This is as good a time as any. “There is something—”
“What are you going to do now?” Dad asked, interrupting me.
I can’t say it. It will break their hearts.
He held Mom’s hands. “Honey, do tell.”
“I’m moving in with Claus.” I lowered my head. I couldn’t watch them hurt. “I’m going to Germany.”
“Are you getting married?” Mom sounded more surprised than heartbroken.
“I don’t know. Not now, if that’s what you are asking.”
“And how is that different from what Peter is doing with Lorie?” Mom’s voice had gone from surprised to harsh and accusatory. “Ana, you can’t be serious.” She slammed both hands on the table and startled me. “You two hardly know each other. And I wasn’t going to say anything, but guess what? You should not have kissed him in the first place. I taught you better.”
Here we go. “Tell me how you really feel?”
“Don’t give me an attitude. You know I’m right.”
Sure. You’re always right.
Dad looked at her, his eyes sad.
“What is it about this guy?” Mom paced, running her hands through her hair. “He has a gift for ruining your life. This is not happening. Not again. I already watched him break your heart once. I don’t want that to happen to you again.”
I fought the urge to cry.
“Don’t make a decision now.” Dad sat next to me at the kitchen table. “You and Peter just broke up. You haven’t even had time to process that. How can you possibly make a life-changing decision now?”
“It doesn’t have to be a life-changing decision.” I imitated his solemn tone. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll come back. What I cannot do is go back to the company and look at Lorie every day.”
“Weren’t you going to audition for some companies in Atlanta?” Mom walked to the window, taking a deep breath.
“I don’t want to audition in Atlanta without Peter by my side.”
“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Dad tapped his fingers on the table.
“Everything. Dancing in Atlanta was part of my life-with-Peter plan.” I put life-with-Peter in air quotes. “Why can’t you guys be happy for me? I’m trying to get over this craziness with Peter and Lorie, and you’re not helping. A door closed and it hurts—believe me, I get it—but another door has opened, and things just may turn out awesome.”
“Take a vacation in Germany, then, instead of moving there.” Mom’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “How about that for an idea?”
Closing my eyes, I put my lips together in a thin, tight line. There was no arguing with her. She’d made up her mind.
“Sweetie, forgive your mom.” Dad held his half-empty coffee mug with both hands and stared at the hot liquid. “But like she said, we don’t want to see him break your heart again—we don’t think a move overseas right now is what’s best. You’re a wonderful young woman, but you have this awful habit of wanting things to be black or white, and that’s hardly ever the case.”
Things were black or white for me, but I nodded to be agreeable. Dad knew how to disarm me.
“Think about a visit instead of a move, like Mom said. We can keep Barysh, and you can go travel, clear your head—enjoy time with Claus even. How about that?”
I looked out the window beyond the bird feeder, beyond the woods.
“Or don’t go at all.” Mom sat with us. “You were a beautiful Juliet. I bet you’ll get more lead roles now.”
“Maybe in another ten years.” I’d already seen Brian and Lorie working on some Don Quixote solos.
“Nonsense.”
“Mom, Lorie is already rehearsing Don Quixote. She’s the lead, as always.” My eyes filled up with tears.
Hers did too. She shook her head, and her shoulders dropped.
We struggled to communicate with words sometimes, but ballet we both understood. She knew that with no prospect of moving up in the company, it would be difficult to keep me from moving.
She reached for my hands. “Well, would you dance in Germany?”
“I would audition for the Rhine-Main Ballet and see what happens. Maybe they will let me be stage decoration.”
They ignored my sarcasm.
“How soon would you go?” Dad took a deep breath.
“In a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” Mom asked. “Don’t you need a visa? Doesn’t that take time?”
“Not right away. With my American passport, I can enter and stay for three months. The company will help me apply for an artist visa once I’m there.”
“What if they don’t offer you a position?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t have all the answers.” I guess we would get married.
“Let’s back up a minute.” Dad looked at Mom. “Weren’t we trying to talk her into staying? Hadn’t we agreed that this was all too soon and that the potential for Claus to break her heart again was too great?”
“We’re still trying, but did you hear her say that after all her hard work and the Juliet success, Lorie got the lead in Don Quixote?”
Dad took my hands from Mom’s and searched my eyes. “Stop talking about moving like it’s going to happen and promise you’ll think about every angle to this, okay?”
“Okay…”
They had my room arranged just the way it was in our old house in Columbus, with my twin bed, ballet posters, vanity … everything the same. I liked knowing I still had a room in their home, and I loved having a place to keep all the things that were still dear to me but didn’t really belong in my adult life: my first pair of pointe shoes, my Strawberry Shortcake collection, my Care Bears, music boxes, a series of middle school paintings that were surprisingly good, journals, books, and old photos—lots of old photos.
I flopped down on my old bed after a long bath. I wasn’t sure I would be able to sleep. My parents obviously didn’t approve of my plan to move to Germany. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to go without their support.
After a phone call to Claus, who was in Atlanta visiting old friends, I sat at my childhood desk.
The past few days had been great, but what would we be like in two weeks or two months? How about two years? Mom was right—Claus and I didn’t really know that much about each other anymore. We were working overtime trying to be our best selves, but what would happen next? Who would we become as a couple?
Why did I hate to admit that my mom was right sometimes? It wasn’t lack of love—I loved her. I just hated when she was right. I always had, and, I was willing to bet, I always would. Was it her attitude? Maybe. She seemed to gloat every time she proved me wrong.
But I wouldn’t cross an ocean out of spite. Something was pushing me toward Europe. Something other than desperation. I laughed at myself. Something right.
I turned on the desktop computer and waited for the old machine to boot up. Tucked away with my First Communion book was my old Bible, looking as new as ever. I reached for it and opened it somewhere in the middle. Isaiah 41. I closed my eyes and put my finger on a verse. Isaiah 41:10: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”
Okay, that’s officially weird.
I closed the book and pushed it away. The urge to read on was palpable but easily squelched.
Noticing the bright colors flashing from the computer screen, I was about to click on my picture folder but decided to surf the web instead. “No use in looking back.” I glanced at the Bible one more time before typing “Rhine-Main Ballet” in the search box.
Within seconds pictures of the theater, the principals, and the soloists scrolled across my screen. I remembered most from weeks before when I was trying to find Hanna. Then I studied the photos of the corps. Would I be among them one day?
I clicked on the schedule for the upcoming season and started dreaming. Would I be watching or
would I be on stage?
The company was dancing primarily at the Hessische Staatstheater Wiesbaden, but there was a trip to Prague coming up in the spring and then a one-evening event in Paris later in the year.
Below all the dates and details, I saw a link for the following year’s schedule and clicked on it. It was sketchy—with dates, locations, and some of the programs, but no cast lists. But there it was—a mixed bill at the Met. There were no details about which works would be presented, but that wasn’t important. It was the Met.
My upper body hit the back of the chair with enough force to make it roll back a foot. “Now that, boys and girls, is fate.” I spun the office chair in a thousand happy spins, accompanied by a thousand muffled squeals.
Chapter 9
Fumbling with a keychain that grew lighter every day, I closed my apartment door for the very last time on the day before our Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. A cold, ordinary Thursday to everyone else—extraordinary to me.
Closed and locked. I exhaled hard. That’d been my first time living by myself. Had it been the last?
Dad would be arriving any minute to take me to Pine Mountain for my last night in America, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from that closed door.
Resting my forehead against it, memories of two great years flashed before my eyes: parties, friends, and dinners, but quiet nights too—nights watching ballets with Barysh and dreaming of a future I didn’t yet have. Then I met Peter.
Peter had visited me in Columbus very little because of the ranch and the nature of his work, so I didn’t have very many memories of him at the apartment.
It was the quiet nights with Barysh that I was going to miss the most. Images of the moonlight painting the Chattahoochee River white and silver, and of the lights of Uptown Columbus, filled my mind. Uncontrollable sobs followed.
What if I hated living in Germany? What if nothing worked out? Was I making a terrible mistake? Argh. Last time closing the door… Last time in my own place… Last time in America… Too many lasts—it’s messing with my head.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The voice came from a couple of doors down.
“I’m so sorry.” I wiped my cheeks with my fingers and looked in the direction of the male voice that’d startled me. A red-haired young man in an Army uniform stood outside a nearby door. I’d never seen him before. “I’m okay. Just being melodramatic—sorry—it runs in the family.”
“Happens to the best of us.” He looked at the two large suitcases next to me. “Traveling?”
“Moving.” I shouldn’t have lingered. The guy seemed alright, but I had no desire to make small talk.
“Where to?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking like he planned to stay a while.
“Germany.”
“No way. I just came from there.” He took a few steps forward without coming all the way to my door and leaned against the wall. “I was stationed in Baumholder.”
I’d never heard of it. “I’m going to Wiesbaden.” Studying his uniform, I recognized the rank insignia—captain—and the combat infantryman badge. I’d dated an infantryman from neighboring Fort Benning in my early twenties. He’d had one too.
“Wiesbaden is nice and has a large U.S. Army presence. Are you in the army?”
“No.” I chuckled. “I’m a ballerina.”
“Oh, so you’ll be dancing there?”
“That’s the idea.”
“It can get lonely out there on the economy. I’m not sure you can get on post, but if you want to find the American community, look for a Baptist church outside the main gate. There’s always a Baptist church outside the main gate of overseas posts—at least everywhere I’ve been.”
Why would I go all the way to Germany to look for Americans? And what was the economy? Sounded like something I should know. “The economy?”
“Off post.”
“Oh…” He was probably picturing me all alone out there. “My boyfriend is German. That’s why I’m moving.”
“So, you’re getting married. Congratulations!”
Him and Mom—what’s with the getting married thing? I really had to get going. “My dad is picking me up. I’ve got to go. It was nice talking to you.”
“Do you need help with your bags?”
“Nope. I’m fine.” Attaching my carry-on to one of the large suitcases, I prepared to walk away.
“Well, best of luck to you … I didn’t catch your name.”
I looked back. “Ana.”
“I’m John.” He waved. “Good luck, Ana.”
“Thanks.”
Once in the lobby, I walked quickly to the desk. “I need to return my keys.”
“Very well, Ms. Ana.” The manager at the desk watched me remove the apartment and mailbox keys from the ring. “We have an envelope for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Probably more paperwork. I gave him the keys, and he gave me the envelope. But it wasn’t paperwork. What he’d handed me was a square pink envelope that looked more like a CD sleeve. It had my name handwritten on it—Peter’s handwriting. “Thanks.” My eyes burned, but no tears came. “Is that everything?” Had he noticed my voice was altered?
“Yes ma’am, that’s everything. Come see us if you’re ever in town again. Best of luck.”
“Thanks.” I walked over to my suitcases and opened the envelope with unsteady hands. The envelope smelled of Gucci Gorgeous Gardenia, the perfume he’d chosen for me when we started dating. Inside, a Kenny Rogers CD titled A Love Song Collection, and a note that read, “For the road.”
“Islands in the Stream” was track thirteen. It’d been our song since the first night we’d danced together. Peter … I touched his words.
Yes, I’d made a bad choice, but we could have moved beyond it. Too bad he didn’t see it that way.
In the two weeks since the breakup, I’d come to terms with his position, and in my heart our relationship was no longer defined by that final hour. Memories of lazy afternoons at Callaway Gardens and of planting—lots of planting—filled my head. I would miss him.
Placing the envelope and its contents in my biggest bag, I closed another door and rolled my suitcases outside to wait for Dad.
Bundled up by the cold river, I looked up at my balcony and windows one last time. The future I had dreamed of started now. Life in Germany was going to be good, and I couldn’t wait to see Claus at the airport in the morning.
Chapter 10
Ithink you have an escort.” Dad’s eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror as he merged onto I-85 on the way to the Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport.
I turned back to see what he was staring at. The Silverado. “No way.” It was Peter and Jäger. Clenching my chest, I tried to keep my heart from beating like a washing machine with an uneven load. What is he doing here?
He pulled up next to the SUV—next to Dad.
If only I could get a better look at his face and study his expression. But his eyes were on the road ahead, and I couldn’t see much past Dad and past Jäger.
“What is he doing?” Dad kept one eye on the Silverado and one on the road.
“I have no idea.” Was it a coincidence? He sure didn’t look like he’d come to stop us. Good thing Mom had said goodbye at home—this would have done her in.
Dad shrugged in the direction of the truck as if asking, “What’s going on?”
Stretching toward the windshield, I saw Peter’s hand waving us off.
My heart did a free-fall act within my chest. What in the world? If he didn’t come to stop us, then why was he there?
“What do you want me to do?” Dad covered my hand with his, the steady warmth of his touch contrasting with my chilled fingers.
“Nothing, I guess. Maybe it’s a coincidence. How would he have known that we would be on the road on this day at this time?”
Dad turned on the CD player. His Willie Nelson CD was in, and the slow notes of “Stardust” lulled me.
I took a deep brea
th and exhaled slowly.
“You can play something else.” Dad placed the small case he kept in the SUV on my lap.
“This is perfect.” I closed my eyes and pictured the Kenny Rogers CD and Peter’s note. What would he do when we reached the airport exit? Was he working up the courage to do something?
Closer to Atlanta, Peter switched lanes on us and pulled next to my side of the SUV.
“This is getting ridiculous—you kids are torturing yourselves.” Dad shook his head, his voice stern. “If you want me to lose him, let me know, and I will.”
Chuckling at the thought of Dad speeding to get away from the Silverado, I offered him a tender smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I really will lose him, if you ask me to.”
“I know. But you don’t have to. We’re almost there.” I didn’t have to look at Peter to feel his presence. Twisting my head to the side in slow motion, our eyes met for the first time since the Lorie fiasco and the key exchange at the ranch.
It’d been much easier to maintain my resolve when all I had in front of me was a note and a CD. Facing the man was much harder.
What if I stayed? What if I asked Dad to pull over? The idea was tempting.
But something propelled me to stay the course instead—the new course: Europe, Claus, the Met.
A critical voice inside me screamed “self-serving brat.”
But a stronger and serene voice said, “Go—this is a season to go.” There was peace in the middle of the heartache when I thought of going. There was no peace when I thought of staying. I had to go. Right?
As we got close to the exit to the airport, Willie was singing “Georgia on My Mind.” Really? Maybe that’s why Dad had suggested a different CD.
The thought of leaving Georgia hurt my heart—I’d never lived in any other state.
I looked at my ex-fiancé again. I was going to miss Peter. No doubt about that. Tears soaked his face now. His lips moved. He repeated my name twice. I swallowed the lump that had formed fast in my throat.
This was it. This was our moment. If I was going to do something, this was the time. I turned to him, both hands on the window.
He looked at me and seemed receptive—expectant even.
A Season to Dance Page 10