Dancing in the Rain

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “Right.”

  Brenna knows Georgialee doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t have the energy to argue with her. “Okay, then,” she says, “how ’bout one day right after school? We won’t have as much time, but at least we’d be together.”

  Brenna can hear Georgialee turning the pages in her planner. “Hmm, I’ve got soccer practice Monday, field hockey Tuesday. What about Wednesday?”

  “I’m hiking that day too.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Brenna doesn’t respond. She can’t think of anything to say.

  “There’s got to be more to this than you’re telling me, Brenna.”

  “There’s not, really.”

  “Okay, how about Thursday, or are you hiking then too?”

  “Thursday works,” Brenna says, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “Good.” Georgialee’s voice softens. There’s a long pause and then she says, “Bentley misses you, Brenna.”

  Brenna smiles. She knows Georgialee isn’t just talking about the dog. “I miss him too. Give him a hug from me.”

  “I will, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “Yep.” Brenna ends the call, knowing she may get glimpses of Georgialee at school, but the reality is they aren’t in any of the same classes this year, and Georgialee belongs to so many clubs that she’s usually attending meetings during the lunch hour.

  Brenna falls onto her bed and pulls a blanket across her shoulders. She presses the soft fabric to her face. She used to be busy at school too. She’d been a founding member of the Social Justice Club. She’d also been one of the grade reps on the student council, but when her mom got sick she’d pulled away from these groups and hadn’t found the energy or passion to resume. No one was pushing her to get involved again either. Were they just giving her space, or did they not like being around her anymore—the-girl-whose-mom-died-of-breast-cancer? She must be such a downer.

  Sept. 8

  So much work…so little energy.

  Will I ever go back to being “me”?

  Maybe I am not “me” anymore.

  I am a new person. A sad, heavy, numb person.

  I don’t like this new me.

  Brenna reads her journal entry and realizes that it sounds like something Kia would have written. Can you inherit your biological mother’s writing style?

  She stares at the poster hanging on her wall. The round brown eyes of a baby orangutan stare back at her. She’d hung the poster as a reminder of the dream trip she and her mom had planned, a trip to Borneo to visit the Matang Wildlife Centre, where they wanted to volunteer with the orangutan project. Another dream that would never come true.

  “Are you going to the fall dance?” Naysa asks, peering into the fridge.

  Brenna finishes her bowl of cereal. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m really into it this year. But you should go.”

  “My friends are all going,” Naysa says. “That’s all they talk about. What they’re going to wear. Who they want to dance with.”

  And probably how to get drunk without getting caught, Brenna thinks, remembering her own eighth-grade year. “I’m hiking after school today, so I won’t be here when you get home.”

  “Who with?” Naysa asks.

  “Ryan. The trammie.”

  Naysa gives her a meaningful glance.

  “No, no. We just hike. That’s it,” Brenna says, answering her sister’s unspoken question.

  Naysa pours herself a tall glass of chocolate milk.

  “You want to come along?” Brenna asks.

  Naysa frowns. “Are you kidding me? I did the Grind once. That was enough.”

  Brenna thinks about telling her how the agony of the hike helps her forget the other kind of pain but decides not to. It’s something you have to discover on your own. And besides, her love for the mountain and the wildlife on it is something she shared with her mom—it isn’t Naysa’s thing.

  “I’ll probably hang out with Amber after school,” Naysa says.

  “Who’s Amber?”

  “A girl I met in math. She seems nice. She went to Lynnmour,” she adds.

  “What about Sasha and Lauren?” Brenna asks. “How come I never see them around here anymore?”

  Naysa shrugs and takes a last swallow of her chocolate milk. She places her glass in the sink with a bang.

  Brenna glances at her and wonders again if Naysa’s old friends are finding it hard to relate to her now that her mom has died. “Dinner will probably be a little late,” she says. “Maybe you could get it started? I’ll take something out of the freezer.”

  Naysa doesn’t answer, but Brenna can see the frown that crosses her face as she leaves the kitchen.

  Brenna doesn’t blame her for being cranky. Starting dinner was something their mother always did, while they shared cleanup duties with their dad. Now they do both.

  “So the last time we were hiking, you mentioned something about an aunt contacting you on Facebook.”

  It is a clear fall day. They had spent the first part of the hike catching up on each other’s week.

  “Yeah, her name’s Angie. She messaged me out of the blue. It was so random.”

  “Really? Something must have prompted it.”

  Brenna takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “She’d run into the minister who officiated at my mom’s service. He’d been a friend of my birth mom. He told her my mom had died.” Her voice is barely audible, and she feels her energy sag as she says the words. It hasn’t gotten any easier. “She wanted to say she was sorry.”

  “Are you going to stay in touch?” Ryan’s voice is gentle.

  Brenna doesn’t answer for a moment. She’s suddenly aware of the bird sounds coming from the canopy of trees above them. The air is cooler today, and the scent of the forest is earthy. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “We’ve exchanged a few messages, but…” She can’t finish the sentence.

  Ryan glances back at her but keeps climbing. “I guess it’s complicated,” he says. “I know all about complicated.”

  Something about Ryan’s words makes Brenna feel safe enough to talk about what she hasn’t yet been able to share with anyone else. “I really want to ask her about Kia, my biological mom, but something stops me every time I start to message her. Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll find out.”

  “How much do you already know?” Ryan asks. He is slowing the pace a little, to Brenna’s relief.

  “I know she was seventeen when she had me. She didn’t want to put me up for adoption but felt she had to. She chose my adoptive parents for me.”

  “She did a good job of that,” Ryan says. “Well, your mom anyway. I don’t know your dad.”

  “Yeah, she did. But I wonder how she’d feel if she knew my mom had died while I was still young. Maybe she does know now.”

  Ryan stops to pull a granola bar out of his pack. He passes it to her, and she breaks a chunk off and pops it in her mouth before passing it back.

  “I can imagine you’d be curious about your other family, but you run the risk of…of what is it they say? Opening a can of worms?”

  “Worms? You’re calling my relatives worms?” She smiles at him.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “My biological mom kept a journal while she was expecting me. After I was born she gave it to my mom and dad to give to me when they felt I was ready to read it.”

  He tilts his head. “And?”

  “And I just finished reading it.”

  “Oh.” He breaks off another piece of the granola bar and passes it back to her.

  She takes it and feels him studying her face. “It was really bizarre, reading about how it felt to be expecting me.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “She sounded like a pretty cool person though.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Look at what she produced.” He smiles down at her.

  “Very funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  B
renna rolls her eyes but feels the heat in her cheeks, and not just from the exertion of the hike. They start back up the steep trail with Brenna following Ryan again. “In the journal,” she says, “Kia said she was going to visit me. I don’t know that she ever did. And she used to send me greeting cards on special occasions, but then she stopped. I’d like to know why.”

  “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

  “I’d like to know what those reasons are.”

  “Don’t forget about that can of worms.”

  They’ve arrived at the ¼ mark sign on the trail. Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Go stand by the sign,” he says. “I want to take your picture.”

  “No way,” she says. “I’m all sweaty.”

  “You look good when you’re sweaty,” he says. “Get over there.”

  “You get in the picture too,” a passing hiker says to Ryan.

  “Thanks.” Ryan hands the stranger his phone. He grabs Brenna by the arm and pulls her over to the marker.

  “Say cheese,” the stranger says, holding the phone up to take the picture.

  In that second Ryan flings his arm around Brenna and pulls her in close. She smiles in surprise. The hiker clicks the button and looks into the small screen. “Good one,” he says and hands the phone back to Ryan.

  Ryan checks it and smiles. He hands the phone to Brenna. She glances at the picture and tries not to show how relieved she is that she actually looks okay in it.

  “Thanks,” Ryan says to the hiker before he strides away.

  “Will you text it to me?” Brenna asks.

  “Not a chance. You didn’t want your picture taken, so why should I send you a copy?” He tucks the phone back into his pocket.

  “What?” Brenna smacks his arm in mock fury.

  He laughs and pulls the phone back out. “Okay, what’s your cell number?”

  Once the picture is sent, they continue up the trail. The conversation about Kia is dropped, but Brenna notices that she feels lighter simply from having shared her thoughts with someone.

  “Dad, did Kia ever come to visit me when I was a baby?”

  Brenna tries to maintain a casual tone as she stacks her plate in the dishwasher, but she’s ultra aware of her father’s body language as he scrapes out the bottom of a casserole dish.

  “Yeah,” he says. “She did. Most weekends for the first year she would come by to see you.”

  “Just for a year?” She hasn’t noticed anything unusual in his tone or behavior.

  “She went away to school after that. Then, for a few years, she’d come by to see you when she was home for holidays or on summer break.”

  “Oh.”

  Her dad drapes the tea towel over his shoulder as he pulls out the stopper in the bottom of the sink. The water goes down the drain with a swoosh. He turns to lean against the counter, folds his arms across his chest and looks at Brenna. “I remember the day she arrived to see you when you were about three. She was really excited, as always, but that year you were shy with her. You hid behind your mom’s legs and refused to go on the outing Kia had planned.”

  Brenna sinks onto a kitchen chair.

  “You okay?” her dad asks.

  “Yeah, my legs are aching from the hike,” she says, but that’s not the only reason she had to sit down.

  “I think that was very hard for Kia,” he continues. “She came by less frequently after that, and you continued to be shy with her. Mind you, you were shy with most people in those days.” He regards his daughter thoughtfully. “Have you finished reading her journal?”

  She nods.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  He scans her face again before squeezing her arm. “I have some office work to catch up on,” he says, leaving the kitchen.

  She hears him walk down the hall and into his office. He shuts the door behind him.

  Sept. 11

  No wonder she quit visiting.

  I rejected her.

  I had it backward.

  I thought she’d rejected me.

  Hi, Angie,

  I’ve noticed that you haven’t mentioned Kia, and I’m wondering why. Can you tell me where she is and how she’s doing? Thanks.

  Brenna hits Send before she can delete the message again.

  eight

  Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes.

  Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation!

  (RUMI)

  Bentley tugs hard on the leash, pulling Brenna away from Georgialee. They’re walking north along a trail that follows the winding Seymour River. Although they’re only a few minutes from Brenna’s neighborhood, it feels like they’re miles from anywhere, as the forest is thick and unspoiled around them.

  “You can let him go off leash here,” Georgialee says.

  Brenna unclips the leash and smiles at Bentley’s joy as he leaps away.

  “So how was your hike yesterday?” Georgialee asks.

  “It was hard. It always is.”

  “I don’t want to know about the hiking part,” Georgialee says. “It’s the hiking-with-Ryan part I want to know more about.”

  “There’s not much to tell. Honest. I’m his service project. When he was going through a rough time, my mom came along and helped him out. He’s paying it forward by trying to help me out.”

  “Hiking the Grouse Grind is his idea of helping you out?”

  Brenna feels a wave of defensiveness wash through her. “He says that if I get stronger physically, I’ll also get stronger in other ways.”

  “And? Is it working?”

  “All I know is that when I’m on the Grind and every muscle from the waist down is screaming in pain and I can hardly get my breath and I’m soaked in sweat, well, I forget about the other pain for a while.”

  Georgialee starts to say something but stops herself. Brenna knows it took her a moment to figure out what the other pain refers to.

  “Did someone die in his family?” she asks quietly.

  Brenna nods. “His brother. A car accident.”

  They walk along the trail in silence for a while.

  “Can I give you some advice, Bren?”

  “Yeah. What?”

  “If you like this Ryan guy, you should find something else to do with him.”

  Brenna frowns. “Why?”

  “Because the image of you all stinky and sweaty with your face twisted in pain…well, it’s not too attractive.”

  Brenna swats her friend’s arm. “I’m not trying to be attractive.”

  Georgialee shakes her head.

  They’ve reached the place where the river widens into a pool with a deep center before spilling over an edge of rocks to continue its winding journey to the ocean. The pool is a popular spot for swimming in the summer months, but it’s deserted today. Brenna walks across the rocky beach. She finds a flat-topped boulder and sits on it.

  “Scootch over.” Georgialee sits beside her, their shoulders pressed together. They watch as Bentley paddles at the shoreline.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Brenna says, finally finding the nerve to bring up the topic that’s troubling her.

  “What’s that?”

  “I got a Facebook message from my biological aunt.”

  Georgialee turns to look at her. Brenna proceeds to fill her in on the messages they’ve exchanged as well as telling her about Kia’s journal. “And last night I finally got up the courage to ask Angie about Kia. I want to know what’s going on in her life.”

  Georgialee doesn’t say anything. After a few moments she climbs off the large rock and starts searching the beach for flat rocks. When she’s collected a few, she flings one into the center of the swimming hole, trying to make it skip. Bentley thinks it’s an invitation to a game of fetch and swims toward the place where the rock entered the river, but after a quick search he realizes there is nothing to retrieve and paddles b
ack. Georgialee continues to throw rocks and Bentley continues his futile attempts to retrieve them. Brenna wonders what is going through her friend’s mind.

  Eventually Georgialee returns to the boulder and sits back down. Bentley follows her up the rocky beach, and when he reaches Brenna he begins shaking the water off. “Bentley!” she screams, turning away from the spray.

  Bentley simply looks up at her, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. It’s clear to her that he’s smiling. She shakes her head and smiles back. His presence is almost as good as the Grouse Grind for making her forget.

  “So do you really want to reunite with your birth mom?” Georgialee finally asks.

  “Who said anything about that?”

  “Well, that’s where this is going, isn’t it? You’ve continued to write back and forth with this Angie. Why would you bother unless you wanted to reestablish ties with Kia?”

  It was just like Georgialee to get right to the heart of things.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then I think you should figure that out before you keep exchanging messages with Kia’s sister.”

  “My aunt.”

  “Yeah, she’s your aunt biologically, but she’s never been an acting aunt. You have good aunts. Women who care about you. Real aunts.”

  “What makes them more real than Angie?”

  Georgialee shoots Brenna a look. “You don’t need me to answer that question.”

  Brenna doesn’t respond, but she remembers that Ryan asked her much the same thing, only in different words. He called it opening a can of worms.

  Sept. 12

  It’s easy for her to say.

  She has a biological mom, alive and well.

  She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a whole family out there, people she’s never met. An aunt, grandparents. A mother. A father. Maybe they’ve had more children, which could mean I have other brothers and sisters. They could live in my neighborhood—right next door—and I wouldn’t even know.

  I love Dad and my family, but I can’t stop thinking about my biological ones. Do I have the same mannerisms as them? Do I like the same food? Who did I inherit my double-jointed fingers from? My long legs? Is my love of spicy food inherited, or is it unique to me? I want to know these things!