So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  “Perhaps not. But, I’m not the snot-nosed kid you remember, either. Trust me, the world is a better place because of that. I was pretty obnoxious as a kid,” I retort.

  “True enough, I suppose,” Tara says thoughtfully. “I hate to break up this truly surreal reunion, but I’m supposed to go avoid a bouquet, before Mouse collapses from sheer anticipation.”

  I help Tara stand up and assist her to balance as she slides her slim foot into impossibly high shoes. When one sticks a bit and I reach down to help her adjust the thin strap around her ankle, I feel like Prince Charming helping his Cinderella. The only difference is that I knew I had found my princess over two decades ago. The hard part is going to be convincing her.

  “Donda looks intent on capturing the bartender. I’d better get back to the piano, so she can have a shot at the bouquet,” I tease.

  Tara smirks as she quips, “Well, more power to her. She is more than welcome to it. I don’t want it—not now, not ever.”

  I’m surprisingly bummed by Tara’s sarcastic answer. I work lots of weddings and I don’t think I’ve ever wished that I was a close personal friend to the bride or groom more than tonight. I could really use someone to toss a bouquet in Tara’s direction.

  I have to smother a grin as I watch the little flower girl weave her way through the guests, arranging them like chess pieces on the dance floor. “Miss Tara! Stop hidin’. I tol’ you; you and Miss Heather are ‘upposed to stand in the front row. Put your listenin’ ears on,” she insists in a loud whisper, tugging on Tara’s dress while Tara is frantically trying to escape the deck.

  “I know you’re trying to be nice, Mindy Mouse, but I don’t need to get married. Someone else can catch the bouquet,” Tara explains.

  Mindy studies Tara for a couple of moments, tilts her head to the side, and says philosophically, “If you say so Miss Tara. But, sometimes, the stuff that scares us the mostest is ‘xactly what we hafta do.”

  “Oh, Mouse, you don’t know what you’re asking,” Tara responds, exhaling shakily.

  “Actually, Miss Tara, I kinda do, ‘member?” Mindy interrupts impatiently. “I runned away from home with my baby sister, a yucky man kissed me, then I was in the hop-spital and my family didn’t care enough to come get us.” Mindy shrugs sadly.

  Tara hugs the little girl close and re-pins a braid that fell from her elaborate hairdo. “Mindy, as usual, you’re right. I need to put my big girl panties on and get over it,” Tara concedes.

  “You’re not wearing any underwears!” Mindy shrieks. “That’s gross, Miss Tara.” The whole dance floor seems to stop to look at Tara and listen to the odd interaction.

  At first, Tara is frozen with embarrassment, but then she notices Mindy’s mouth trembling with laughter. She quirks a raised eyebrow at her as she asks, “Has anybody told you that you’re downright diabolical, Mouse?”

  “Does that mean I’m funny?” counters Mindy, “’cause it should. I tol’ a really funny joke. I heard some peoples laughin’.”

  “No, you silly goose, it means you’re too smart and clever for your own good,” Tara responds, gently tweaking Mindy’s nose.

  Mindy nods slowly as she processes what Tara just said. She suddenly grins and exclaims, “Yeah, I am really smart, huh? So you need to listen to me, even if I’m only a kid. So follow me. I’ll even hold your hand if you’re ascared.”

  Tara is shaking her head with such vigor, I am surprised she’s not dizzy from arguing with that pint-sized force of nature. “Mouse, are you sure about this? There are lots of women here who want to catch this thing. Shouldn’t I just give them a chance?”

  “Miss Tara, didn’t I tell you I just know stuff?” she insists impatiently tugging at Tara’s hand. “Come on, please, we’re gonna be late.”

  “Okay, Mindy Mouse, if it’s that important to you, I’ll come,” Tara answers reluctantly, making an effort to smile politely.

  Mindy looks over at me and I’m embarrassed to be caught openly gawking at them. Yet, Mindy doesn’t seem to think that there is anything odd about the fact the piano player and alleged professional entertainment for the evening has been rubbernecking the whole conversation like a twenty-car pile up on the interstate.

  “Hey Mr. Music Man, can you play a drum roll thingie?” she shouts across the dance floor.

  “I’m sure I can come up with something, Princess,” I assure her chuckling. “By the way, my name is Aidan.”

  Her eyes grow wide as she gasps, “For reals? Were you ever in a band? Can you play the recorder? What about the flute?” she peppers me with questions at a mile a minute.

  I laugh out loud at her rabid curiosity. “Whoa, Mindy a musician can talk forever about their work. How about I give you the short answers for now and we’ll talk more later? Yes, I’ve played in several bands, but nobody was very famous. I can play the recorder. Although I prefer the alto sax. I’d be happy to show you,” I answer solemnly.

  Mindy nails me with a sharp glance as she demands, “Are you sure? No trickin’?”

  I shake my head no and hold up my pinky. “Pinky swear,” I offer.

  Mindy gives me a lopsided grin and tugs on Tara’s hand to get her attention as she announces. “I am going to call Mr. Aidan, Band-Aidan, because he’s Miss Tara’s friend and he helped saved Mr. Jeff from the bad guy. So he needs an epic nickname.” She runs across the dance floor to give me a hug.

  I can see Tara is fighting to hold back tears. So I turn back to the piano and begin to play You Are My Sunshine. “Mindy, after this song is over, I’ll play you a drum roll. Sound like a plan?”

  “Roger Dodger!” Mindy exclaims as she drags Tara to the assembled guests and awaiting bride. “Miss Kiera, everybody’s here now. We’re ready!” she announces as she arranges Tara next to the other bridesmaid.

  I quickly press the drumroll button I have programmed into my soundboard. I prefer to play the piano, but for times like this, the synthesizer and MP3 player come in handy. I wink at Mindy as she gives me a thumbs up. I watch as Tara swallows hard and looks as if she’s about to face a firing squad. She grabs her friend’s hand. “Heather, aren’t you obligated as my best friend to stop them?” she pleads.

  Heather throws her head back and laughs as she replies, “Sorry, Tar. Girlfriend Posse or not, you’re on your own. This baby is mine. I’ve been a bridesmaid way too many times.”

  “You don’t understand!” Tara sputters, “I don’t want to catch it.”

  Heather raises an eyebrow at her as she quips, “Well, I suppose you could try ducking. Still, aren’t you the one who’s always telling us we can’t avoid fate, and all that?”

  I try to smother a grin when I see Tara practically stomp her foot as she rolls her eyes and retorts, “You guys know I hate it, when you make me apply my own advice.”

  Just then the bride wheels to the center of the dance floor and spins her wheelchair around. She grabs the bouquet off her lap and counts to three. She heaves it over her head with such force that she almost topples her chair over backward. The groom swoops in to catch her before she falls. He purposefully tilts her chair back and kisses her deeply. I feel a twinge of envy. The love between these two shines like the sun on a hot summer day.

  I hear shrieks of laughter as Heather wrestles the bouquet away from a teenage girl who isn’t trying very hard to keep it. Heather raises the bouquet in triumph and gives Tara a high five. Tara smiles at the appropriate time, but her eyes are blank and the dimple in her cheek is non-existent. Before I can study the situation further, the groom lets out a wolf whistle and performs a complicated dance maneuver with the bride. He kneels in front of her, reaches up under her wedding gown, and fishes out a delicate garter belt as she leans over and murmurs in his ear. Whatever she said, it must have been pretty racy because he loosens his tie and the tips of his ears turn red as she teases, “Oh trust me guys, you are all going to want to catch this, because I have a feeling married life is going to be more fun than he can handle.”

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sp; I start my sound effect shtick for the garter-throwing routine and I hear Mindy yell across the dance floor, “Hey Band-Aidan? You ain’t married, right?”

  “Uh, nope. I’m not married,” I answer carefully.

  “Then get your tuckus over here! What is it with you grownups and directions?” she asks with frustration.

  “Sorry,” I reply, “I didn’t think you meant me. I have to work.”

  “Of course we meant you. You can take a little break. After all, you can’t mess with fate,” Mindy announces.

  Almost before I can turn around with all the other single guys, the groom sends the garter flying directly into my hands as if there was some invisible force drawing it there. The guy in the cowboy hat scowls at me as he says, “Damn, dude! For a little guy, you have fast reflexes. Do me a favor and keep those quick mitts off my Gidget.” I look up to see a wide grin on the blonde bridesmaid and a look of stark devastation on Tara’s face.

  Oh man, this is bad. It’s just a lame tradition. It wasn’t supposed to make her sad.

  I’m rarely called little at six-two, but sure enough, I have to look up at him. “Gidget? I thought Mindy said her name is Heather,” I ask, trying to follow the strange conversation in this loud atmosphere.

  The cowboy chuckles and sticks out his hand. “I’m Ty, by the way. I forgot you don’t know the story. I called dibs on the blond a couple of weeks ago. I call her Gidget so she remembers I’m around.”

  I return his handshake with a grin. “Whatever, Ty, she’s all yours. I have my eye on the other one,” I admit.

  He pats me on the back as he lets out a low whistle of admiration and murmurs, “Wow! Nothing like choosing the biggest challenge in the room. Tara is a knockout for sure and a talented artist, but she is more skittish than a new cutting horse.”

  “How well do you know Tara?” I ask in what I hope is a casual tone.

  “Well enough to know she shouldn’t be selling Red Bull and Doritos at three o’clock in the morning. That girl could be working in some art gallery in Seattle or New York,” Ty responds.

  “Art gallery?” I ask, “Don’t you mean dance company?”

  Ty’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he remarks with a grin, “Dance? Huh. I guess the little filly has been holding out on us.”

  Immediately, I regret I shared Tara’s story if she didn’t trust people here enough to share on her own. Ty looks at the expression on my face and addresses me soberly. “Relax, Aidan. I’m not going to say anything to her. My best friend is married to her best friend, and she still jumps when I walk into a room. Its obvious Tara has some very real ghosts in her past, yet I’ve seen her stand up to a guy meaner than the devil himself twice now. She has real grit.” He takes off his leather jacket and digs out his phone. “Want to see what Tara painted?”

  I try not to look like a kid waiting for Santa Claus as Ty wipes the fingerprints off of the screen with the edge of one of the tablecloths. He hands the phone to me and explains. “Jeff’s sister, Donda, did the teddy bear room, and Tara did Mindy’s.”

  To my surprise, instead of a few little snapshots, there is a fully produced slide show. I raise an eyebrow in question.

  Ty shrugs and replies, “Jeff’s twelve year old nephew, Gabriel, is a computer genius. He could probably do a music video or infomercial better than most adults.”

  Suddenly a portrait of Mindy comes into frame; it is so realistic that it’s spooky. The next frame is a much younger version of Mindy. Both are dressed as fairies. As slide after slide appears, it is clear Tara has created a phenomenal fantasyland for one very lucky little girl.

  “Wow, was it Mindy’s birthday?” I inquire.

  “After all they went through before, I really think of their rescue as a birthday of sorts, Especially if the adoption goes through, like Jeff and Kiera hope.”

  “I was wondering why Mindy calls them by their first names,” I remark, curious about the unusual situation.

  “I know, isn’t it wild?” Ty replies. “Jeff took one look at Kiera and knew she was the one for him. They only went out for about four months before today. When Kiera decided she needed to step up and rescue the girls, Jeff was right beside her. At first, I thought he had a few screws loose. But then I met Mindy, and I totally got it. That kid is irresistible, and Becca is as cute as a button. It’s a good thing I’ve never met those girl’s parents and grandmother while I was on duty. I’d lose my badge for sure if I had to spend any time alone with them.”

  “That bad, huh?” I ask, grimacing as I remember the scars on her hand.

  “Just think of your worst nightmare and multiply it times a hundred, and it might come close to explaining what those little angels have endured,” Ty explains, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Are they going to be okay?”

  Ty sighs as he responds, “I expect so. Jeff and Kiera have made it their mission to love these girls and get them the help they need. I don’t know Kiera all that well yet, but Jeff is my best friend and he’s always been an overachiever. I don’t expect that to change. Besides, Jeff and Kiera have some pretty awesome friends to help out,” he finishes with a grin and a tip of his cowboy hat.

  I return his grin. “I can’t argue with you there. I happen to think at least one of Kiera’s friends is totally awesome. But I’d better get back to the piano.”

  Getting ready for my set, I hook my cell phone up to the auxiliary jack of the soundboard and turn on the “Do not disturb” setting. I pull up a special playlist and watch for Tara’s reaction. She is across the dance floor talking with Kiera and Heather when the opening notes of Lee Ann Womack’s classic I Hope You Dance break through the chatter in the room.

  As soon as she recognizes the song, she shoots me a startled glance, narrows her eyes and frowns slightly as she signs abruptly, “You know I can’t."

  I quickly respond in sign, “Tara, listen to the rest of the lyrics before you get ticked off, please.”

  Tara’s jaw sets and she rolls her eyes at me. Her spine is stiff and her muscles tense as she listens to the artist sing about chasing dreams and being brave. When the lyrics refer to giving heaven more than just a passing glance, a single tear rolls down her face. It takes all of my willpower to keep myself planted behind the piano. She looks like she could shatter at any moment. Yet, as the song progresses and the music and lyrics wash over her, Tara kicks off her strappy sandals, flexes up on the balls of her feet, and sways to the music.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I know I’m taking a huge gamble pushing her buttons in public. There is no guarantee that any of this is going to even help, and she could think I rank right up there with a huge pile of dog poop before the night is over, but I have to at least try. I can only imagine that to her, a world without dance is as crushing as a completely silent world was to my musician’s soul. Even if she hates me just a little, if I can help bring dance back to her life—it might just be worth it. She bobs her head with the music and a huge hunk of her hair comes out of her up do. Tara calls out to Jeff, “Hey, can you ask your other half if she has enough pictures? I am falling apart here, and I don’t think there’s enough hairspray in the world to put me back together at this point. I just want to get comfortable.”

  Kiera laughs as she replies, “Well, I was going to tell you to take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable, but you’re already a couple of steps ahead of me as usual. I already told Mindy she could change, so knock yourself out.”

  At lightning speed, Tara grabs a plastic cup and sets it on the table next to where she is standing. She bends at the waist and runs her fingers through her hair, flinging bobby pins and rubber bands into the cup as if they’re on fire. After she removes the last one, she stands up, runs her fingers through her long main of hair, and shakes it out. Her hair is amazing. It’s the kind of hair that inspires song lyrics. It forms a dark inky curtain nearly to her waist. Usually it’s straight, but today it has soft waves from being restrained in a complicated hai
rstyle all day. My fingers itch to touch it. I decide that I’d better give my fingers something to do. So, I start to play the ‘80s classic True Colors by Cyndi Lauper. Tara instantly recognizes the song and she swings around to glare at me. I give a small shrug and wink.

  Tara sighs and signs, “Okay, you win. I love this song too.”

  What is it about Aidan that makes me feel so different? Maybe it’s because I knew him from before the day everything in my life changed. There’s a sense of comfort around him that I haven’t felt in a really long time. It’s as if I am finally free to take a breath, after holding it for years. Aidan certainly looks different, but I can tell the quirky, quick-witted sense of humor he had as a kid hasn’t changed much. He always seemed fully aware of my moods, even back then. If I was stressed out over a big performance, he would always “coincidentally” be learning the same music on the piano so I could break the dance down count by count. It’s funny; I never really noticed he always needed to start his piece over whenever I needed a reset on my choreography. When he was satisfied that I had the dance memorized and was obsessing over trivial stuff, he began a campaign to distract me. He had a seemingly endless supply of horrifically bad knock-knock jokes and could sing more Broadway tunes than anybody I’d ever heard.

  At one point Aidan even tried ventriloquism to keep me smiling. He was so terrible at it; I couldn’t help but laugh at his efforts. It was also the first time I remember him and his brother, Rory, almost coming to blows over me. Aidan couldn’t get the jaw mechanism of the dummy to work, and I was trying to help him. Rory walked in on us and said, “You should get this one to sit on your lap. She’s as flat as a board and dances like Pinocchio. She’d make a good dummy.”

  I was immediately wounded to the core of my being because I had already decided Rory was my White Knight—my one and only. If he would only wait for me to grow up, I knew I would be his perfect match. Hearing he thought I was childish and a bad dancer was just too much for my rather fragile twelve-year-old ego, and I burst into tears.