A Season to Dance

by Patricia Beal

  “I’m cold.” Picking me up in his arms with ease, he started walking toward the house.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “What am I?” He laughed. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  I laughed too. “I mean what religion? You wrote you would ‘never ever’ go back to church.”

  “Oh.” He laughed again. “Baptist.”

  Of course. “Calvary Baptist Church?”

  “No. Grace. Why?”

  “Nothing.” We were within feet from the back porch now. “Weren’t you reading the Bible again? Isn’t there something in there against, you know, people being together like this?”

  “I was reading it there for a while … oh—” He stopped walking and his expression dulled. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to…” His lips stretched but his eyes drooped.

  Was I breaking his heart again? That was not my intention. And what if he changed his mind about letting me back in his life if I didn’t allow for everything to go back to normal—our normal?

  “It’s up to you.” His smile looked forced.

  A tight feeling in my chest warned me. I couldn’t handle his rejection—that was too big a risk. “I want to.”

  “Good.”

  A hint of melancholy that I didn’t understand but very much felt squeezed my heart, and I nestled my head on his chest as he opened the back door. I need to get back on the pill.

  Chapter 21

  Mom called me in the morning and said Claus was still at her house and wanted to talk to me and to Peter.

  “I’m not sure about that, Mom.” I stopped cleaning the kitchen and sat by the window. “Is it about dancing? Do you know?”

  “Yes, he said he wants to talk about the audition and about an opportunity to dance in Columbus. But he also wants to talk to Peter. I’m assuming that means you and Peter are back together? What happened, Ana? I’m so lost.”

  “Ask Claus—he’ll tell you all about it.” Saves me from having to admit to Mom that she was right about Claus’s involvement in the Romeo and Juliet thing.

  “Well, obviously you still love Peter, and he still loves you, or I wouldn’t have a German dancer moping on my couch.”

  “You’ve got that right, Mom.” Might as well make her day. “I’m staying in Georgia—the engagement is back on.”

  “Wow! That’s a lot of change.”

  “It is…” She was going to put two and two together fast and gloat about being right.

  “Well, then let Claus talk to Peter. Claus deserves some closure, don’t you think? He’s in bad shape. Don’t you think talking would be good? And how about this dancing opportunity? Do you want to do it? Are Claus and Peter on good terms?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. My head’s still spinning with everything that’s going on. Dancing is the last thing on my mind.” If she did put two and two together, she didn’t mention anything. That was unusual. Did she know I was planning to stop dancing? Had Claus told her anything at all about what’d happened?

  “Try to figure out what you want, then talk to Peter and let him decide. This way he can’t complain later, and you’ll know for sure if he can handle it.”

  “That doesn’t sound right either.” I traced the white cherry blossoms of the vinyl tablecloth with my fingertips. “Should I put this burden on him?” And should I put him in a position to have to handle more stress after all we’d been through?

  “Of course you should. What’s the point of sharing your life with someone if you cannot share your burdens?”

  Let him decide?

  “Talk to him and then call me, okay?”

  I nodded, getting up. “Okay.”

  “Good luck, Ana. I love you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. He went to a meeting but should be here soon.”

  I finished cleaning our four-cheese omelet dishes and our coffee mugs.

  Let him decide, huh?

  I put on Peter’s blue-and-orange flannel jacket and opened the back porch door to a gorgeous Pine Mountain September morning—sunny, fragrant, and bright.

  But I couldn’t step out.

  Jäger, who’d rushed out ahead of me, cocked his head, as if asking, “What’s the holdup?”

  Wondering the same thing myself, I wished I had my New Testament from Prague, but it was at Mom’s house.

  Is Lorie’s Bible still here? I closed the door and walked to the living room bookshelf. “Lorie Ashley Allen” was engraved on the bottom-right corner of a pink and purple Bible. I touched the fading silver letters on the worn cover as Jäger scratched the door in protest, wanting to come in too.

  Peter hated when he did that.

  “Let’s go, boy.”

  We walked straight to the water’s edge, and I sat at the end of the pier with Lorie’s Bible on one side and Jäger on the other. I buttoned up Peter’s jacket almost to my neck and enjoyed the lingering masculine scent, anxious for him to get home.

  Better decide what I want to do before wishing him back. I picked up the Bible and folded my hands over it.

  Dear God, I don’t know what to do.

  Of course, I want to dance. Always. It’s like breathing for me, and You know it.

  If You are there, You made me, and if You made me, You know it. I have to dance.

  But I can’t do it anymore, Lord. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. I don’t even know what to pray for.

  I can’t decide. I make bad decisions. I’m never happy.

  I almost was—twice. And twice everything fell apart.

  Just tell me what to do. This is your shot. I can’t fix my life. You do it.

  Please…

  I looked up at the bright blue sky and resisted the urge to ask if He were really there, if He cared, and if He was listening. A tiny puddle pooled on Lorie’s Bible, and I swiped it away. I tried to pat dry the spot with Peter’s sleeve and hoped the stain would disappear with time.

  I opened the book with a deep breath and a quiet hope. First Kings? Okay. Chapter three. Blinking slowly to clear my eyes of the tears, I zeroed in on the word LORD in verse seven. And now, O LORD my God, thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father: and I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in.

  “Amen to that.” Who said it? I looked for context. “Ah, Solomon.” I went back to read the chapter from the beginning.

  Halfway through it, I rested the open book on my lap and dropped my chin to my chest, unable to keep it up any longer beneath the weight dragging down my heart.

  God, in a dream, had asked Solomon what he wanted. Much like a genie, He was granting a wish. Solomon, who’d just become king, didn’t ask for riches, for a long life, or for military victories. He thought of the people, the chosen people of God, and he felt inept to be their ruler. So he asked God for an understanding heart to judge the people.

  God gave Solomon the wisdom he asked for, and He was so pleased with the character of Solomon’s wish that He also gave him the riches and honor he hadn’t asked for.

  Selflessness. I nodded slowly and raised my eyes to the sky. I’m praying for selflessness, Lord.

  The bright blue sky didn’t seem so empty anymore.

  Teach me, Father.

  I opened to another random page—Matthew, in the New Testament.

  “And Zorobabel begat Abiud; and Abiud begat Eliakim; and Eliakim begat Azor; And Azor begat Sadoc; and Sadoc begat Achim; and Achim begat Eliud…”

  Okay, let’s just stick with what we’ve got—selflessness. I patted Jäger, who looked at me with eager brown eyes.

  Let him decide?

  Yes.

  Peter arrived at lunchtime and found me asleep on the swing—in the perfect shade of hundreds of red roses. I woke up with him teasing my nose with a rose and sat up, happy to have him back.

  “Nice pillow.” He picked up Lorie’s Bible and sat next to me. “When did you become so interested in religion?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, my cheeks warm.

  He
handed the book to me. “That’s cool. I didn’t know. That’s all.”

  I put the Bible on my lap, with Lorie’s name facing down.

  “Claus came to see me today.” Peter’s eyes searched mine.

  “He did?” Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. What had he said? “Mom called earlier saying he wants to dance…” Peter couldn’t help me decide if he didn’t look at the whole picture. “Did he tell you I’m quitting?”

  “He did, but I don’t buy it. I’m sure that’s what you told him, and maybe that’s even what you think you’ll do, but I know you better than that.” Peter relaxed on the swing, with his elbow on the back of the seat and his head on his hand.

  The man knew me too well. Balanchine once said, “I don’t want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance.” I was definitely the kind who had to, and in my mind, I was on the stage of the RiverCenter rehearsing already. But I could change, right? I’d prayed, and selflessness was the word that had come up, so I had to be selfless. Let him decide.

  “What do you want to do? Do you want to dance in this mixed bill?” His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose.

  “It would be weird to dance with Claus, after all that we’ve been through.” Could I do it and handle it professionally? Absolutely. Should I put Peter through it? No way. Let him decide. “I don’t have to do it, baby.”

  “Why are you talking about quitting dancing?”

  “It’s not working out.” A hurtful lump formed in my throat. “I’m just not good enough.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Yes-sense,” I said, the urge to cry miraculously gone. “In Wiesbaden I had a chance because of Claus. Without him, I’m ordinary at best.”

  “The ballet people in Columbus would beg to differ, and so would I.”

  “Well, I’m not in Columbus anymore.”

  “How about Atlanta?” Peter ran his hand through my hair. “The old plan?”

  “The company there is big, like Wiesbaden.”

  “You were in the company in Wiesbaden.”

  “Not really. Not officially. I was going to audition late this month.”

  “You would have made it.”

  “Not exactly.” I shook my head, not sure how to approach the choreography and the Met part of my German life.

  “What do you mean?”

  If I were to have a future with Peter, I would have to be honest with him. No more secrets, or hiding, or framing. I had to tell him about my life in Germany, even if meant talking about Claus and unfulfilled dreams. “They pulled me aside in the summer, saying I wouldn’t make it, but that there was a chance under certain conditions.”

  “Conditions?”

  “Claus had been talking about choreographing, but he didn’t seem motivated to start anything.” I looked down and brushed my palms together. “So they told me I would have a chance if Claus created a piece for us to perform immediately after the audition.”

  “Wow. What did Claus do?”

  I made him mad. He made me mad. Then he proposed. “He choreographed. I guess, with the prize in mind, he just did it.”

  “The prize?”

  “The Met.”

  “The Met?”

  “His company is dancing at the Met in the spring. They were going to put the choreography in the Met program if they liked it. It would have been the perfect plug to sell a few extra tickets during a recession, I guess. Top dancer choreographing for his American wife.”

  “No way.” He leaned closer. “You? At the Met?”

  “Lots of ‘ifs,’ but we were hopeful.”

  “Wait. Wife?”

  “We were going to get married this Christmas.”

  “Ana, wow.” He stood up, running his fingers through his hair, his hands stopping interlocked behind his neck. “Are you gonna be okay with not doing that?”

  “Not doing what? The Met or marrying Claus?”

  “Both.”

  “I’m okay about Claus—I ache over what he must be going through, but you said it best, he broke his own heart. I’m not okay yet about letting go of the Met, but I will be.”

  Peter looked at me, his smile quiet and fitting.

  “I’ll be fine.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tightened my lips.

  “Oh, Ana, you will wonder forever.”

  “True, but see, it was all just a possibility. If I had already auditioned, passed, and rehearsed, then it would be harder.”

  “Then I would tell you just to do it.”

  “Oh, you would tell me?”

  “Yes,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “I would tell you.”

  Let him decide? I tried to ignore the new feelings the mighty man in front of me had just ignited.

  “Ana, are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” I centered myself on the swing and pushed back before hugging my knees. “You know, to wonder forever doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” I shrugged, looking at the still lake. “I couldn’t have handled it if they told me it was still not good enough. Could you imagine? Traveling to New York to watch him dance with someone else what he had choreographed for me?”

  “You would have made it, though.”

  “Only God knows what if.” That’s what Claus always said.

  “I’m sorry, Ana.” He sat back down and patted his lap.

  “Me too.” I rested my head on his thigh and curled up on the swing. “Me too.”

  A gentle breeze made delicate ripples on the lake’s surface and stirred up the roses just enough to make their sweet smell suddenly stronger.

  “Do you love him?” Peter played with my hair, his voice tender.

  This is the perfect time for a white lie. But the lying part of the program is over. Big time over. “I do. I love you both so much. So much, Peter.”

  He nodded, quiet and composed. “Are you sure you want to be with me?”

  “Positive.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I don’t know how I know—I just do. I love you. Life with you is laid back and fun. We’re complete opposites, and that’s exciting to me.” How could I explain to him what I myself couldn’t quite understand? His eyes were still on me. “See, when I’m not with you, I get intense and crazy and too busy. I’m never still, nothing is sufficient.” That was it right there. With Peter next to me, being was sufficient. I was sufficient. Our love wasn’t performance based—it was absolutely unconditional. With Claus I felt like I had to always be doing something to feel good about myself—not because of anything he’d ever said or done. It was just the way I was around him. “I’m absolutely sure that I am exactly where I need to be.”

  “Need to be?”

  Cautious, hmm? “Want to be.” I looked up at him. Couldn’t blame him for being cautious, could I? “Don’t lose any sleep over this. I’m one hundred percent sure I want to be with you. I was with you until the day you told me to go away. When you welcomed me back last night, I stayed. I’m here to stay forever. I do love you.”

  “I love you too.” Peter organized my hair, securing loose strands behind my ear to keep them off my eyes. “And are you sure you don’t want to go back to the Allen Ballet?”

  “Positive. There are many things I don’t know, but that’s another thing I know with absolute certainty. I’m done with the cycle of hope and disappointment and the pretense that I am happy being second best. I’m done with Columbus.”

  Peter nodded.

  “Maybe someday I can find another small company, a small place with good ideas. But not now and not with the lofty dreams I’ve been dreaming. I can’t take that kind of intensity anymore. If I dance again, it will have to be for the fun of it—not as a professional.”

  “Would you teach one day?”

  “One day.” I shrugged, unsure.

  “Well, it does sound as if you need a farewell of sorts then.”

  He caressed my face, his gentle cool fingers on my warm cheek.

  “Let Claus do it.” He rested his hand on my
chest. “He told me he talked to Brian last night, and Brian said he would put it in the October program. Sales are rough, and he thinks you and Claus will draw a crowd.”

  “That would be nice.” I looked at the sky beyond the roses. “I haven’t been on stage since Romeo and Juliet, and that was all so tumultuous. I do want to be in this performance.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

  “I think this will be good for all of us,” Peter said. “Does that make sense?”

  Had the Romeo and Juliet dress rehearsal been his last experience at the theater? I nodded yes without asking questions.

  At Peter’s request, Claus joined us for dinner.

  “I’ll grill while you guys come up with the farewell plan,” Peter said after awkward hellos.

  I pulled a chair out for Claus and sat opposite him. His eyes were fixed on Peter, who was busy arranging hickory chunks on only one side of the grill for a two-zone approach to grilling he’d learned from the men in my mom’s family. The hot side would create the crust and get the kosher salt to stick. The other side would cook the inside to perfection: tender, juicy, and pink.

  Think of something to say … the food, the weather … anything?

  Watching Peter light the fire, I wondered if the farewell was a good idea after all. It was certainly good in theory, but could we deliver? We couldn’t even talk.

  Peter turned around and chuckled. “Are you guys just going to stare at me? I know this is all really odd. It’s odd for me too. But talking about dancing has got to be better than watching me grill all night.”

  He cleaned his hands with a kitchen rag and approached the table. “You seem like an okay guy, Claus. And I have no desire to beat a man who’s already down. But for the sake of being productive here tonight, wrap your mind around this idea—game over, my friend. I got the girl.

  “Treat this ballet as a consolation prize that I’m only letting you have because I love Ana and believe she should have something better than the Romeo and Juliet mess, which you and Lorie created, to hang her pointe shoes on. If that’s too much for you to handle, maybe the company can squeeze her into something that’s already on the program.”