The Daddy Dance

by Mindy Klasky

  For whatever twisted reason that passed as logic in Rachel’s rebellious mind, she had lied to him five years ago. Jennifer Morehouse was Rye’s daughter.

  Kat made sure that her father was comfortably settled on one of the benches behind home plate, and then she nodded toward a vendor who had set up his cart on the edge of the park. “Can I get you a hot dog, Daddy?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “A Coke, then?”

  “I don't need anything.”

  Susan had been worried about the late-afternoon start of the game; she hadn’t wanted anyone to go hungry. As a result, she’d spent the afternoon setting out “nibbles”—cheese and crackers and fruit and cookies—three times as much food as any normal meal. Kat didn't think she’d ever be hungry again.

  As much as she was inclined to fuss over her father, she had to admit that he did look strong. Sure, his shirt hung loose at his throat. And his tight-belted trousers rode a little high on his hips. But the fresh air had brought color to his cheeks. He’d made the walk from the house without getting winded, in his best time yet since his surgery. Kat sat down beside him, but barely a minute passed before she jumped up and looked over her shoulder.

  Mike’s mouth pursed into a frown. “Don’t waste your time looking for her, Kat. You know as well as I do that she’s not going to make it.”

  Kat wanted to berate him. She wanted to say that he was tired, that he was depressed because of his long illness, that he wasn’t being fair. But deep in her heart, she knew that she agreed with him. Rachel had said that she’d be home by noon, and it was already almost four. For the hundredth time, Kat wondered what her sister’s friends had been counting down. How many more drinks had they downed to celebrate whatever it was? What else had they consumed, substances stronger than alcohol?

  Before Kat could figure out an appropriate reply to her father, Susan left a cluster of her friends and came to join them on the bench. “Kat! Lauren says she saw your flyer in every store on Main Street. I can’t tell you how many people told me how professional it looks.”

  Kat smiled automatically, but there was a chill beneath her reaction. Sure, the paperwork looked good. The class rosters were filling up. But she still hadn’t broached the subject of the bank account with her mother. Every day that passed made Kat more worried, but no matter how many times she promised herself, she just couldn’t find the words to deliver the bad news. She felt like she was living a lie, every time she talked about the studio but stayed silent about the money.

  Before Kat could respond to Susan’s compliment, Niffer came skidding to a stop in front of them. “The game’s about to start! Is Mommy here yet?” The child craned her neck, peering around at the benches as if a full-grown woman might somehow be hiding nearby.

  Susan answered for all of them. “Not yet, dear. Oh, look! Coach Noah is looking for you.”

  Niffer, though, directed her eyes over Kat’s shoulder. “Mr. Harmon! Guess what! My mommy is coming to see me play today!”

  Rye felt like someone had kicked him in his gut as he watched Niffer run back to the T-ball diamond. Rachel? Here?

  His hands instinctively flexed into fists, as if he needed to defend himself in some battle. He wasn’t ready to see Rachel. Not yet.

  After walking out of the Chamber of Commerce dinner the night before, he had spent the entire night thinking about Josh’s revelation. He’d tossed and turned on his mattress, tangling himself in his sheets until he swore and got up to splash cold water on his face.

  How had he not seen the truth before? Why had he let Rachel’s lies derail him? Why hadn’t Rachel come after him for child support? And how was he going to tell Kat the truth? How could he tell Niffer?

  Over and over, he asked himself what Rachel had possibly hoped to gain, keeping him in the dark.

  But it all made sense, in a twisted way. Rachel thrived on drama. In her heart of hearts, she had to know that Rye would have stepped up, faced his responsibility. Rye would have done everything he could to help Rachel, to ease Niffer’s strange, unbalanced life.

  But Rachel could get far more mileage out of Josh being Niffer’s father. She could sulk about being rejected by the guy who’d made it big. She could complain about the vast wealth that should have been hers. She could lash out against a system that had cheated her, denied her rights, cast her loose. And Josh wasn’t around Eden Falls often enough to bother setting the record straight.

  Rye had to figure out what was right, how he could take responsibility for Niffer now, at this relatively late date. But to do that, he needed to talk to Rachel. Rachel, who Niffer had just sunnily proclaimed was coming to the park.

  Shoving down the feeling that his world was rapidly spinning out of control, Rye forced himself to smile at an unsuspecting Kat, to shake hands with Mike. Susan made a big show of coming over to kiss him on his cheek, to tell him how pleased she was about the renovations he’d completed at the dance studio. A quick glance from Kat reminded him of the cover story they’d concocted. According to the lies, Rye had just come in to freshen up the paint, to update the appearance of the Morehouse Dance Academy. Susan was never to know how badly Rachel had managed the business.

  He forced himself to smile and make small talk with Kat’s mother.

  Rachel’s mother, too.

  What the hell was he going to do when she showed up? For all he knew, she might be in one of her crazy moods. If she saw that Kat and Rye were together, she might announce their past relationship to the entire world, trumpet it to the heavens for all to hear, just to see how everyone reacted.

  He could only imagine the look that Kat would turn on him then. He could picture the hurt in her eyes, almost as clearly as if he already saw it. Sure, he had already told Kat that he’d dated her sister for a few weeks. But he’d purposely kept the extent of that “dating” vague. He certainly hadn’t given a hint that a child could have resulted from that brief time together.

  He needed a break to think this through. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to grab a hot dog before the game.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Kat chimed in, smiling. His heart sank, but he gave her a hand as she stepped down from the benches. He regretted how easily she twined her fingers between his, how comfortably she fell into step beside him as they made their way to the edge of the park.

  Kat deserved better than this. She deserved more from him than being mortally embarrassed when her sister walked into the middle of this supposedly perfect spring afternoon.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Kat said, as soon as they were out of earshot from her parents.

  Rye started when she spoke, almost as if he were a child caught stealing cookies from the cooling rack. “What will?” he choked out.

  “This whole thing with Rachel. We’ve tried to let Niffer know that she can’t rely on her mother, that just because Rachel said she’d be here today, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. It’s so hard, though. Niffer hears what she wants to hear. I guess all kids do. The whole time we were walking over here, Niffer kept telling us that she’s going to hit three home runs, just for Rachel. As if Noah could have coached her on how to do that.” They walked another few steps in silence before she said, “That was sort of like a joke, Rye.”

  He shook his head, looking at her as if he were truly seeing her for the first time that day. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “We all have been. It’s one thing for us adults to know we can’t depend on Rachel. It’s another for Niffer to learn the truth.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m really touched that you’re taking this so hard. It means a lot to me that you care so much about Niffer.”

  There, Rye thought. That was the opening he was looking for. That was the introduction he needed to tell Kat what was really on his mind.

 
But could he do that to her? Before he’d had a chance to talk to Rachel himself, to confirm the facts one last time? And could he break the news to Kat here, in full view of half the town, with an innocent T-ball game starting up behind them? He could already hear the children’s shouts, the good-natured cheering for the kids at bat, for the ones in the field. And Kat was already wound so tight, worried about how Niffer would cope when Rachel didn’t show.

  When Rachel didn’t show. Despite Niffer’s heart-stopping announcement, Kat didn’t think that Rachel was going to make it to the game. In fact, from the look on Mike’s face, the man had been pretty certain his other daughter was a no-show. Come to think of it, even Susan had looked unsure.

  Well, if Rachel didn’t come to the park today, then Rye’s secret was safe for a while longer. He could still track her down, get absolute confirmation. Then he could choose his time and his place. He could break things to Kat gently.

  Hunching his shoulders, he folded his misery deeper into the nauseating sea of his emotions. He would clean this up. He had to. But this was neither the time, nor the place.

  “Want a hot dog?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

  “You have got to be kidding.” Kat laughed. “Do you know how bad those things are for you?”

  “Worse than a burger and fries?” he retorted.

  That did the trick. He knew that she was immediately thinking of the booth they had shared at the Garden Diner, of the meal that she had enjoyed with so much primal enthusiasm. Of the passion that had followed, on her couch. And, if her memory worked anything like his, of the follow-through in her bedroom, just a few days before.

  “You should be careful,” he said, lathering mock concern over his words. “It looks like you’re getting a sunburn.”

  He supposed that he really did deserve the punch that she delivered to his shoulder. It was worth it, to get another look at the blush on her cheeks. He leaned closer, whispered in her ear, “Do you blush all over? Head to toe?”

  He loved the little squealing noise she made in protest. He relished the thought that she would make him pay for his impertinence. Later. In private.

  As much as Kat enjoyed sitting next to Rye on the bench, basking in the sun and watching the kids play ball, she felt her stomach twist into knots as the innings crept by. She caught herself glancing at her watch for the third time in as many minutes.

  It was nearly five o'clock.

  Kat caught Niffer looking worriedly at the stands as she came up to bat for the last time. Rye made a point of waving spiritedly to the little girl, starting up a chant. "Niff-er! Niff-er!" The child seemed to perk up at his attention, lifting her chin in a show of athletic determination. Kat almost laughed—her niece seemed to have learned the gesture from her sometime coach.

  The bat cracked against the ball, and Niffer took off around the bases. When she stopped at second, she dusted off her hands, looking every bit a pro. Kat's heart almost broke, though, when the child shielded her eyes, gazing plaintively back at the stands.

  Another three batters, and the game was over; Niffer’s team had won by two runs. Each child trotted out toward the pitcher’s mound, shaking hands with the opposition, as if they'd competed in the Olympics. Niffer joined in the group cheer that rounded out the game, and then she raced back to the benches.

  “Where’s Mommy?” she asked, craning her neck for a better view. “Did Mommy see me bat?”

  Mike’s face was creased with a mixture of anger and fatigue. Susan sighed deeply. Kat held out her arms, ready to gather in her disappointed niece. But it was Rye who said, “Sorry, Niffer, your mother didn’t come.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

  “But she said she would be here!”

  “She must have made a mistake.” Kat was grateful that Rye was being so reasonable, that he was speaking to Niffer as if she were an intelligent person, capable of handling an emotional blow. Anything else, and Kat was afraid that she would lose her own firm resolve to stay cheerful.

  “Grown-ups don’t make mistakes!” Niffer whined.

  Grown-ups make mistakes all the time, Rye wanted to say. He felt as if his heart was breaking as he faced the result of his own biggest mistake.

  Because Niffer’s disappointment was yet another consequence of what he’d done with Rachel. If he had insisted on proof, way back when, if he had forced Rachel to share the results of the paternity test, then Niffer would not be so bereft today. She would have known all along that she had one loving parent to watch her accomplishments, to cheer her on.

  Unable to say the words that would make everything right, he tried to do the next best thing. Pulling Niffer close to his side, he rubbed her narrow back with a sympathetic hand. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I wish your mommy had made it.” He didn’t. Not at all. Not yet. But he could fake the words well enough to fool a child. “I can think of one thing that might make everything better.”

  Niffer dug the toe of her sneaker into the ground, obviously reluctant to accept any comfort. “What?”

  “How about an ice-cream cone?” That got her attention. “You can get yours with sprinkles.”

  “And a cherry on top?”

  “Yeah. I think we can manage that.” He looked up at the semicircle of adults. “Who’s up for ice cream?”

  Mike cleared his throat. “I think it’s about time for me to head home. It’s been a long day.”

  Susan chimed in immediately. “That makes two of us. That was such an exciting game, Niffer! Thank you for inviting us.”

  Mike took his time managing the two short steps from the bleachers to the ground. Rye offered him a steady forearm to balance against as he dropped the final few inches. The older man leaned close, clapping Rye on the back. “Thank you, son.” The grim look in Mike’s watery blue eyes let Rye know that the thanks were for more than a helping hand. “Thank you for taking care of my girls.”

  Kat’s father wouldn’t be so grateful if he knew the full story.

  For that matter, neither would Kat. Rye’s belly tightened as he caught her appreciative smile.

  Kat waited until her parents were well on their way across the park before she turned back to her niece. “Okay, Niffer. Go get your glove, and thank Coach Noah.” The little girl ran off. Kat looked at Rye. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I want to.”

  “I’ve had a lifetime of being disappointed by my sister. Niffer had better get used to it. And I can assure you, you don’t want to get wrapped up in this particular drama. It just repeats itself, over and over and over. Steer as far away as you can get.”

  “I’m already involved,” Rye said, his voice deadly earnest.

  Kat half expected him to make a joke as he said the words. Well, not a joke exactly, but some friendly gesture of comfort, a sly side comment that would make her blush, something that would make her wish that there were a lot more days left in the spring, that New York and Richmond were not so very far apart.

  But there was no secret message behind Rye’s statement. There was no hidden tweak. He was stating a fact as bare as the red earth of the pitcher’s mound behind him—he was already involved. He’d become involved the instant that she’d let him drive her home from the train station, the moment that he’d offered to renovate the studio. The second that she had leaned against him in the kitchen, pulling him close for that deeper kiss, for that soul-shocking meld that had echoed through the past couple of weeks, culminating in the afternoon they’d spent in bed—was it already four days before?

  He looked like he was thinking of saying something else, but Niffer came bouncing back, glove in hand. “Can I get mint chocolate chip?”

  Rye said, “If they have it.”

  “What flavor are you getting, Aunt Kat?”

  Kat smiled and ruffled her niece’s hair. “I d
on’t eat ice cream, sweetheart.”

  “Never?” Niffer’s eyes got very big.

  “Never.”

  Niffer scrunched up her nose. “Do you eat ice cream, Mr. Harmon?”

  “Every chance I get,” he said, making the little girl laugh. “My favorite is coffee mint mango crunch.”

  “That’s not a real flavor!”

  “Hmm,” Rye said, as if he were considering the matter for the very first time. “Maybe I’ll just get butter pecan, then.”

  As they drew close to the truck, Niffer said, “Mr. Harmon, why don’t you let Aunt Kat drive?”

  Rye’s laugh was short. “That’s a great idea. What do you think, Aunt Kat? Want to get behind the wheel?”

  Kat shot daggers at him with her eyes. “No, thank you,” she said, making her voice as cold as the ice cream the others were about to enjoy. She couldn’t resist adding a sarcastic edge. “But I really appreciate your asking.”

  “My pleasure,” Rye said mildly.

  He should know better than that, trying to egg her on in front of her niece. There was absolutely no way she was going to get behind the wheel of the silver truck. She was no idiot. She’d learned her lesson, in no uncertain terms. Only after she and Niffer were strapped into their seat belts did she think to ask, “Why do you care so much about whether I know how to drive, Niffer?”

  “That’s what grown-ups do,” the child said, as if the concept were as simple as one plus one. “I’m just a kid, so I need to have a grown-up take care of me. Gram and Pop-pop and Mommy don’t love me anymore, but I thought that you could be my grown-up. You know. Forever.” Niffer had spoken matter-of-factly, but her lower lip started to tremble as she looked out the window. “But you can’t do it, Aunt Kat, because you don’t know how to drive.”

  “Oh, sweetheart!” Kat folded her niece into a hug, looking hopelessly at Rye as he pulled out of the parking lot. He seemed to be concerned about the traffic on the road; all of his attention was riveted on the cars that streamed by. She had no idea where to start unpacking all the misunderstandings in what the child had said. “Gram and Pop-pop love you very much, but they need their house to be quiet right now, so that Pop-pop can keep getting better. Your mommy loves you, too, but she just can’t be with you now. And grown-ups can take care of you, even if they don’t know how to drive. I can take care of you.”