*****
I didn’t feel fresh or new as I sat in the lounge bar. My finger tapped my arm as I waited for the singer to come on stage. She was doing an afternoon shift, singing a little jazz to entertain the drinkers who were taking a break from whatever table they’d thrown their money onto.
I had barely slept. My eyes felt gritty and sore. My skin was still raw and pink from my burning shower. My frantic sudsing had done nothing to dispel the malaise roiling within me.
I felt so far from inner peace it was almost comical.
Trying to sound upbeat on the phone as I lied to Dad about my whereabouts was nearly impossible. I couldn’t believe he bought it. As if Derek would ask me to do a business trip to San Diego. The guy barely had enough clients to stay afloat, but Dad didn’t need to know that...and he certainly didn’t need the truth, either.
He’d tried so hard never to criticize Mom in front of us, but I could see it. She’d cut him, butchered him, and he’d never recovered. It had been eight years, and I’d never seen him go on one date. The guy had dedicated himself to his work and us girls. That was the only thing that had gotten him through.
“Hello, everyone.”
A tendon in my neck pinged tight at my mother’s husky voice. She introduced herself and then began to sing “Come Away With Me” by Norah Jones, her sultry sound rising over the small audience. It was unfortunately beautiful. I wanted her to suck. I wanted the audience to be hissing at her, throwing rotten tomatoes, not smiling and nodding at the pure tone that stretched across the room and nestled inside me.
I closed my arms, pinching my biceps until they hurt.
That sound was so familiar. She used to sing me to sleep as a child, brushing the locks of hair off my face, her sad voice covering me.
She still looked the same as I remembered, maybe a touch older...and thinner. Definitely more glamorous. Her thick makeup was hiding her wrinkles, her fake lashes making her eyes large and bright. They were turquoise and vibrant, just like Jody’s. The sequined dress she wore fit her perfectly, highlighting her curves in all the right places. She was obviously going for an elegant lady from the fifties. All she needed was a white dress and an air vent, and she’d be Marilyn Monroe.
She’d probably love it if she knew I was thinking that.
Air shot through my nose as the urge to run skittered down my legs. I dug my heels into the carpet and made myself stay.
It took thirty minutes for her to finish her set. I was a shaking wreck as I rose from the table and approached the stage. She didn’t see me coming. Her back was to me as she chatted with the pianist.
“Roxanne.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her body going still.
I held my breath as I waited for her to fully turn and face me. Eventually she spun, a soft smile growing on her lips. Holy crap, I was staring at an older version of Jody. It stole my breath for a second.
Her vibrant gaze traveled over me, her brow wrinkling at my Vegas sweats and high heels. I didn’t have it in me to put my work clothes back on. They were currently shoved into a waste paper basket in my hotel room, never to be worn again.
My mom blinked at tears as she stepped down from the stage.
“Morgan.” She reached out for me, her arms stretched wide.
I moved out of her way and folded my arms across my chest.
She bobbed her head and gave me an understanding smile.
“Do you want to sit?” She pointed to a table behind me.
“No, I’m not staying long.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you...to tell you—” I swallowed.
“Tell me what?” she asked after my pregnant pause.
I licked my bottom lip, my angry words sitting in my mouth and just not going anywhere. Why couldn’t I unleash my fury? She deserved it! Tears stung my eyes, no doubt brought on by her gushy expression.
I frowned, ordering them away. Lifting my chin, I gazed down at my mother and opened my mouth.
“How could you do it? Just walk away like that; do you have no soul?”
Her face crumpled, her rosebud lips disappearing as she bit them together. Placing her arm gently on my elbow, she guided me to a corner of the room, behind the grand piano.
I flicked her off me and stared down at her, impatiently waiting for my explanation.
“I couldn’t stay, Mister; it was killing me.”
Mister. The only person in the world to ever call me that. My middle name was the same as hers, Roxanne, making my initials MR...mister. She’d thought it was a very smart and funny nickname; I had too, until she left and I banned anyone from ever calling me that again.
“I was going to bed at night and wishing I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, because I didn’t think I could live through another day.” She wrung her hands. “And it wasn’t you or Jody or your dad. I just...” She pointed at her chest. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d given up my dream to mother you and I just...ran out of steam.”
She shrugged as if her explanation was enough.
“Ran out of steam? You selfish bitch!” I wanted to slap her then, crack my palm right across her face, but heads turned our way, and I didn’t want to be escorted out of here before she’d heard me out. “You turned me into a mother at the age of fourteen! Sacrifice? I had to give up everything to look after Jody and Dad while you swanned off here to make your dreams come true. You know what happened to my dreams?” My voice hitched. “They ended up in the gutter, and now I’ve just quit my second job this year, I have no life, no boyfriend, and I hate myself...and it’s your fault. You turned me into this. You walked out on a family who needed you!”
“Hey, I waited, okay. I waited until I knew you could handle it, and it’s not like I didn’t tell you guys where I was. You could’ve come and gotten me, tried to win me back.”
I scoffed, pressing my fingers into my forehead and wanting to scream.
“You were the adult. You were the one who was supposed to look after us! Don’t put your shit on me. Win you back? Why would we? You left us!”
My final shout silenced the bar. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if every eye in the room was gazing across that piano. Shouldn’t they know who was singing for them? She wasn’t some sweet-faced angel with a voice like heaven. She was a turncoat traitor who had walked out on her husband and kids. Left them high and dry so she could sing in some sleazy bar.
“I know it was selfish,” she said quietly. “I really have no good excuses for what I did. I just decided that it was time for me to start looking after myself.” She nibbled on her lip. “You know, your dad was a really good man, but I don’t think we would have married if we hadn’t had you. I just saw your face and knew I needed to love you and feed you...until you could look after yourself.”
“I was fourteen,” I whispered brokenly.
“You’ve always been strong and confident, looking after those around you. You were a better mother than I could ever be. You remember what chaos our house used to be in. It used to drive you crazy.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Sometimes it did, but I would have taken chaos every day of the week over the silence, the emptiness that followed your departure. I tried to do a good job.” I cleared my throat. “But I failed. I failed Jody...I failed myself.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” She gave me a kind smile.
I wanted to tell her that Jody was pregnant, that she was turning into her, but I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t let that happen. Jody had me. That was the difference, and there was no way in hell I was abandoning her, no matter what she wanted to do with her baby.
Mom rubbed her arm, playing with the sequins on her dress sleeve as she smiled at me.
“You still dancing?”
My jaw clenched as I shook my head. “I gave that up when you left. There was no time to pursue it.”
Her brows bunched together and she looked to the floor. “I was hoping you’d apply for that high school.”
“I used to love watching you, Mister. I lived for your performances; they were like a light in the darkness.”
“Obviously not a very bright one.”
She looked hurt by my sarcastic reply, and I didn’t want to care, but it stung. My words, her expression. I turned away from it.
“You used to light up the stage. You know how there’s always one dancer you can’t take your eyes off. That was you.” She pointed at me. “You were that girl.” Her eyes grew distant as if reliving one of my recitals. “It was the only time you’d ever really let your emotions show. It’s like you gifted a part of your soul to the audience when you danced. It always brought tears to my eyes.”
My throat clogged, the lump too big to swallow.
“I don’t expect you to ever forgive what I did to you. I know I don’t deserve it.” Her smile was sad. “But I hate the idea that my betrayal would stop you from doing something you loved. I know what it’s like to try living a lie. It makes you do things you’re not proud of.” She blinked at tears. “Please, Morgan, don’t give up your dreams. Don’t let hurt and anger and bitterness hold you back anymore. You have to let go.”
She reached for my hand, and for some bizarre reason, I let her take it.
“No matter what you become or where you end up in life, never stop dancing. It’s who you are.”
My hand felt limp within hers, but I forced my fingers to squeeze back. “I forgive you,” I whispered. “I don’t feel like it right this second, but you’re right. I need to let go. I need to be free...of you. So I forgive you, and I’ll keep saying it, every day, until I believe it. Because you cannot own me anymore.”
Her expression held a mixture of pride and shame. As much as I didn’t want her to be, she was my mother. Her genes inspired my dancing and Jody’s singing. She’d given me this precious gift that in the past had given me so much joy. I’d let her steal it. I’d given her the power, and it was time to take it back.
“Goodbye, Mom.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, walking away before she could say anything more.
As I stepped out of the darkness and into the sunlight, I felt it...a stirring in my soul. Like a quiet calm was meandering through my being, telling me it was going to be okay. It was a far cry from inner peace, but it was there, it was new...and I felt like it could grow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MORGAN
Part of me wanted to call Grandma Deb and tell her I’d done it, but the bigger part of me wasn’t ready to speak yet, so I wandered to my car and started the four-hour trek back to Pasadena. As much as I wanted to click my heels and mutter, “There’s no place like home,” the trip did me good. It gave me time to think, to breathe.
My knuckles remained white for most of the drive, but it was a different tension that ran through my body now. The future was still a massive question mark. I was once again jobless, single, and still living at home with my dad, but I didn’t have to stay that way forever. I could move forward. I had to move forward, and this time I had to stop settling for something to fill the gap. I needed to hold out for what was right for me.
I flicked from one radio station to the next as I drove home, too agitated to listen to any one song. My mom’s comments about dancing still lingered. I wanted them to make me angry, but they had somehow awoken a deep yearning inside of me. Maybe I should look at taking classes again, get fit and start doing a little choreography like I used to. My teacher used to always compliment what I’d come up with. I wondered what Ms. Finnermore was doing now?
Was it worth looking her up?
My phone started ringing, and I rummaged for it in my bag.
It was Isabella.
I answered on the fifth ring.
“Oh good, you’re there.” She sounded out of breath. “Where are you?”
“Just driving.” I cleared my throat.
“Okay, cool, well I’m running a little behind, you know how it is, so can you meet me?”
Damn. I’d totally forgotten I was hanging out with her tonight. “I—I don’t want to come to the studios.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to. I want you to meet me in Huntington Park.”
I hesitated. “What’s in Huntington Park?”
“An apartment I want you to check out.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. It used to belong to my grandmother before she died, and I’m trying to decide what to do with it. I want your advice.”
“I’m not an interior designer.”
“I know, I just really value your opinion with this kind of stuff. Please, just meet me there.”
I frowned, wanting to come up with some excuse about being too tired. I was. I felt wrung-out and jaded.
“Please. For me?”
“Okay, fine.”
“Sweet! There’s a spare key under the green pot around by the back door. If I’m not there, just let yourself in, and I won’t be far behind you.” She rattled off the address, and I pulled to the side of the road, noting it into my GPS once she’d hung up.
I clicked my tongue and pulled back into the traffic, following the GPS instructions until I reached Malabar Street. I found the right number and parked outside what looked like an abandoned building.
In spite of my misgivings, I slid out of my car and headed for the back door, hunting around for a green pot. I found it easily and tipped it up, patting the concrete for a key. The glass door rattled as I unlocked it, but finally jiggled open.
It was dark in the stairwell, so I took care and grappled around for a light switch once I reached the top. I was expecting an apartment; what I got was a dance studio.
An old, dusty dance studio.
I sucked in my breath as I eyed the dirty ceiling-high mirrors and the barre attached to the walls.
Memories of a different dance studio flooded me, all good and filled with a warm fuzziness I wanted to swim in. Dropping my bag to the floor, I slowly stepped into the room, running my fingers along the dusty wood.
A stereo sat in the corner of the room, perched on a round table. I headed across to it, kicking off my heels and flicking them into the corner. I had no idea if it still worked, but I could see fingerprints in the dust, which meant someone must have used it recently. No doubt Isabella.
I leaned down to fiddle with the buttons and managed to turn on the CD. A steady beat pulsed out of the speakers attached to each ceiling corner. She must have been checking that they still worked.
I closed my eyes as the pulse of David Guetta’s “Titanium” whispered through me. Then Sia started singing. I breathed in the words, tipping my head back as my foot tapped. I lifted my arm in a slow arc, raising it above my head and bending back as if dodging bullets that couldn’t hurt me.
My body swung around, moving away from the table and dropping to the floor in a controlled spin. Sliding to the side, I stretched across the floor, slowing rising to the beat and letting the song take charge. It moved through me, my limbs and body dancing of their own accord as I let go.
A bubble rose in my chest, bursting with sound and light and freedom. It shot through me, electrifying my body with bliss. I didn’t need oblivion when I felt like this.
My hunt was over.
I didn’t need an edge. I needed to live and breathe every beat of this song.
I ran across the studio and fell to my knees, sliding across the old wooden floor, my body lost in the pleasure of the dance. I felt strong. In charge. In control.
I felt bulletproof.
Sia’s voice stretched over the word titanium, and I arched my body to match, rising tall from the floor. The beat rose, slow and steady, building to a quick pace that had my body spinning in a frenzy until Sia’s voice died away, and I was left in the silence.
I glanced to the mirror, taking in my final pose. My chest was heaving, breaths shooting out of my nose in rapid succession and then I noticed something.
My lips parted, my forehead wrinkling as I reached for my face.
Tears.
I licked at the dribble rolling past my mouth.
“Tears don’t achieve anything,” I whispered as my eyes swelled with more. I closed them, letting the water cascade down my cheeks. It wasn’t a torrent; there were no heaving sobs, just a steady stream of tears that I had held at bay for probably far too long.
I brushed them off my face, sniffing and trying to pull myself together.
“That was amazing.”
Isabella’s soft voice made me spin. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, her arms folded across her chest and a soft smile playing on her lips.
“Hi.” I swiped at my tears, pulling my body tall.
“You don’t have to stop.” She pushed off the frame with her shoulder and walked toward me. “It’s a good release.”
“The dancing or the crying?”
“Both.” She grinned.
“I haven’t done either in a really long time. I mean, I guess I’ve always danced, but...”
“Not like that.” Isabella shook her head. “That was... you really let go. It was so...powerful.” She touched her chest. “You moved me, chica.”
I snorted out a soft laugh.
“Which is why I know I’m making the right decision.”
“What do you mean?” I wiped my face for what I hoped was the last time. Tears seriously did not suit me. Maybe they were good for me, but I certainly didn’t enjoy them.
Isabella stuck her hands in the pockets of her cargo pants and swung back on her sneakered feet. “I want to offer you a job.”
“A job?”
“Yeah.” She looked around. “See, I used to come here every day as a kid. Mom worked so Grandma would bring me here and I’d watch her teach all these little kids and dream of the day when I’d choreograph my own dances. She made me who I am. I credit it all to her.”
Bulletproof Page 22