Dancing Ladies

by Marilyn Gardiner

  She went to the window, then, and looked out at the familiar sight. Directly below her was Leah's butterfly garden. The reddish-purple clusters of blossoms on her favorite butterfly bush lay quiet in the still of the morning heat. Leah had loved butterflies. She cultivated, weeded and watched over the tiny grouping of flowers supposed to attract butterflies with all the dedication of a mother bear. And it had flourished for her. Leah had found varieties that Kate hadn't known existed, let alone be able to pronounce. As a result the backyard was often riotous with the fluttering wings of both butterflies and hummingbirds.

  Kate closed her eyes and waited for the memories to overwhelm her. It was only four walls and two windows, and yet they'd cried in that room, whispered secrets, argued and sometimes vowed revenge. To this day, she could often feel Leah beside her, even though she knew logically that her twin wasn't there. Her voice, talking, answering questions Kate was about to ask, simply came to her. Kate didn't question it. They had always communicated silently.

  Leah's physical absence had left Kate feeling forlorn and frayed. She still, from time to time, felt off-balance. Searching for something that would make her once again complete. There was often an echo almost, not of her own feelings but the way she knew Leah thought. Similar, she guessed, to what an amputee felt. An ache, as if the missing limb were still there.

  Life had been very hard for a long, long time, but things were turning around now. If only Huey ... But no, this was a new beginning. A chance to start over. A fresh screen upon which to paint her life. Her life and Max's. Without Huey and without Leah. And as bad as it had been, she knew that Huey's leaving at least had been a blessing. She was still learning to cope with Leah's absence.

  Gently, sadly, she closed the door and turned around. She would sleep in her parents’ room. For now, anyway. She could make decisions later.

  She moved into the hall and stopped at the doors of the other bedrooms to peek in. Her parents had shared the large front room. They'd used it as a sitting room as well, and had a television against the far wall with built-in bookcases on each side and a recliner on either end of the bed. It was a lovely room, done in mauve and cream. They had been comfortable there.

  Max had staked out his room during summer vacations when they'd visited and had claimed it as his, permanently, before they'd even left Winnetka. She stood leaning against the door thinking that she could make it more little-boyish if she hand-stenciled balls and bats and catcher's mitts around the room at chair rail height and changed the flowered pink draperies to a forest green, maybe. No hurry. There was time for everything now.

  "Got my mitt,” yelled Max, the door thumping closed behind him. “Got my cars, too. I'm coming up."

  The phone rang, a shrill sound, unexpected since no one knew they had arrived. She moved to the upstairs extension beside the stairs.

  "Hello."

  "Kate!” It was Bree. “I'm between classes and just had to see if you were here yet. I'm cooking dinner so don't plan on anything. Just come and be prepared to talk into the night. I can't believe it. You're home!"

  "Hi. Yes, we're here but you don't need to feed us."

  "Yes, I do. I'm dying to know everything. E-mail leaves big gaps in what happens."

  "Then I hope you have enough for an army. Max has a ferocious appetite."

  "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's the number for his coach. You ought to call right away. Practice began last week.” She rattled off a local number. “Got to go. Be there at five-thirty.” And she was gone.

  Typical Bree. She taught third grade at the only elementary school in town, the same school they had attended as children. The original earth-mother type, with black hair hanging straight as a waterfall down her back, Bree had been the one to whom she could talk when the roof of the world caved in for Kate two years ago. Between them, they'd kept the Internet hot.

  She went down the stairs, still thinking of Bree, and out onto the back porch. Nothing had changed here. The wrought iron furniture with flowered yellow and green cushions stood where it always had, the wicker swinging chair swayed in a slight breeze. Down by the lake, the pier was partially visible. The water was a bit high she noticed, and on the other side the levee sloped gently upward and eventually loomed above the lake. The levee held back the overflow from the river in time of flood. Not that the river ever flooded. Not since the levee had been built, anyway. The embankment was covered with prairie grass, part of the State's plan to reforest the land with the original plant. After asphalt parking lots and high rise apartments, air pollution and the noise of the city, Kate appreciated the view of her lawn, the lake and wind-blown prairie grass-covered embankment. And the tranquility of silence. She could feel her nerve endings relax, tendril by tendril.

  She smiled. Tonight she'd be with Bree. For years they'd had a standing date for Tuesday nights at ten-thirty. A date for the instant messages feature on their computers and a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Bree. The only person in the world Kate didn't have to pretend with. She could be totally open and honest. And she thought ruefully that she was old enough to be grateful for the blessing of a good friend. Bree did needlework and gardening, she made most of her own clothes and she loved to cook. Kate deliberately did not own a sewing machine and was an indifferent cook, but tonight they'd have a more than decent dinner. They were going to Bree's.

  By dinnertime that evening, she and Max were fairly settled in. He had his multitude of matchbox cars arranged to his satisfaction, his mitt on a hook in the closet, St. Louis Cardinal ball cap firmly on his head, the bill crimped just so—and he was again hungry.

  Kate had her silk screening supplies piled in the room upstairs ready to be set up and her large plant stand in the parlor fairly well situated. She'd have to make a trip to buy gravel to put in the large plastic trays to make a bed for the pots the next day, but she had the two levels of plants arranged according to light required. The purples and pinks, reds and oranges were a colorful addition to the room.

  Max helped and between them they managed to empty the car-top carrier and lug the containers to the garage for storage until she could unpack them. And, they'd struggled until they managed to free the bicycles from the rack and get them into the garage, too.

  "Grandpa's old car sure takes up a lot of space,” Max commented as they tried to fit everything in and still leave room for their own vehicle.

  Kate fondly contemplated the aging, vintage black and red Ford from the mid-fifties, sitting in the second car slot. “Grandpa was never able to bring himself to get rid of it. He loved that old car."

  The car had been dismantled for a long time. Nothing had worked, honked or turned over for many years, but her dad had had a soft spot that wouldn't quit when it came to that car. He simply loved it. He was never more content than when polishing its already shining chassis.

  She put a hand on Max's shoulder. “We might have to see about finding a home for decrepit vehicles.” She didn't want to say the words “junk yard” to Max who had spent hours upon hours in past summers helping his grandfather polish the beloved car.

  "That's all, isn't it? We're done with the carrying. Can we go yet? What's Aunt Bree cooking, Mom?” he asked, dashing in the door between the house and the garage. The screen door slapped soundly behind him. He stopped and looked back at Kate.

  "I haven't a clue, but whatever it is we'll like it, won't we?"

  Max wasn't a picky eater so he could answer in all honesty, “Yup. Did you call my coach yet?"

  "Oh! No. Let me get the number Aunt Bree left.” She dusted her hands on the seat of her jeans and followed Max inside the house.

  The conversation was abrupt. The man obviously was on his way out the door. “Right. I hear he's had some catching experience and I'm in bad need of a catcher. Have him at the field tomorrow afternoon at four. Do you know where it is? Good. I'll look for him then.” The line went dead.

  Kate hung up feeling as if she'd been patted on the head and shown out the door. Short and to the p
oint, that was Max's new coach. Never mind good manners.

  "What'd he say? What'd he say?” Max hung over the banister watching anxiously.

  "Uh ... he said to be at the field tomorrow afternoon.” She ruffled the boy's hair and pumped her fist into the mitt he had on his left hand. As long as he was a good coach, good with the kids, so what if he had the personality of a Tasmanian Devil? “And he's glad he has a catcher. Come on. Let's find Aunt Bree.” She smiled, guiding Max out the door with her hand on the back of his head. However, the more she thought about it, the more it rankled. Drat it anyway, the man had an attitude.

  Backing out of the driveway, still muttering angrily to herself, she almost backed into a dark car parked across the street from her house. Dark car, dark windows. In her present frame of mind it could have been a Mafia car. In a screeching of brakes that must have brought up heads all over the neighborhood, she slammed on the brakes, reversed forward, and headed south, down Market Street.

  "Man, Mom! You almost hit that car."

  "I know what I almost did, Max. We'll just forget it, please, and I'll be more careful from now on."

  "Man!” But Max knew when to keep his mouth shut. Throwing her a couple of glances from the corner of his eye, he didn't say another word.

  She fumed, making her way through town, past the bank, where she needed to stop in soon and see Spence to straighten out a few financial affairs, past the Dixon twin's Bakery and Tea Room, and Beloved Books.

  The man had been downright rude. He hadn't even asked her name, or how old Max was, or anything about his experience. He'd hung up on her. The coach was a jerk! And it was so important that Max get off on the right foot in a new home. Darn it anyway. Just her luck to get what was probably the worst coach in the league. And, dammit, she had dragged Max away from a terrific coach that he loved in Winnetka. Not only that, she'd just almost creamed another car, practically in her own front yard. Everything seemed to be more complicated than she'd imagined. Well, why should she have expected anything different? Her luck hadn't exactly been phenomenal lately.

  Bree lived in a condo across the valley, on a hill overlooking the town and the river. Five miles of fertile farmland lay between Winsom and Bree's development.

  Kate had worked off the most of her pique by the time they pulled up in front of Bree's apartment building. While Max admired the view of the pool from the postage stamp patio on the second floor, Kate tried to put the conversation with the coach into some perspective.

  "What do you know about him? Who is he anyway? And what's his problem?"

  "Cass Reynolds. Didn't I tell you? We went to school with him. You have to remember Cass Reynolds.” Her large gold hoop earrings swayed as her head shook in disbelief.

  Kate did remember. She remembered Cass Reynolds very well, indeed. “The football player. King of the senior prom. Class president. Co-valedictorian. Leah and I had a king-sized crush on him, once. That was him? When we started kindergarten, he was in first grade. He hasn't acquired any social graces in the years since we graduated, that's for sure."

  "Oh, come on. He's had it rough. Wife divorced him a couple of years ago. The way I hear it, he didn't regret the loss of her as much as the loss of his daughter. He's crazy about Stacey."

  So, Cass was a single parent, too. The thought was enough to make Kate stop and think twice. Maybe there was reason why he hadn't been in a good mood. Maybe he'd just been on the phone with his ex. Maybe he couldn't get Stacey for some special event. All kinds of maybes were possible. She'd reserve judgment on Cass Reynolds.

  "He went through a period when he was so bitter it was almost worth your life to speak to him on the street,” Bree went on. “But he's doing better. He sees Stacey a lot. Couple of months ago he bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo. He's showing a little more interest in the world lately. Now, come into the kitchen and help me with the salad. I'm trying something new."

  They ate grilled, marinated chicken, fettuccini noodles and fresh asparagus with a spinach salad. Bree had Kate add sliced strawberries, slivered slices of onion and caramelized pecans to the greens and poured poppy seed dressing over it all. They pronounced the salad a success when Max had second helpings.

  Kate's eyes went wide at dessert: chocolate ice cream over a chocolate brownie with fresh raspberries on the side.

  Bree grinned. “Are you still a chocoholic?"

  "The best part of growing up is that you get to eat all the chocolate you want. If I'd have known what dessert was, I'd have eaten it first."

  With a glance at Max, Bree said, “You wouldn't."

  "Obviously you've never heard of the double standard for parents and kids."

  "This is the perfect mother speaking? Kate, who has to do it all alone and won't accept help from anyone?"

  "You're the one who'll be the perfect mother. How do you find time to cook like this, make your own clothes, and still teach school?"

  "Any school teacher is adept at multi-tasking. Besides I have no love life."

  "You don't own a monopoly on multi-tasking. Mothers have perfected the art, believe me. But I work at home, on my own schedule. And what's this about your love life?"

  Max paid little attention, but kept up a running commentary on everything from knock-knock jokes to baseball scores and WWE rankings.

  "Why don't giraffes talk? They make funny motions with their mouth like they're trying."

  "As a matter of fact,” Bree, the schoolteacher, answered. “We think they do talk to each other. We just can't hear them or understand what they're saying."

  "Hey, awesome!"

  When Max began talking about The Undertaker and Mankind, Bree's eyes nearly glazed over. “The World Wrestling Federation? Kate!"

  "I'm going to be a wrestling guy some day. Or a baseball player. I'm strong,” Max said, proudly. “I helped Mom carry in all our stuff from the van."

  "Well,” Bree rose to the challenge. “I'd expect nothing less from a big seven-year-old boy.” And to Kate, “How did you manage to get everything into that—vehicle—you drive?"

  "By cramming. I sent several boxes on ahead. All our clothing. Most of Max's toys. Stuff. We managed.” She smiled at Max. “We're a team."

  He could only nod with a mouth full of brownies and ice cream.

  When Max was finally full enough to sit quietly in front of the TV and look at one of his favorite shows, Kate and Bree cleaned the kitchen and stuffed the dishwasher.

  "Do you ever hear from Lily? Zoe?” The four of them had been the best of friends all through high school. Kate had lost touch.

  Bree lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Never. Lily is somewhere out east, still involved in equestrian stuff, I think. But for all anyone knows, she dropped off the face of the earth. And Zoe ... Zoe lives a half hour north of here, but she never smiles. She lost her husband and a young son a couple of years ago and is having a hard time getting over it. She puts on a brave face, but she isn't happy.” Bree shook her head.

  "Did Lily marry again?"

  Another head shake. “Not that I know of. Her father never mentions her. He goes all stony-faced if you ask questions. It's as if she died or something."

  "What about Adam?” Lily and Adam had had one of those idyllic high school romances. They'd eloped the night of graduation, but Lily's father had forced an annulment and sent Lily away to school on the east coast. The whole thing had been terribly traumatic and sad.

  Bree answered. “Adam is still around. Has a ranch west of town and breeds quarter horses. He never married again, either. That whole thing makes me cry every time I think about it."

  Silence stretched comfortably between them. Kate couldn't help but think what might have been, for all of them, if things had been different. They'd been so young and full of eager optimism. Ready to take on the world. Reality had been bitter and sudden. Bree who wanted only a husband and family was still unmarried. Lily who had loved Adam and horses with all her being had been ruthlessly cut from any contact with Adam. It didn'
t sound as if Zoe was happy either. And Kate herself ... She and Leah had gone through their own personal hells. Now she painted orchids on silk and, if it hadn't been for the miserable years with Huey, she wouldn't even have Max.

  Bree broke the silence. “You're really going into business for yourself? Painting on silk? Tell me more about it."

  "You're avoiding the thing about your love life."

  "It's non-existent, worse luck. But, seriously, I want to know about your business."

  Kate relaxed. She could afford to let herself be hopeful about her silk painting. The feedback on her work was gratifying and orders were beginning to come in from New York with increasing regularity. Her textile man was ecstatic. In fact, Joe Kiniki called regularly, not always about business.

  "I've been painting on silk, part-time, for years. You know that. And, my painting of orchids on a solid background is doing better than I'd ever dreamed it might. As I go along, I'm finding an expanding market for it. Better yet, the textile man I've been working with is enormously encouraging. He thinks the time is right for me, and I agree now's the time to try."

  Although, she admitted to herself, privately, that all kinds of things could go wrong before she got to where she wanted to be.

  "This textile man. Is he married?"

  "Joe? His wife thinks so."

  Bree shrugged. “You can't win them all, I guess. Is this something you can make a living at?"

  "I guess we'll see. I'm counting on it pretty heavily. What Mom and Dad left will give me a cushion to begin with. Long enough to get a toe in the marketing door, anyway.” She shrugged. “And if I can't make it go, I'll just have to get back into the business work force."

  "You have more guts than I do. What do you hear from the jerk you euphemistically call the father of your child? He still bugging you for custody?"

  "Nothing since the last phone call.” She dragged in a long breath. “I just can't allow custody to go to Huey. He isn't good father material. You know him, Bree."