breakfast twenty-four hours a day.”

  Again, she let herself hope. Hope he would say that bacon and eggs sounded like a great idea and there was no need for a taxi because he would drive her to the café, join her for a late dinner and drive her home. Every part of her ached for him.

  “That’s a good idea. The doctor said you probably should eat a square meal. And the Causeway Café is good. They usually have pretty good specials late at night.”

  Her phone dinged again. “I guess I’d better go. So…” She tried not to react visibly to the disappointment of Ryan not wanting to be around her. She should be used to it by now. Other people had shied away from her when they learned she was diabetic. Parents wouldn’t let their children play with her. Friends had disappeared. Dates never called back. And that was one reason she didn’t broadcast it.

  Amara stuffed her purse into the tote and slung it over one shoulder. “Well, okay then,” she said when she reached the front door. “Good-bye.”

  “Amara?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. Hope flooded her heart.

  Ryan stuffed his hands into his front pockets. “Bye.”

  Amara held her tears at bay until she was safely outside. She swiped at them with one hand as she made her way to the waiting taxi and thought of all the things she should have, could have said.

  It was too late now. And the finality to their last words was all too palpable.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “She could have died.” Ryan made the bold statement from his place at Henry Murphy’s kitchen table. It held as much gloom and doom when he said it to the older man as it had when Amara collapsed. And in the five days since the competition, not a day had passed that he wasn’t reminded of why she could have died.

  And not a day went by that he didn’t think of the dark-haired beauty and the kisses he had stolen. He had planned to steal another, but the events of the previous Saturday caused his plans to go awry.

  The experience, however, had motivated him to donate most of his winnings to the church literacy program and the rest to diabetes research in Amara’s honor. The silver convertible no longer held any appeal.

  The newspaper, his new apartment lease, the letter in the prize envelope from the resort – they all mocked him with a viciousness he had never before experienced. But no one’s life had ever been compromised by his inability to read until that night.

  “But she didn’t die, and for obvious reasons that’s good,” Doc said. “And apparently you couldn’t read how much money is on this Junonia card or you might not have given it away.” Doc turned the multi-colored gift card toward Ryan and pointed to the five and two zeroes printed on the front.

  “I can do numbers,” Ryan replied with a shrug. “It’s the letters that don’t compute. And I don’t feel like that’s enough. I’d never have managed without your help. Take that new lady friend of yours and treat her to dinner.”

  Doc scowled at him. “How did you know about her? I thought I’d been pretty careful to keep her a secret.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Remember? I’m the best secret keeper on this island. I know all the tricks.”

  Doc didn’t appear convinced, though.

  “Okay, I saw you two coming out of the movie theater in Naples a few evenings ago. I didn’t want to say anything. But you two looked pretty chummy. Don’t deny it.”

  Doc contemplated the salt and pepper shakers at his fingertips. “Oh, I’m not going to deny anything. I’ve been seeing Eloise for a month or so, but I’m not ready to bring her to the island and expose her to the gossip girls of Mimosa Key.”

  Ryan laughed. “I hear ya. But even Charity Grambling and her horde of gossip mongers don’t know my secret.”

  “Let’s just make sure she and that sister of hers don’t find out about Eloise. But since you mentioned it, how long are you going to deny it?” Doc continued.

  Ryan’s gaze snapped up, but he didn’t move. Deny what? His inability to read? He couldn’t deny it if he tried, at least not to Doc.

  “Deny isn’t really the right word, though,” Doc explained before Ryan could answer. “You know you can’t read. And unfortunately, you accept that as the norm. It doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way.” The older man stopped just short of ordering Ryan to attend the adult literacy class they had discussed so many times before.

  “If she had just told me about the diabetes and what could happen, I could have been prepared.”

  “Ah, yes. I can picture that.” Doc shook his head. “Amara, can I have one of your spare glucose kits so I can practice sticking the needle into an orange and figure out how to give you an injection if you pass out on me? That’s a great way to win the girl.” Doc paused thoughtfully. “Actually, it might be a great way to impress a woman – be prepared to save her life.”

  “Who’s trying to win the girl?” Ryan asked innocently.

  Doc’s gaze pinned him in place. “That’s the other thing you’re in denial about. You care about that woman above and beyond helping her in a medical crisis. You couldn’t get out of that dance studio fast enough a month ago when you started rehearsing. By last week that’s where you were every spare minute of the day.”

  “We were rehearsing.” Ryan said the words a little too loudly. Too forcibly. He cleared his throat and inhaled deeply. “I still had trouble with one part of the routine, and we needed all the rehearsal time we could get.”

  “And apparently it paid off. At least in the dancing department.”

  “Second place?” Ryan spat the words out. “That’s the first loser. And the real loser was Amara. She was going to donate her winnings to the literacy program.” He released a deep sigh. “And I had decided to do likewise. I wasn’t good enough, and I failed. I failed again.”

  Ryan rubbed his shoulder.

  “Is it bothering you?” Doc asked, nodding in Ryan’s direction.

  Ryan shook his head. “The shoulder isn’t what’s bothering me. What am I gonna do, Doc?”

  The older man leaned forward. “Seems to me you have a couple things you need to tackle. And I can’t do that for you. You know my position on the reading issue. The other? Only you have the answer. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you the adult class meets tonight in, oh, about ninety minutes.”

  Doc was absolutely correct. Damn it. And no, he didn’t have to remind Ryan about the class. Ryan pushed away from the table and stood. “You and Eloise let me know how you like Junonia, okay? Maybe I’ll take a date there one day.”

  The men said their goodbyes and Ryan headed to the Harley parked in Doc’s drive. He strapped on the helmet, slung a leg over the seat and fired up the bike. The familiar pop-pop-pause of the V-shaped engine mocked him.

  Learn to read. Learn to read. Learn to read.

  He ignored the repeated taunt and turned toward the south end of the island. Maybe a stroll along the water with the wind and smell of the ocean would help him sort out things.

  Forty minutes and several miles later, he still had not come to any conclusions. Perhaps today he needed a long ride on the bike more than a walk along the shore.

  When the engine sputtered as he approached the intersection of the island’s two main roads, he angled the bike toward the Super Min and pulled up beside one of the gasoline pumps.

  After adding gas to the tank and re-setting the trip odometer he had ignored, he went inside to pay.

  “Well if it isn’t Whiz Kidd,” the voice from behind the counter announced.

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied, hating the old nickname that was a sore reminder of an earlier failure. “I owe you for some gas,” he said, handing over his credit card.

  “You were pretty danged good in that dancing contest the other night,” she said as she rang up his purchase. “And I voted for you every day in that tweeter contest. Got my sister to vote for you, too. I thought that Alvarez fellow w
as over the top. Didn’t you think so? I mean having that airplane fly over the island all the time was annoying. I’m SuperMinCharity if you want to follow me.”

  Ryan bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Oh? Were you there? I couldn’t see the audience for the lights and then…well, you know.”

  “Me? At that fancy bash? Oh no,” she replied, drawing out the last word. “Too rich for my blood. But the paper has a real nice write-up about it with pictures and everything. Here, let me show you.”

  She pulled a wrinkled paper from under the counter and fumbled until she found the right page. Folding the paper in half, she laid it on the counter and pointed. “See? Read that part right there.” She tapped a spot with a crimson-tipped finger. “I especially liked the part where they said your dancing was good enough to be on that TV show.”

  Ryan let his gaze wander over the page. The paper had printed a photo of him and Amara mid-promenade as well as photos of the other Mimosa Key couples in the competition. The largest photo showed Nino and Glynnis accepting the winners’ trophy.

  The captions were Greek to him. For all he knew, the paper panned his performance. Except Charity had said they didn’t.

  “Uh…I’m kind of in a hurry, so if you have an extra copy of that paper, I’ll buy it and be on my way.”

  “Oh, you just take this one.” The frowzy-haired woman neatly re-folded the paper and handed it across the counter to him. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh at the leer on her face or be creeped out by it.

  “Th…thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking the paper from her grasp.

  “You can just call me Charity, okay?”

  “Okay, ma’am. I mean, Charity, ma’am.”

  The woman cackled and began to walk from behind the counter.

  Ryan turned quickly and strode away. “Thanks again,” he said, holding up the paper and exiting the store.

  He sat in the Super Min parking lot for too long. Charity glared at him from the doorway, and the motorcycle’s engine continued to challenge him. When Charity opened the door and yelled at him about loitering, he kicked the bike into gear, the back tire throwing up a plume of dirt and gravel as he roared away.