Dancing in the Dark

by Sandra Marton

  “You okay?” Seth asked softly.

  Wendy nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Because if this is too much for you...”

  “It isn’t.” She looked up at him. “I do a couple of hours a day on a stationary bike.”

  “That old one in the basement?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He chuckled. “I’d have thought the pedals would have dropped off by now.” They fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the faint huffing sound of their breathing. “Your mom says you worked hard, getting back your mobility.”

  “I guess.” Wendy stuck out her tongue the way the twins had, caught a snowflake and let it melt. “But I wasn’t about to give up and spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.”

  “No,” he said, “I didn’t think you would.” He glanced at her. “You’re really something, you know? Your own doctors say you won’t walk again, but here you are.”

  “Here I am,” she said with forced lightness.

  “I was so proud of you, when Gina told me.” His voice was thick with emotion. “But I knew you’d do it.”

  Wendy gave a little laugh. “You knew more than I did.”

  “I knew you.” He looked at her again. “Wendy Monroe. The real Wendy, not the one the doctors met that terrible day you fell, or the one your coach saw on the slopes. I knew Wendy. Her strength, her courage, her heart.”

  “Seth.” Wendy could feel tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I already told you how awful I feel about the way I treated you, but I really, really am sorry. I thought it was the best way to end things.”

  “Yeah. So you said. Listen, I don’t want to go through this again, okay? I don’t need to hear how you lay in that hospital bed and realized we weren’t right for each other.”

  “That’s not what happened.” Wendy took a deep breath. “I mean...I mean, all I could think was that my whole life had changed, Seth. That I was a different person, that—”

  “Oh, look at the snow on the soldier,” Robin sang out. “Isn’t it beautiful? Could we go see him, Uncle Seth? Could we?”

  Seth shut his eyes, then opened them again. They’d been so close, so close to talking in a way they hadn’t since the night she’d said goodbye to him all those long years ago....

  “Uncle Seth? Can we?”

  He swallowed hard. “Wendy? You remember the Minuteman? You up to walking over to pay him a visit?”

  Wendy didn’t answer. He looked at her and saw the glint of dampness in her eyes as she returned his look.

  There was so much more he wanted to say to her, but not now, with the twins babbling happily about the soldier.

  “I walked them to the green one afternoon,” he said. “Damned if they didn’t feel sorry for the statue, standing there all alone.”

  “Nobody should be alone,” Wendy said quietly.

  Seth reached for her hand, his aching heart soaring when she threaded her fingers through his.

  “You’re right. So I explained that he wasn’t alone, that he was surrounded by the hopes and dreams of all the people who’d ever lived in Cooper’s Corner. I told them that he was proud to stand here, watching over the town, so many years after he fought for our freedom.”

  “For our freedom,” Robin echoed somberly.

  Wendy smiled. “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah.” He gave a little laugh. “To tell the truth, I was, what, nineteen when I first saw that statue—”

  “Eighteen. You were just eighteen when you came to Cooper’s Corner.”

  “Eighteen. Right.” They paused before the Minuteman, so still and resolute, his lean form and stern face gently illuminated by the lights in the pedestal. “Eighteen, and I thought I was so big and tough.”

  “You were never tough. You were defensive, that was all, because you’d been hurt....” Her voice trembled. “And I hurt you again, Seth. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

  He put his gloved fingers lightly against her lips. “That’s all in the past.”

  “No.” Her eyes swam with tears. “It isn’t. It’s still with us. With me. I know you don’t understand—”

  “You think the old Wendy is gone. That unless you can look in the mirror and see a leg that works like it used to, unless you can make the next Olympic team, unless you can win a goddamned medal, you’re not the Wendy you once were.”

  “Yes—no. It isn’t that simple.”

  He swung toward her. “Then make it simple,” he said in a low voice. “Explain it in words of one syllable, if you have to, until I understand why you threw us away.”

  “Uncle Seth?”

  “Because you have to tell me, damn it, or I’m going to be stuck forever in that moment where I opened the note that said you never wanted to see me again.”

  “Uncle Seth? Look! It’s snowin’ harder.”

  Seth took a deep breath. What was he doing, standing in the middle of the village green, pleading with Wendy, while two little kids sat in a sled and the snow turned to a heavy downfall?

  “Yeah. So it is. Sorry, guys. You must be freezing.”

  “Oh, we’re not cold,” Robin said happily. “We just want to make a snowman.”

  “Another time.”

  “Aw, come on. We could do it now. Please?”

  “Another time, you two.” He forced himself to smile at the children. “As it is, the sled dogs are gonna have a tough go of it, spotting the igloo through the storm.”

  “What’s a sled dog?”

  “What’s a igloo?”

  “I’m the sled dog,” Seth said, wrapping the rope around his hand. “And I’ll bet Aunt Wendy can explain what an igloo is better than I can.”

  Explain about igloos? Wendy could hardly think straight. So many bottled emotions, so many tortured admissions were struggling to get out.

  But the children were waiting. When she looked at them, she could see the expectation in their faces, so she took a deep breath, invented a Husky named Akela and an igloo that stood at the top of the world.

  After a while, she was as lost in the tale as the children.

  “Don’t stop,” they begged.

  She didn’t. She went on with her story, adding characters, describing the arctic tundra and northern lights and towering castles of ice. She kept talking while they made their way to Twin Oaks, while she and Seth tugged off boots and mittens, undid all those buttons and snaps, and only stopped when they brought the twins upstairs to Maureen, who grinned and took her babies into her arms.

  “Finish the story, Aunt Wendy,” Robin pleaded. Randi echoed the request, but it was late, much later than Wendy had imagined.

  “I’ll finish it tomorrow night. How’s that?”

  “What story?” Maureen asked.

  “It’s all about Akela,” Randi said excitedly. “He lives in a igloo.”

  Maureen raised her eyebrows. Wendy laughed and explained all about the walk through the snow and how Seth had pretended he was a sled dog. She and Maureen got to talking. By the time they said good-night, long minutes had gone by.

  Seth was gone. Would he be waiting for her in the gathering room?

  He wasn’t. The room was empty except for Clint, who looked up when he saw Wendy.

  “Hey. You were terrific. I can see you’re going to be a real asset to Twin Oaks.”

  “Thanks. I had fun.”

  “Glad to hear it. Well, might as well call it a night. See you tomorrow.”

  Wendy smiled, said yes, she’d see him the next evening, got all wrapped up again in her parka, scarf, hat and gloves, and went out into the snowy night, telling herself it was dumb to feel disappointed, that there was no reason Seth should have waited for her....

  Two hard hands closed gently on her shoulders.

 
“It’s me,” Seth said softly, and she turned around, wanting to tell him that she knew his touch, that she’d know it anywhere, that she’d never forgotten it or him...

  “Tonight was great.”

  She nodded. Snow whirled around them, locking them in its white magic.

  Seth smiled, lifted one gloved hand to her chin and tilted her face up. “Let’s call a truce, okay?”

  She smiled, too, a little sadly. “I’d like that, but we already tried, remember? It didn’t work.”

  He looked at her mouth, then into her eyes. “That’s because we didn’t seal it.”

  “With a handshake?”

  His eyes grew dark. “With a kiss,” he murmured, and when he took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his, Wendy sighed his name and kissed him and kissed him, while the sky and the snow and the planet spun wildly through space.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTER THREE DAYS, peace returned to the Monroe household.

  Wendy was very glad it did.

  Tiptoeing around your parents when you were ten or eleven and they’d quarreled was uncomfortable. When you were twenty-seven, it was unbearable—especially when they’d quarreled over you. Not that her parents had shouted or snarled or even exchanged harsh words after her mother’s outburst.

  Wendy pulled on an ivory wool sweater, lifted her hair free of the turtleneck collar and picked up her hairbrush.

  Actually, a little shouting might have been better than the formality with which they’d treated each other afterward. Everything was very civilized. ‘Please,’ ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ were the only words exchanged, hanging in the air like dust motes on a sunny day. Somehow, that had only made the tension more noticeable, perhaps because Wendy couldn’t remember her folks arguing over her when she was growing up.

  Well, yes. She could. She paused in front of the mirror in her bedroom, the brush in her hand forgotten. She could recall hearing the hum of their voices leaching through the bedroom wall long after she was supposed to be asleep, Gina saying that Wendy should be permitted to spend a few days in Boston with a friend and her parents, and Howard disagreeing because she’d lose vital practice time.

  Amazing that she’d forgotten that low-pitched discussion, or others like it. Was it because remembering was too upsetting? Maybe they weren’t real memories at all. Children’s recollections could be fickle, couldn’t they?

  No. They were real memories, all right; she could even recall the mornings that came after them, how her father would explain that she could spend time with her friends later, when practice wasn’t so important.

  Once she reached middle school, she didn’t need those pep talks. She didn’t want to do anything but ski.

  And then, in high school, she met Seth.

  Wendy sighed, returned to brushing her hair with even more vigor.

  Seth. A smile curved her lips as she thought about him. Their truce was holding. Better than holding. They’d spent the past three evenings together at Twin Oaks, and even when he was with the twins and she was busy with guests, she was always aware of his presence. Sometimes, she’d look up and see him watching her. She’d smile, and he’d smile....

  That walk in the snow had changed everything.

  They didn’t argue anymore or talk about the past. They just enjoyed being together. Seth hung around the B and B after Randi and Robin went to bed. He waited for her to finish up, and they’d drive to a little diner on the road to Lenox or to the Burger Barn, order something to eat and then let the food get cold because all they really wanted to do was look at each other and talk.

  “You’re not tiring yourself out, are you, baby?” Gina had said just this morning.

  It was her subtle way of letting Wendy know she was aware of how late she came home nights, lots later than the job at Twin Oaks necessitated. Wendy had looked up from her oatmeal, considered telling her that she was seeing Seth, and then thought no, she wouldn’t. Her mother was too sentimental. Too old-fashioned. She’d leap to conclusions about forever after, and forever after wasn’t part of the equation.

  There were still too many questions. Not about Wendy’s feelings for Seth. She loved him; she knew that. And even though he hadn’t said it, she sensed he still loved her. But where did that take them? Where did they go from here? She knew what Seth would want. Marriage. A life in Cooper’s Corner. Children. Children, she thought again, and felt the old despair creeping up to envelop her.

  And then there was the operation. Seth was opposed to it. He thought she wanted the surgery for the wrong reasons, but how could he judge what was right for her? How could he possibly understand how important it was for her to reclaim at least part of herself, when he didn’t know how much of herself she’d actually lost?

  Wendy put down the hairbrush, took a pair of small gold hoops from the top of the dresser and inserted them in her earlobes.

  Pommier had to come back to town soon. He just had to.

  She looked at her reflection again.

  And she had to get to work. She was due at Twin Oaks in less than ten minutes.

  * * *

  TWO TOWHEADED LITTLE BOYS, a girl with dark-brown braids and a boy about the twins’ age all sat cross-legged at Wendy’s feet in the gathering room. Randi and Robin were curled against her on the love seat.

  All six pairs of eyes were fixed on Wendy’s face.

  “...and,” she said softly, “when Janie heard the wolf’s long, lonely howls echoing through the starry night, she wrapped her arms around Akela and planted a kiss on his silky muzzle, just between his sad eyes.

  “‘Is the wolf your friend?’” Janie asked. “‘Do you feel sorry for him? Please, Akela, don’t go away. I love you.’

  “Akela licked Janie’s face. Then he looked up, up, up at the moon. What should he do? Follow the cry of the wolf or stay with the little girl he loved? It was a terribly difficult choice to make, but he knew he had to make it, and soon.”

  Wendy fell silent. The only sounds in the gathering room were the crackle and pop of the logs blazing on the hearth and the soft tinkle of keys as Beth Young, the village librarian, coaxed lush, old-fashioned melodies from the Twin Oaks piano.

  At last the children gave long sighs.

  “That’s a wonderful story,” Randi said.

  “Akela should stay with Janie,” Robin said gravely. “’Cause he loves her and she loves him.”

  “Yeah, but that old wolf out there in the forest is so lonely,” one of the towheaded little boys said, just as seriously. “Wendy? What’s Akela gonna do?”

  “My question, exactly,” Seth said. He was sitting behind the kids in an old wing chair. “What’s Akela going to do?”

  Wendy smiled at him. “You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow night to find out.”

  “But we won’t be here t’morrow night,” a small voice said. “We’ll never know what happens to Akela.”

  Wendy looked at the little girl with the dark braids. Her bottom lip was trembling.

  “Oh, honey.” Wendy drew the child onto her lap. “When are you leaving?”

  “In the morning,” a woman said softly. She gave Wendy a quick smile. “Hi. I’m Amy’s mom. I want you to know that she’s loved every minute of Storytime.”

  Storytime. That was what Clint had taken to calling her nightly sessions with the twins and any other children present at Twin Oaks. He’d even listed it on the chalkboard, after checking with Wendy. She’d been happy to agree to tell stories each evening, though at first she’d thought “Storytime” sounded too formal for what she did.

  Now she felt a rush of pleasure whenever someone said the word.

  “Well, we can’t let your daughter go home without knowing what Akela decides, can we, Amy?”

  Amy shook her head. “No. We sure can’t
.”

  Wendy smiled and tugged gently at one of the child’s braids. “Tell you what. Suppose I meet you right here tomorrow morning at...” she looked at the mother “...eight o’clock? Will that work for you?”

  “Oh, yes. That would be great.”

  “Eight o’clock, then.” Wendy lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I’ll tell you what Akela decides to do.”

  A happy grin spread across the girl’s face. “Thank you!”

  “You’re very welcome.” She hugged her, and the child scrambled off her lap and ran to her mother. “And before anybody asks,” Wendy said, her stern tone offset by her smile, “all the rest of you will just have to wait until tomorrow evening.”

  There were a couple of halfhearted groans, including one from Seth as he came toward her. She grinned as he clasped her outstretched hands.

  “You’re not gonna make me wait, too,” he said, “are you?”

  “Yes, she is,” Robin declared. “Aren’t you, Aunt Wendy?”

  Wendy kissed Robin, then Randi, and got to her feet. “Darned right I am. Uncle Seth will have to wait, just like you guys.”

  “Good!”

  “What’s good?” Clint asked as he joined them and scooped the twins into his arms. “Surely not the terrors. They’re never good.”

  “We’re always good,” Randi said decisively. “Right, Uncle Seth?”

  “Absolutely! Especially when you go to bed without complaining.”

  “Brilliant,” Clint said with a grin. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Wendy gave each child a hug and a kiss. “Good night, princesses.”

  “G’night,” the girls replied sleepily.

  “Hold down the fort, okay, while I deliver these angels to their mother?”

  “Sure.”

  “Be down in five...and Wendy? You’re terrific at this.”

  “Mr. Cooper’s right.”