Sarah came out of the dressing room, her face clean of makeup and hair back into a ponytail. Sneakers had replaced the high heels and she was wearing a gray T-shirt with Healthy Food printed in red and white. She was the wholesome girl he remembered from this morning. “You haven’t put away everything yet,” she said.
“No. Rey has been telling me I should trust you more.”
Sarah and Rey exchanged a quick glance before Sarah responded, “You should.”
He scrunched up his face, unwilling to commit after making an ass of himself. “Maybe I can have one of the photos you and Rey took.”
Rey gave him an approving look, but he knew he hadn’t properly apologized for his thoughtless words.
“Sarah, do you think you can put the rest of the props away while I change?” Rey asked.
“No problem.” Sarah picked up the forgotten chair and walked toward the storage closet. Miles trailed after his daughter, willing to let her boss him around during cleanup. At least while he was walking around the studio, he felt sure-footed. So long as he stayed still, he would try to work out what was bothering him, and those emotions were slippery. Falling on his ass was getting old.
Rey emerged from the dressing room as the cool, elegant professional from the wedding. He missed the woman in leather and wondered what kind of jerk he was to be mad when she was looking wild and disappointed when she wasn’t. When her big brown eyes met his, he didn’t care what she was wearing, so long as she was spending time with him. “Do you want to eat dinner with us before dance class?”
She smiled. “Thanks, but I’m going to go home first. I’m hoping my daughter’s adoptive parents will call. The lawyer said she’d contact them for me. I hope the dance instructor doesn’t mind that I keep my cell on during the lesson.”
Miles looked at his daughter, who seemed to know exactly what Rey was talking about. “You told Sarah about your daughter?”
“It’s not like I could hide the conversation with the lawyer.”
“Um—”
“Don’t be stupid, Dad. It’s not like I didn’t know teenagers could get pregnant.”
“Right.” He nodded. He was being stupid, wasn’t he? “Of course it’s not something to be ashamed of, or to keep a big secret.” And it’s not like Rey was telling Sarah she should go out and get pregnant.
His gaze wandered from Sarah back to Rey and the foot in his stomach started to give him heartburn.
Rey’s vibrancy had faded as they talked about her daughter like it was nothing to them. He knew nothing about what it would be like to lose a daughter, or to have a secret you carried deep enough to be hidden in your bones. Miles glanced at his daughter, absorbed in her own world like a normal teenager, then at the strong yet fragile woman standing in front of him.
“Hey,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder and giving a soft squeeze, “after her parents call, call me and tell me about it. We can strategize more about how to find her.”
“Thanks,” she said, and Miles wished he could gather her in his arms and kiss her tears, and his insensitivity, away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RENIA HAD JUST pulled leftovers from Healthy Food out of the microwave when her cell phone rang. The area code was for Cincinnati. She closed her eyes and answered the phone before she decided she needed to eat prior to this conversation. Or decided she had to use the bathroom. Or wash her hair. Or otherwise psych herself out. She was a coward. Afraid of what they would say and afraid of what her daughter would accuse her of. Because she was guilty. Whatever they said, she was guilty.
“Hello.”
“Is this Renia Milek?” The woman’s voice hesitated, whether from suspicion or nerves, Renia couldn’t tell.
“Yes.” She should say more, but what do you say to the adoptive parents of your daughter after you hang up on her? “I’m glad you called.”
“You know who this is?”
“You adopted my daughter.” Keep talking. Don’t freeze and don’t panic. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Kimberly Stahl. My husband is Scott. Our daughter’s name is Ashley.”
“Ashley.” Her daughter’s name was Ashley. She tried to breathe in, but her throat shuddered around a sob.
“Patricia said you claimed she called you.” Suspicion pierced her ears. Kimberly’s voice was no longer tentative and Renia had no problem identifying the woman’s emotions through the phone.
Renia pinched the soft flesh between her forefinger and thumb until her body focused on the physical pain rather than the emotional one. When she could speak without bursting into tears, she told Kimberly the story.
“Ashley said she didn’t. I have no reason to believe she lied to me, other than your story.”
“Why would I make this up?”
“She didn’t call you on her eighteenth birthday. Maybe you now regret your decision not to have some control over the contact. Ashley is my daughter and I will protect her from contact with you if she doesn’t want it. If she does, we gave her your identifying information.”
“I’m sorry I hung up on her.”
“I know my daughter. She wouldn’t lie to her parents.”
Renia thought about Sarah wondering how to resist pressure from her friends and still keep them as friends. She wasn’t the type to lie to her parents, either, but she also didn’t want their disapproval and wasn’t sure where their approval fit into her decision-making process. Sarah wouldn’t lie to her parents yet, but she was experimenting with withholding information. If she felt compelled to act and knew Cathy and Miles would disapprove, Sarah might lie. Kimberly clearly disapproved of Ashley’s decision to call Renia, and Ashley might lie to hide it from her. Renia had lied for less compelling reasons.
But was Kimberly disapproving, or scared? Renia knew what it was to lose a child, and it had been scary, but it had been her decision. How much more scary would it be to worry about losing a child you’d had for eighteen years, rather than just a few moments? To know your daughter was an adult and that you had influence, but ultimately no control, over what she decided to do with her two mothers?
Thinking rationally about the emotions of the mother on the other end of the line didn’t help Renia with her own fear. All she got was a sick sense of satisfaction. Misery does love company.
A male voice was talking to Kimberly on the other end of the line. There was muffled discussion and some unhappy noises before Scott replaced Kimberly on the phone. “We’ll talk with Ashley. Do not call us. We will call you. Do not attempt to contact her.”
“I’ve already tried to contact her, if she’s paying any attention to newspaper classifieds and Craigslist. Or if she looks at online adoptions registries.”
“She really tried to contact you?” Scott couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. They actually thought she was lying about all of this to make contact with Ashley.
“Until I heard my...Ashley’s voice on the phone, I thought I didn’t want to hear from her. I thought my life would be better and easier if she stayed firmly in my past. I was right about easier. I don’t think I was right about better.”
“I hope for our daughter’s sake you mean what you say.”
She didn’t have a good response. If she continued to insist on her good intentions, she would be the lady protesting too much. Worse, she might get snippy. Or start bawling into the phone. “I hope to hear from you soon. Good night.” Then she clicked the phone off.
Sh
e pushed her finger into the plate of cabbage rolls, potatoes and broccoli sitting on the counter. Her food was cold. It probably hadn’t been that warm to begin with. Unlike her sister, mother and grandmother, the only cooking she did was in the microwave. She remembered her mom greasing and flouring the lamb cake mold while her grandmother sifted flour for the batter. Every Easter, her mother and grandmother would make the lamb cake together and any children who wanted to could help decorate. Some years, the white lamb sitting on the buffet would be a work of art, indistinguishable from the pictures on Easter cards. Other years, their lamb cake looked more like a creepy white alien escaped from a B-movie.
Two thoughts assaulted her at once. The first, by giving up her daughter—Ashley—she denied the girl the chance to decorate a lamb cake with Babunia. The second was that she had no idea how to make a lamb cake, pierogi, cabbage rolls, or borscht, and she would’ve been a horrible mother.
She dumped her food in the trash and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The emotions of the day had exhausted her and she was no longer interested in dancing. Moving around the floor and pretending to smile would all be a lie. She was a loner because she liked being alone. Or, more accurately, she liked sharing her apartment with the ghosts of her past.
When she returned to the kitchen to get her phone, the message light blinked at her.
Did they call?—Miles
She didn’t want to call him back, even though she’d promised. She had a habit of confessing secrets to Miles and she wanted to wallow in her failure as a mother on her own. Especially because she was still smarting from his earlier comments about her past and Sarah. So she simply texted him.
Yes.
And?
Apparently her short answer wasn’t enough of a hint for him to leave her alone.
Her parents say she didn’t call.
Did you learn her name?
Ashley Stahl. Parents Kimberly and Scott.
Ashley Stahl. Ashley Milek. No, she wouldn’t have named her daughter Ashley. She would’ve chosen something Polish. Julia maybe, which bridged the gap between the United States and Poland. Or Ada. She’d always liked the name Ada.
Did you eat?
The house still smelled like cabbage rolls. Did that count?
No.
J Only person I know who doesn't eat when depressed. Have ice cream. We're going dancing—need energy.
She couldn’t help smiling at the phone. Her stomach growled—she would eat a frozen dinner after the lesson. She wished she hadn’t been shortsighted enough to throw her dinner in the trash. Sticking the leftovers back in the fridge wouldn’t have been as symbolic, but she would still have them to eat.
She also wished she hadn’t implied she still wanted to go out tonight, but had managed to back out of their lesson, even if it had been her idea.
Tsk, tsk. Dinner after lessons.
I have to get to bed so I can go to work.
She wouldn’t sleep, but she would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, if that counted.
Do you work?
Of course I work. I’ll tell you about it at dinner.
Didn’t you eat dinner?
Fish sticks w/ Sarah not satisfying. Golden Apple open 24 hr/d.
Renia could picture the deep dimple in Miles’s cheek from his half smile and the bright ice-blue of his eyes. And feel the warmth of his palm on her cheek. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted more than comfort from him.
All of a sudden, tonight’s lesson seemed like the best idea in the world. He would hold her hands, there might even be a salsa move where he had to put his arm around her, and she could pretend it was just part of the dance.
Her phone dinged.
Sorry about afternoon. Sarah avail. again tom. Proper apology in person.
She could forget his comments. He was a divorced father worried about what his teen daughter was learning about life and sex from a stranger.
Sarah is welcome.
* * *
MILES SLID INTO the driver’s seat and shut the door before turning to look at Rey. Her face was looking out the passenger window, but when he pulled a paper bag from under the driver’s seat, she turned her brown eyes to his. “I didn’t have time to wrap it.”
“What’s this?” She opened the bag and pulled out the stuffed animal he bought her, a little black-capped chickadee. When she gave it a squeeze, the little toy gave a high-pitched chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee. “It’s cute,” she said, puzzled.
“When I asked you why you took pictures of birds you said, ‘They don’t let their business get in the way of their joy’ and that you admired their ‘freedom from judgment.’ I judged you today, after I promised I wouldn’t, and I’m sorry. I guess this is my rainbow, promising never to do it again.” He shrugged, because “I’m sorries” were hard and it was easier to be serious in his apology if he was light in his manner. “If I do it again, you can attack me with that little bird.”
She danced the bird through the air at him, squeezing so that the poor thing only had a chance to tweet chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee, but never got out its full song. He laughed with her.
When the silliness had left her, he took the little bird out of her hand and put it in her lap, keeping her hands in his. “I apologize for what I said about your past and implying you’re not able to be trusted with my daughter. I admire you. You are an independent woman and Sarah could learn a lot about strength from you.”
“Thank you for the apology. It’s not—”
“If you’re going to say it’s not a big deal, I’m...well, I’m still going to go dancing with you....” He pulled his hand away and started the car. “But I won’t smile and laugh if you step on my foot.”
“I’m not a mother. I gave my own child away. What do I know about parenting a teenager?”
He should step on his own toes while they were dancing for being the person who caused Renia to question herself, especially after he’d promised her to be judgment-free. Maybe he hadn’t spent as much time in counseling during the divorce as he should have.
Piloting two treacherous courses was more than he could handle if he wanted energy left for dancing. Turning his attention to driving, Miles looked over his shoulder and pulled out of his parking space, navigating the side streets until he was on Lincoln Avenue. Once safely in traffic and headed north, he was ready to continue. “If you don’t consider yourself a mother, you should experiment with the term now, because your daughter has reached out to you. Whether you want a relationship or not, whether you suck at being a mother or not, even if she calls you Ms. Milek and never talks to you again, you won’t be able to take back the meeting.”
“Thank you for the lecture,” she snipped.
He smiled. “I’m a father. What’s the use of being a parent if you can’t give an I-know-better-than-you lecture once in a while?” She snickered and he knew he’d saved himself, if only a little. “The more important thing I wanted to say is this—you may have never parented a teenager, but I only caused my parents grief once, and I was eighteen at the time. Cathy’s the same. If I want to know about a teenager’s motivation for trouble, I’m going to ask you first.”
“So, now I’m your go-to person for a bad teen.”
Miles flicked on his blinker and turned down a side street to look for parking. “Are you actually mad, or are you hungry? It’s not too late to get a snack before the lesson.”
“I don’t
know,” she said, pausing a little before going on. “I was steady in my life, comfortable. Maybe I wasn’t happy, but I knew where I was and how I felt about it. Now I’m not feeling confident about anything. Since you’re here, you get to deal with the effects of all this. You can take it.” Her voice seemed to shrug as she said the words, and he wished he could look at the pinched look on her face. He liked smooth, placid, professional Renia, but sharp, pointy Rey fascinated him. Especially Rey in the silky dress she was wearing tonight that looked like she had draped a Grecian sky over her body.
He steered the car into a parking space and turned off the engine. “I’m here for you, but we’re parked and I’d rather be in there—” he pointed to the studio “—holding your hands and shuffling my toes out of the way. So long as we’re dancing, you can pick and poke at me all you want.”
* * *
DANCING ON AN empty stomach was harder than Renia had imagined. Thoughts about her daughter occupied her attention as the instructor reviewed the steps she’d already learned from Miles and kept her growling stomach at bay. The moment he took her hands in his, hunger hit. She missed the count for the first step and hurrying to catch up only landed her heel hard on Miles’s toes.
The First Move Page 11