Dancing at Daybreak

by Valerie Comer

  “I doubt it. You’ll run Ranta Landscaping into the ground with your lofty ideals.”

  “Haven’t managed that yet in two years. Not too worried about it happening now.” Dan leaned against the kitchen cupboard and took another sip of coffee. “You and Mom given any thought to coming to the program at the church Sunday night? Mandy’s doing real well with her dancing.”

  “She’s not even your kid.”

  “I’ve filed for full custody.”

  “You what? You’re a dang-blamed fool, taking on that b—”

  “Shush, Dad. Don’t let the boys hear you talking about their mother that way.”

  His father cast a glance toward the living room. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Yeah, he sure did. “Dixie’s got through the weekend to contest the orders. I haven’t heard from her in a few days, so I’m not sure what she’s thinking.”

  Dad cursed under his breath.

  “It’s bad timing, right before Christmas, but my attorney said not to let things slide.”

  “Your attorney.” Dad shook his head. “I hope you’re not expecting the business to pay for that.”

  “Not at all. It’s covered.”

  “I notice you didn’t hire your brother.”

  “Dave Junior’s in criminal defense. I needed someone working in family law.”

  His dad huffed again.

  “I know you don’t understand my choices, but I need you to try. I’m not abandoning Dixie. I’m trying to protect the kids, especially because of what happened at Thanksgiving.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? They’re not your responsibility.”

  “Henry’s mine—”

  “You sure?”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “Have you even looked at him? He’s the spitting image of my baby pictures. Mom even says so.”

  “You should get a paternity test done.”

  “No need. It changes nothing. And the other two are my son’s siblings. I’m the only father they’ve ever known. Mandy was two when I met Dixie. There’s no way I’m ditching them to the foster care system or spending my life worrying about whether Dixie’s caring for them properly. They need stability. I’m it.”

  “Is this the kind of thing religion is filling your head with?”

  “Being a responsible grownup? I think that’s pretty basic. But a relationship with Jesus certainly helps keep me focused and grounded. Gives me hope.”

  “He’s a dead guy, Daniel. You might as well tell me you’ve been hanging out with Napoleon.”

  “Then you might want to stop using God’s name as a curse word. If it doesn’t mean anything, anyway, what’s the point?”

  Dad blinked. “I hardly think—”

  “That’s the thing. Yeah, Jesus was born a long time ago. He lived. He died. But then He rose again, because He’s God. If He hadn’t risen, the world would be a much different place. It would be like evil darkness everywhere, all the time. He’s the one who gives light, who gives the promise of a bright sunrise to come. I know it sounds like a fairy tale to you, but I promise if you open your mind and heart to it, even a little bit, you’ll begin to see what I’m talking about. There’s hope for a brighter tomorrow, Dad. Not only that, but there’s a helping hand in getting through the long night.”

  “Logan teaching you to preach? I don’t want to hear about your delusions.”

  “Come to the concert on Sunday? Linnea and Logan will be back from Edmonds. I know they wouldn’t miss it for anything. You could sit with them in the back.”

  “Your mother wants to go, but I think I’ll stay home. It’s not like Mandy is—”

  “Dad.”

  “Well, it’s true. I don’t know how you turned into this bleeding heart for someone else’s offspring.”

  Dan leaned in and captured his father’s gaze. “Unlike some people, I have the capacity to love more than one child at a time.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’ve never given a whit about Linnea or me. You only seem capable of loving your namesake. Why? What did we do to deserve shunting to the side?”

  Dad’s mouth worked as though he was figuring out how to deny the accusation. Then he slumped against the counter. “You don’t know what it was like.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. Because we all have the capacity to love infinitely.”

  “He was so sick. We nearly lost him over and over.”

  “Dave Junior?”

  Dad nodded, averting his gaze. “Something with his breathing. I can’t remember what they called it.”

  “So, you decided it wasn’t worth loving your other kids? Because then you wouldn’t have to be worried about them? Because that’s sick.” Hot rage flared.

  “It wasn’t like that.” But the words carried no force.

  Dan gripped his cup, trying to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn’t say anything he’d have to apologize for. Talk about a battle. He poured the last of his coffee down the drain. “I have to leave now. Boys!” He elbowed past his dad.

  “Daniel...”

  Dan swooped Henry into his arms. “Come on, Buddy. Boots and jacket.”

  “But I play cars.”

  “You can play with your racetrack at home.”

  The little guy angled his head upward. “Play wif me?”

  “Sure, I can do that for a little while.” Dan raised his voice. “Because I love you.”

  Take that, Dad.

  “How do I get good enough for God?” Dixie couldn’t hold the question back. It had been burning in her for several days now. “That prodigal son — his father gave a big party for him, but that’s because they were related. I mean, I kind of get that part. I love my kids.” Her voice choked. “But I’m nobody to God.”

  Juanita’s brown eyes warmed. Compassion? Hopefully not pity. “You’re everything to God.”

  “Yeah, don’t mess with me. It’s a serious question.”

  “And I’m giving you a serious answer. God wants nothing more than to welcome you into His family. He wants to heal you, make you whole, and give you hope and a future. It’s the entire reason Jesus came to earth as a baby and grew up to die for you.”

  Dixie shook her head. “There are over seven billion people on the planet today, and that’s not even counting how many people have lived and died since that happened. There’s no way He cares about me.”

  “I understand what you’re saying. It does seem like a wild claim.”

  She’d known it all along. Even so, she felt hope drip out through the parched cracks of her soul.

  Juanita leaned closer. “But it’s still true. We don’t have to become good enough for God to accept us. We never could. I mean, if it were possible, we wouldn’t have needed Jesus to die for us, right? We could just be good enough by ourselves.”

  “I guess.” It made sense, in a weird sort of way.

  “Do you enjoy reading? I’ve got a book I’d love to give you that explains it much more clearly than I can in one or two sessions.”

  “I don’t read much.” Unless fashion magazines counted. “But I could try. The thing is, I don’t have a lot of time. I have to appear in court the first week of January.”

  “Are you here only because of the custody case?”

  Dixie shook her head. “No. Dan’s definitely the better parent. I’m going to lose if it goes to court. I haven’t done anything right, and I mostly haven’t cared. But... that story haunts me. The prodigal son one. Did you know that ‘everyone celebrated with overflowing joy’? I want to believe that could happen for me, and that it would make a difference.”

  Juanita covered Dixie’s hand with her own. “It can. Let me make some calls and see if we can get that court appearance pushed back.”

  Hope flickered like the first rays of dawn after the blackest night. “You could do that? Get me time?”

  “I can try.”

  15

  “Have you heard from Dan la
tely?” Juanita welcomed Dixie into her office two days later.

  Dixie shook her head. “Not since I went into Dawson and Banks. Probably his high-falutin’ attorney advised against it. Or maybe he gave up talking to a brick wall.” Now she regretted staying aloof. Not acting more interested. Even though she stifled motherly feelings didn’t mean she didn’t have any.

  “It’s probably just as well. Can I make you tea?”

  Tea? Dixie blinked. “Um, sure.”

  She watched as the counselor poured two cups and set them on the round table. The other woman settled into her seat, took a long sip, and stared into the distance. Probably wondering what kind of loser Dixie was — a mother feigning indifference to her own kids. “I do love them, you know. The kids.”

  Juanita’s deep brown eyes focused on Dixie. “Of course, you do.”

  “I mean, I know what it looks like.”

  “What do you think it looks like?”

  Dixie considered her words. “There are two kinds of people in this world. Optimists and pessimists. Experience taught me it’s best to have low expectations. You’re not as likely to get hurt.”

  Yeah, right. Shards still slashed. Blood still poured. Pain still shattered.

  “What was your home life like as a child?”

  Dixie could almost hear the Freudian, tell me about your mother. “My father was a traveling salesman with a wife in Pasco and a girlfriend — my mother — in Spokane. My mom was livid when she found out about the other woman, because my father made her believe she was his one and only. Turned out he had other women along his route, too.”

  Juanita grimaced. “Sounds like a real winner.”

  “So, Mom refused to see him again, which was fine by him since the idea of an illegitimate baby was messing with his marriage. And my mother...” Dixie hesitated. “Well, she wasn’t around much, either. She was busy with work, busy with men. She hung out at the bar a lot...”

  Oh, man. Just what she’d always wanted: to become her mother. A sick sensation swarmed her stomach at the thought.

  “Did she — does she — love you?”

  “In her own way, I guess. More than if I’d been a boy.” Dixie lifted a shaky hand to sip her tea, barely managing not to slosh the hot liquid. “See, if you give a kid hope, they’ll run with it and expect good things.”

  “As a child, you expected better.”

  “Yeah.” She really had, even though Mom hadn’t given her much reason for it. Kids must be born optimists. Thoughts of Mandy’s sparkling eyes, Buddy’s throat-strangling hugs, and Henry’s warm cheek on her shoulder demonstrated that. “My kids do, too,” she whispered, taking a quick swipe below her eye to catch a drip.

  Juanita laid a tissue in her lap.

  “Thanks.” Dixie worked to get her emotions under control. She really didn’t need this counselor, this pastor’s wife, thinking she was some fragile emotional crybaby. Not a chance. Dixie was strong. She was immune. She was...

  Frail. Needy.

  She sniffled again. She wouldn’t cry. She just wouldn’t.

  “It’s okay, Dixie. This is a safe place. Let it all out. You’ll feel better for it.”

  She jerked her head from side to side. Dabbed her eyes. Swallowed hard. Folded her hands tightly in her lap. Squared her shoulders.

  A weak weepy woman wouldn’t regain rights to her kids. On the other hand, what did she have to lose? She’d already lost everything.

  No bawling, Dix. You’ve got it coming.

  “It’s hard to overcome lack of love in childhood, I think.” Juanita spoke softly. “To feel like nobody’s got your back, and there’s no safe place.”

  The woman had that right.

  “Which makes it hard to parent your own children differently. You don’t have the tools.”

  Dixie shot Juanita a sidelong look. The counselor had more tears in her eyes than Dixie did.

  Chin up. “I bet you don’t get it. Your life has probably been a bed of roses. You’re a pastor’s wife. You probably have a perfect marriage and perfect kids. It comes easy to people like you.”

  Juanita shook her head. “I was thinking of how my mom raised five kids alone, on almost no money, after my dad went to jail for theft.”

  No way.

  “I was the oldest and had a lot of responsibility. I got the little kids up for school because Mom was asleep from her night job in a factory. Sometimes Mom made supper. More often, I did. It was a lot to put on an eleven-year-old.”

  “Really? And yet you turned into a decent human being.” Unlike Dixie.

  Juanita met her gaze. “It was God’s grace. Nothing more. Nothing less. The church around the corner got wind of our situation and began to help out. One by one, they led our family to Jesus.”

  Like Bridgeview Bible Church was doing for Dan. According to Juanita, like they wanted to do for Dixie, too. Why did she resist? What would she gain by digging in her heels?

  She felt like a little lost child, shivering with cold, peering into a scene all decorated for Christmas. Happy children inside danced with joy at the gifts under the tree with its twinkling lights. Smiling unknown grownups passed out hot cocoa with peppermint sticks and mounds of whipped cream. Flames crackled in a brick fireplace, and happy music played softly.

  Everyone inside that perfect scene looked so content. It was every child’s dream. It had been Dixie’s, but it hadn’t been her reality. She’d rarely received what she wanted, and none of it had been given with love and joy. Mom made sure Dixie knew how stupid Christmas was, that Santa wasn’t real no matter what her friends said, and that she should just be thankful for what she had.

  Mom had seemed determined to squelch any optimism Dixie might muster. Maybe she thought she was protecting her daughter, inoculating her against future disappointments. It hadn’t worked. Pain still sabotaged her at every turn.

  Why then did she think withholding love would work on her own kids? But it wasn’t even that. Deep inside, clarity exploded. She pushed her kids away, not to help them understand the difficulties of life from an early age, but to protect herself from the day they’d inevitably move on from their mother.

  How sick was that?

  Dixie clutched her arms around her belly and rocked in her chair. It wasn’t for her kids’ sake. It was for her own. And it was failing badly on both counts.

  “I love them,” she moaned. Was it really too late? A few weeks ago, Mandy had willingly gone with her, chattering a mile a minute about the dances her ballerina doll could do. Buddy had offered to share his favorite car with her. And Henry... oh, the baby. He batted those ridiculously long eyelashes at her as he nestled into her shoulder, tucked his thumb in his mouth, and fell asleep.

  Her kids loved her, no matter how flawed.

  And flawed she was.

  How could she ever make it up to them, especially if the courts granted full custody to Dan?

  “See what Ms. Fran gave me?” Mandy held out a Christmas ornament.

  Dan steeled his face as he took the ballerina angel from the little girl’s hand. “It’s pretty.” But he knew what was coming next.

  “She said it’s for our Christmas tree.” Mandy squared her shoulders, plopped both hands on her hips, and angled a glare upward. “How come we haven’t put up our Christmas tree? Ms. Fran said Christmas is next week!”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “Is it because it’s Mama’s job?”

  Now there was an easy way out. Dan hesitated, tempted, but it wasn’t fair to dump the blame on Dixie. The artificial tree lay in a box in the master closet with a small collection of ornaments. All of it was Dixie’s from before they’d met, except for a few trinkets they’d added since.

  He studied Mandy then spun the dancing angel from his finger by its tiny feet. The Christmas spirit was evading him this year, not that he’d ever been big into the holiday. He’d learned from Buddy’s age that Santa favored Dave Junior just like Dad and Mom did.

  How had he become the bring
er of Christmas to three small kids? He had to step up to the plate, whether he felt like it or not. Wasn’t this what the legal action was all about — stabilizing their young lives? Proving he loved them and would always be here for them?

  Start with digging out the tree, Daniel John Ranta. Stream some Christmas music. Buy some presents. Sheesh, man. Be the adult here.

  He stretched his hand toward Mandy. “Come on. Can you help me? We can do it right now.”

  She gave a little hop as her face brightened. “Really, Daddy? Right now?”

  Dan’s heart squeezed. She’d been the one telling the boys he wasn’t their daddy ever since Thanksgiving, as though someone had to step into Dixie’s shoes. Mandy hadn’t slipped up often. “Really, baby. But we have to be quick or Henry will be rattling the gate at the bottom.”

  “Well, hurry up, then!” Mandy dashed for the stairs. “It’s time we got some Christmas!”

  Half an hour later, the silver tree with its blue and silver balls stood in the corner of the living room. The thing was pretty much self-decorating, and Mandy didn’t seem to notice that he’d left the little box of personal decorations on a shelf, only bringing down the generic ones. The ones that wouldn’t hurt so much to look at.

  She stood in front of the tree, holding her new angel, obviously conflicted about where to hang it. Buddy stood beside her, staring thoughtfully at the blue spheres. Henry barreled over, yelling, “pretty!”

  Dan grabbed the toddler before he pulled the whole thing over. “No touching, Henry.” He needed to find the baby gate pieces Dixie had surrounded the tree with last year, when Henry’d been crawling.

  “Daddy, hang car.” Buddy thrust his favorite race car at Dan.

  “If I do that, you can’t play with it until after Christmas. That’s a week away. Are you sure?”

  Buddy eyed the ballerina angel Mandy had finally placed then nodded sharply. “Hang car. Please.”

  “Okay. I have to find a hook for it, or maybe some fishing line. Give me a minute.” He carried the squirming toddler up the stairs under one arm and went in search of a roll of monofilament. It took a bit of creativity to hang the car somewhat level from one of the branches.