by JJ Knight
“Yes,” I say. “I gave birth to Gabriella on May 12, 2012. She was six pounds and eight ounces. Fifteen inches long. They tried not to let me see her, but I held her once for a few minutes before they took her away.”
“At 8:52 p.m.,” Gwen says. “We were downstairs.”
“That's what they told me,” I say. “The caseworker didn't want me to know if she was a boy or a girl. She was terrible. But I was so scared. I didn't say anything.”
Gwen looks up and her eyes meet mine. She looks anguished. “The caseworker was awful,” she says. “I never liked her, but she brought us our daughter.” Her gaze drops. “That was the happiest day of my life.”
“It was the worst day of mine,” I say simply.
This makes her sit up straight. She looks back at Blitz, then to me. “You're going to take her, aren't you? You have money. Lawyers. You're trying to win her love with these dance lessons so you can have her.” She stands up so abruptly that her chair falls back. “Don't you dare! Don't you come near her! Don't you ever look at her again!”
Danika also stands. “Gwen, I assure you, this will be okay.”
Gwen turns on her. “What do you know? I've already lost my husband! I can't have children of my own! She will take the only thing that matters to me!” Gwen points at me, her finger an accusation.
“I wouldn't!” I try to say, but it comes out weak and dry.
Gwen stands and hurries for the door. “Don't talk to me!” she says. “I'm hiring a lawyer! Stay away!”
And she's gone.
Danika sinks back down in her chair. She doesn't speak for a moment.
Blitz comes up beside me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “We have no intention of trying to take Gabriella,” he says. “Livia means no harm.”
“Harm has been done,” Danika says. “Anyone here could connect the dots as well as Gwen has done.” She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I think it's best if the two of you take a leave from the academy.”
When I make a small strangled sound, Danika looks up sympathetically. “I know it's hard, Livia. I have suspected Gabriella was yours for a while, since that boy came here shouting about your baby. I should have acted on it. I am equally to blame.”
“We understand,” Blitz says. “Please extend to Gwen, if you get a chance, our regret and that we have no intention of fighting the adoption.”
“I'll never see her again,” I choke out.
“You've put your name in her files,” Blitz says. “She can find you when she is eighteen.”
That's an eternity. She’s only four. My body feels liquid, like my strength has left me. I want to go back in time. Never go on Blitz's show. Never be in the limelight. Never step from the quiet shadows. At least then I could see the little girl I had been forced to give up.
“Let's go,” Blitz says. He tries to lift me from the chair, but I can't do it. I can't find any strength to move.
“I'll let you two have this space for a little while,” Danika says. “I need to think about how to broach this topic with the staff and the other mothers in Gabriella's class. I would hate for them to reveal her identity to the gossip sites, either accidentally or on purpose.”
I can't answer her. I thought I'd grown so strong in these past months by Blitz's side. But I'm overwhelmed again by shame. Not just in getting pregnant. But in finding my daughter, following her, inserting myself into her life.
I should have left them alone.
I did everything wrong.
I can't even cry. I'm so empty, so bereft of anything. Danika leaves the office, closing the door behind her.
“We'll get through this,” Blitz says.
His words do not comfort me. “How?” I manage to say, words rising up from the vastness inside me, the huge empty hole.
“Because we have to,” he says. “We can't let this swallow us up.”
My vision is dark, as if the lights have gone out. No matter where I look, within or without, I see nothing but darkness anywhere.
I had one thing I held most dear, and I lost it.
Chapter 4
Over the next few days, the world tries to figure out where my baby could be. I guess because it is fun for them, they make all sorts of wild speculations, from the current Gerber baby to child stars on TV shows. Most of them conveniently leave out the fact that they know she's in a wheelchair as they post comparison pictures of me and all manner of kids.
They want someone adorable, already famous, a meaty bit of gossip. It’s fine by me. This way they won’t actually find her.
I don't go to the park to meet Mindy. I don't leave the house at all. Ted reports that everyone is trying to find us for interviews. We've gotten sympathetic messages from half the Dance Blitz cast. Even Mariah and Christy, two of the finalists from the show, have extended their support.
On Friday, Blitz sends Ted to hang out at the park with a phone for Mindy, but she doesn't come. I figure she already went there and gave up. I know it had to be hard for her to try it. Her parents are just as protective as mine were.
I’ve blown that too.
But on Sunday afternoon, four days after everything blew up, I get the surprise of my life. Mindy texts me.
I love my new phone! Thank you! I'll hide it forever and ever! Mindy.
I look up at Blitz, who sits on the floor by the sofa that has been my semipermanent home since the meeting with Gwen.
“I made Ted go to church this morning,” he says. “He spotted Mindy and was able to pass the phone to her.”
A tear squeezes out of my eye. “Thank you,” I say. I send a quick text to Mindy, then set the phone down again.
“You going to see her?” Blitz asks. I know he is concerned. I haven't gone anywhere or worked out or danced since Wednesday.
“Maybe soon,” I say. I don't know what else to tell him. That everything seems pointless now? That nothing he does will really help?
I want to pull myself together. I have him. I have Mindy back, thanks to him. I have money, a career, a home. I have dance.
But letting Gabriella go this second time is worse than the first. I could have prevented it. I didn't put her first. I let myself be vulnerable. I exposed her.
Blitz slides me forward on the wide cushions and fits himself behind me. He curls around my body, strong, stalwart, caring.
I just don't know what to tell him that will help.
~*´`*~
I should have known Blitz would have more ideas.
Mindy is taking horse-riding lessons, I learn, and once a month the group joins a trail ride around a property on the outskirts of San Antonio.
Blitz immediately signs me up for the ride despite my objections that I've never ridden a horse in my life. He proclaims me terribly un-Texan and assures me that tenderfoots like myself get horses that don't need any guidance or direction. They just follow the pack.
When we arrive at the barn, Mindy is still with her mother, so Blitz and I hang out in the car until she is alone. She's turned seventeen in the months I haven't seen her. She's tall and lovely, her brown hair in twin braids that reach past her shoulders.
Her jeans are loose, and she wears a plain yellow T-shirt. She's like a bit of sunshine from my dark past.
As soon as I'm out of the car, Mindy spots me and runs to me like we're long-lost lovers in a meadow.
Her slender arms come around my neck and I've forgotten what it's like to have a friend of my own, away from Hollywood and television, all those people who might have an agenda or a motive for seeking me out.
“You look so different!” she exclaims, touching my hair. “You're so grown up!” She glances at Blitz and leans in close to my ear. “So what is the answer to our good-in-bed question?”
I laugh, and the sound is so foreign that I'm almost startled by it. I haven't heard it since the news of Gabriella got out.
“I’ll have to tell you later,” I whisper.
Blitz's grin is wide as he waves us off. “You girls
have fun. Don't run off with any cowboys.”
Mindy watches him get back in the plain gray car that we drive around when we don't want to attract attention. “You gotta tell me everything,” she says. “I've missed it all since you left for LA.”
“This better be a long ride,” I say. “Because there's a lot to tell.”
The day is outrageously hot and the horses plod along a trail that shimmers in the heat. There are about a dozen of us, led by a tough-talking sun-weathered lady in a worn cowboy hat.
The first few riders are young boys, maybe ten years old, then a newlywed couple, then three accountants in town for a convention. Mindy and I are last, followed by a handsome twenty-year-old, who was introduced as the son of one of the owners of the horse barn.
Mindy keeps looking behind us, torn between our secret conversation and keeping his attention.
“My parents would never have let me do a ride like this,” I say. “Not this close to a real live man.”
Mindy glances back again, notices the man is watching her, and blushes for the thousandth time. “I think mine figured not much could happen on the back of a horse.”
“What have they said to my parents?”
“Not much. Mine expressed their concern that yours wouldn't talk to you. Your dad called you a –” she stops abruptly. “He said some unkind things that made my mom decide to speak to them less. They haven't done anything together since you left. Poor Owen misses your brother Andy. He was his only real friend.”
“It's my dad,” I say. “And I know exactly what he said. He said it to my face.”
We round a small hill that looks down on a shallow valley. It's pretty, although sparse and dry. A brutal Texas summer is coming.
“You have to tell me all about Hollywood,” Mindy says. “What was it like being on TV? Do reporters follow you everywhere? What is Blitz really like?”
I smile at her. “Hollywood is a business,” I say. “It's hard to make real friends. You have to realize everyone is there to cut a deal.” My horse whinnies, the first attitude she's shown since we started, and I grip the reins.
Mindy and I look at her like she might take off, but she settles back in the leisurely pace in our line of horses.
“Just joining your conversation,” the cowboy behind us says.
Mindy flashes him a bright smile. “Thanks.”
We realize he can probably hear us.
“You don't have to talk about it now,” Mindy says.
“Oh, most things are stuff everybody knows,” I tell her. “The cameras aren't always there. They can be an annoyance, but you learn how to rent cars or use back exits, or have your driver scout ahead before you go somewhere. We had plenty of time without worrying about them.”
“It sounds so glamorous,” Mindy says with a sigh. “Do you think you and Blitz will get married?”
I gaze out over the brushy landscape. “We haven't really talked about it. Things are good. I got some money from the show too, so I could be on my own.”
“Will you go to college now? I have to take my first SAT this summer,” Mindy says. “Mom wants me to practice as a junior to help my score next year.”
“Probably,” I say. “I'll have to retake the test, I guess. I never saw my scores.”
“Oh, there's a website. Just log in and put in your information. If you can prove your identity, they'll send them to you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I read all about it. There's tons of kids out there who have problem parents. Once you're eighteen, your information is really yours.”
“Blitz got me a car,” I say. “I've been driving.”
“Finally!” Mindy says. “Dad says maybe when I'm eighteen.”
The woman at the front lets out a long singsong call. Her horse turns off the trail toward a shallow pond. They trot up to the water’s edge.
The man behind us says, “We're going to take a little break here.”
Our horses more or less follow the others to the water. Due to a cluster of trees, Mindy and I wind up a few yards down from the others. The cowboy follows us. “You girls need any help dismounting?” he asks.
I shake my head, lifting my leg up and around and hopping down.
“I think I might,” Mindy says shyly.
I shade my eyes from the glare of the sun as the man leaps from his horse with practiced ease and approaches Mindy.
“Just lean my way,” he says.
She lets go of the reins and falls sideways, right into his arms. I pinch my lips to suppress my smile. That girl is ready for a boyfriend, no doubt about it.
“You take lessons out here?” he asks her, setting her feet on the ground.
“Every Thursday,” she says.
“That's my day off.” He frowns.
“I could try to switch it,” she says.
He grins at that. “You take them with Mary?” He walks forward to grab the reins of both horses and leads them closer to the others. My wayward mare resists. She only wants the water. She's not interested in true love.
“With Trish, actually,” Mindy says.
“Trish does Monday and Friday too. We could see if she has openings.”
“Let's do that,” she says.
He looks at her a moment, then says, “I gotta check on all the mounts.” He walks backwards, toward the others, still looking at her.
“All right,” she says.
I realize the lovestruck kids are forgetting the basics. “Thanks for helping,” I say to the man. “What was your name?”
He tips his hat back a bit, and I can see his blue eyes. Mindy's going to have it bad for this one. “Preston,” he says. Then back to Mindy. “I'm Preston.”
“I'm Mindy.”
He lifts his hat and tips it forward in acknowledgment, and I have to bite back another smile. They are adorable.
“See you 'round, Mindy.”
He walks toward the woman who leads the ride, glancing back every three steps.
When he's far enough away, Mindy squeals, “Oh my God, did you see those eyes?”
“I did!”
“I have to do another one of these. Have to. Have to.” She moves close to her horse so she can peek around without being obvious.
Although, of course, she's obvious.
“You think you can get your lessons switched?” I ask her.
“I have to!”
Preston moves out of sight and she plops down in the soft grass on the bank of the pond. “I feel like singing or something.”
This makes me laugh. “It does that.”
“Is this how you felt? When you met Blitz? Like singing?”
I think back to that day in the studio at Dreamcatcher Academy, when I discovered Blitz watching me dance.
“No, I felt like dancing,” I say.
“That makes sense,” she says. “I’m like a water fountain bubbling over.”
I sit down beside her. I can still recapture that feeling I had then, sneaking around, seeing Blitz when I could. This would be Mindy's obsession, like mine once was.
And I still have that. Blitz is with me through all this, getting my friend a phone, organizing time for us to be together. I have lost a lot. Gabriella. My family. My ballet teacher. Dreamcatcher Academy.
But not everything. I still have Blitz. And I have dance.
Chapter 5
The day after the trail ride, I hurt like I have never hurt before. Ten hours of dance? Nothing compared to the pain in my thighs and legs.
Blitz knew it was coming and booked a massage appointment for late the next morning.
As the woman sets up her massage table in the living room, Blitz sprawls on the sofa, biting into a bright red apple. “Probably I should have a stiff drink while this goes on, but I’ll be healthy instead,” he says.
The lady passes me a white robe to change into. “Why would you need a stiff drink for this?” I ask him.
But a few minutes later, I get it. The woman peels the white robe down and s
lides warm oil over my back. It’s impossible not to groan with the pleasure of it.
Blitz pads off to the kitchen and I can hear the clink of bottles. This makes me smile. Not even noon.
When he comes back, he has a short glass filled with ice and probably bourbon. It’s rare to see him with a drink. He kicks back on the sofa again.
The woman works her way to my legs. My groans become gasps as she hits the tough spots. “They really got your legs and glutes,” she says. She shifts the towel high on my thighs.
Blitz coughs into his glass. I watch him quietly, trying to manage the initial discomfort of her working on the pained muscles. I feel air hit my backside and realize I’m pretty much naked on this table for him.
His eyes don’t leave my body, sliding down and back up to meet my gaze. When the masseuse is faced away from him, he gestures to his crotch. I have to smile at the outrageous tent in his shiny workout shorts. I’m not sure who this massage is really for, him or me.
Gradually, the pain starts to work out of my muscles, and I can feel myself melting into the table. The woman’s strong hands move up and down my legs to ankles to feet. I didn’t realize how much strain I’d put on the stirrups until she pressed into the arch of my foot.
“Really got you here too,” she says.
I nod. But once again, the soreness gradually shifts into utter relaxation. I groan again, and ice tinkles as Blitz takes another drink.
The woman slides the towel over me. “Roll over,” she says.
Blitz watches quietly as I turn onto my back. The woman moves my leg to work on the thigh, and the shift of the towel makes him cover his eyes.
This time a laugh escapes me. Poor tortured Blitz. I want to reach out for him now, send this woman away.
But there’s something in the anticipation, the tension of the wait. I adjust a little and the towel slips down, exposing a breast. When Blitz looks again, his head drops back, eyes on the ceiling. He shakes his head like there’s no way he can make it.