Though I fought the urge, my feet inched forward.
“That’s right.” He nodded, his hair bouncing. “All you really gotta do is move. Feel the music. It’ll tell you what to do. No thinking required.”
Self-consciously, I quirked my shoulders, then my arms. Soon I was moving a little more, relaxing a little more.
Harvey’s big grin and thumbs-up were apparently all the encouragement I needed.
“Yeah, you got this!”
Once I began ignoring how silly I felt, my muscles loosened and my arms swung freely.
“So do you wish you’d learned this in homeschool?” Harvey asked.
“No, I guess not.”
If I had, he wouldn’t have needed to teach me.
“I think homeschool would’ve been fun. Did you just hang out in your pajamas all day and watch TV?”
“Are you kidding me? My day was so structured, I’ll never forget the routine. We had to be up by seven thirty. After breakfast, I had chores, and school started at eight thirty. First religion class, then math, then English. Science and history were after lunch.” I ticked subjects off on my fingers, almost forgetting to dance as I gave him more details than he probably wanted.
“And yes, I had homework after school, even though it was all technically ‘home’ work. My mom was usually busy with my younger brother and sister, so I did a lot of self-teaching from books. I went at my own pace, and I liked that. I liked learning . . .”
Stop, Lila, just stop. Lamest dance conversation ever.
But it was all I knew to talk about. The music seemed to blare extra loud, with harsh guitar riffs.
“This singer sounds angry,” I yelled over the man’s voice. Tuning in to the lyrics, I wondered if I’d heard correctly. Something about “pink”?
I breathed heavily, suddenly very warm. Harvey danced closer and sweat trickled down his temple. The lights pulsed madly. His fingers tossed a lock of my hair. “It’s ‘Pretty in Pink.’ ” He moved even closer.
My mind glitched, and my uncoordinated dance moves made my heels wobble. I bumped into a stranger, then stumbled back, losing a shoe and giving the song a very ungraceful finish.
Harvey reached to steady me, but I ducked for my shoe, embarrassed. “I’m fine.” I hopped on one foot and stuck my toes back into my shoe.
His eyes twinkled. “Your feet really don’t like shoes, do they? Why don’t you just take them off and dance without them? Lots of girls do.”
“Really?” I glanced around, saw it was true. How wonderful. How freeing. I kicked them off at the edge of the dance floor.
Harvey laughed. “Biggest smile I’ve seen on you yet.”
The next song was much easier to dance to, slow and soothing. He held me in his arms, and I seemed to fit perfectly. The closeness resembled a hug, something I hadn’t shared with anyone in a long time, and I nestled into it, enjoying the pleasant sensation.
My feet, unencumbered, followed his lead and soon knew what to do.
Harvey didn’t smell of the outdoors today, but like fresh linen and a hint of cologne. Without my heels to elevate me, my cheek rested near his jaw. His chin brushed me with a slight prickle, reminding me of butterfly feet.
Closing my eyes slightly, I imagined I was in an old movie, in a ballroom scene. Not a black-and-white one, though. In beautiful, panoramic Technicolor—that was the only thing that could do this moment justice.
My gaze wandered the room, not really seeing anything but vague impressions of colors and lights. We turned slowly, our steps meandering. Harvey didn’t try any fast twirls or dips. He simply held my hand and my back. Warmth flowed in the slender space between us.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
His random compliment made my heart flutter. “Thank you. So do you. I mean, they’re really blue.”
“Your eyes are like you, bright and interesting and unique.”
Our eyes met. Something unspoken trembled in the air between us, an appreciation and admiration for what the other had brought into our lives. At least, that’s how I felt. His zest for life, his kindness and consideration. All seemed to give him an inner glow that radiated from his gaze and drew me in. I’d never felt I belonged so well anywhere as right here, in his arms.
“What did you do when you weren’t busy with school?” Harvey asked. “Like in the summer. You didn’t have school all year round, did you? That would be horrible.”
I laughed. “No, it wouldn’t.”
“Speak for yourself. My dad always made me take summer school. I hated it.”
“Why?”
“It was indoors. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“True, the best part of summer is being outside. Though I really liked spending time in the library, too. I once found a book called Insect Pets, and I was so excited. I felt like it was written just for me. But when I got it home, I realized it was actually called Insect Pests—and filled with ways to exterminate the poor things.” I shuddered.
“The nerve of some authors,” Harvey said, obviously trying not to laugh. “Guess you should have stuck to playing outside.”
“Oh, I still did plenty of that. I actually had a lot of freedom in the summer. I hung out with my friends, went swimming, rode bikes. Sometimes we put on plays.”
“Yeah? What kind of plays? That sounds a little too much like work to me.”
“Fairy tales.” I sighed dreamily. “Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Cinderella. But the best one was The Princess and the Pea. We stacked a bunch of old sofa cushions a mile high and made this huge, tippy tower.”
Distracted by the memory, I missed a dance step and glanced down at our feet. “Actually, I don’t think we even ended up performing that one. It was too much fun playing with all the cushions.”
My brother and sister, about three at the time, had squealed with delight at the sight, eager to get in on the action. I’d tried to stop them at first, to save the integrity of the play, but finally gave in and let them have their fun.
“It sure would’ve been something to know you as a kid,” Harvey said. “Though you probably wouldn’t have liked me. I probably would’ve sabotaged your play. I was never very good at taking direction. Wasn’t a fan of fairy tales, either. So unrealistic.”
“They’re not supposed to be realistic. That’s what makes them so refreshing.”
“Except when they make girls grow up with unrealistic expectations, imagining they’re gonna find some perfect guy who’ll swoop in and save them from all their problems. No one can live up to that.”
My lips parted, paused. “So you don’t believe in happily ever afters?”
“Not the fairy-tale kind, where as soon as the guy and girl get together, they never have to work at anything ever again. Real people are too complicated for that.”
“I agree that people are complicated, but—” Past Harvey’s shoulder, I caught sight of a child running off with my heels. “Oh!” I pulled my head back and broke off our dance. “Some kid just took my shoes.”
“What?”
“Over there.”
He followed my gaze. “Want me to go get them?”
“No, keep dancing, I’ll do it. I mean, not that I really need them right now or anything, but I don’t want to lose them.” They were the only heels I owned.
I trotted off into the crowd, warm and breathless, yet looking forward to returning to Harvey.
“Excuse me, excuse me.” I wove past Pearl, strangers, and even caught sight of Jay chatting with an elderly woman. He caught my eye and gave a wave. I smiled and returned it but hurried past.
Within a few minutes, I tracked my shoes down to a girl of about seven wearing a sparkly blue dress. She paraded up and down the edge of the room with bold steps. She almost walked better in the heels than I did.
She spotted me watching her. “Are these your shoes?”
“They are.”
“They’re really pretty. The prettiest ones here.” She swished her skirt. “I was gonna put them b
ack. Are you mad? You don’t look mad.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I’m not mad.” She reminded me a little of Mags. “Have fun with them as long as you want. Just set them on that seat when you’re done, okay?” I pointed to my chair, where my purse lay.
She nodded. “Okay, thanks!”
I glanced back at the dance floor, didn’t see Harvey, and decided to run to the restroom before returning to find him.
Inside the echoey room, I heard a voice ring out from one of the stalls. “Obviously that’s what it takes to turn his head these days. Gotta get me some of that pink hair dye.”
Laughter bounced from another stall.
“It still won’t be enough. Poor girl, do you think she has any idea he’ll be done with her after tonight?”
My ears rang. A flushing toilet prevented me from hearing a reply. I hurried to a sink and turned on the water.
A stall door rattled, then opened, and I ducked my head.
Someone approached, then stood beside me. I smelled a strong synthetic perfume.
“So I guess you heard us . . . sorry about that.”
They knew who I was from my hair, of course. I turned off the faucet and glanced up.
“Some timing, girl. Your ears must’ve been burning.” The second girl smirked and didn’t look quite as apologetic as the first.
I cleared my throat. “Harvey’s a nice guy.”
“Well, sure, nice to look at,” the first girl said.
“Real nice to look at,” the second girl added. “And fun to dance with, among other things. But no one holds his attention for long.” She eyed my hair. “No matter how hard they try.” She turned and washed her hands.
I almost told her my hair color was the result of an accident, but decided I didn’t need to justify myself. I lifted my chin. “You know all this from personal experience?”
The first girl shifted her gaze, then soaped and rinsed her hands. “Well, no, but people talk, and—”
“And it ain’t pretty, darlin’,” finished the other girl.
“Gossip never is.” My shoulders tense, I walked toward a stall.
“Enjoy him while it lasts, because he’ll get tired of you,” the second girl said. “He always does. Everyone knows he’s a player.” She shrugged and pulled open the door. “But that doesn’t stop most girls from wanting to play.”
The other girl followed her friend but touched my arm briefly, kindly, first. “It’s better to know.”
A few minutes later, I emerged reluctantly, not quite sure what to think. I could only base my perception of Harvey on what I’d experienced, and it told me to trust him, to believe him—not the gossip. But what if I was being naive?
I headed for the dance floor, debating whether to share with him what I’d just heard, when I caught sight of him dancing.
I had told him to keep dancing, after all.
Only now . . . he was dancing with another girl, one of the bridesmaids—Amber—the one whom he’d very happily given a piggyback ride to.
He wore his widest smile, the one that lit up his entire face.
But they weren’t carrying on to the sounds of a goofy, bouncy tune. This was a smooth, romantic slow song. Probably fairly easy to dance to—although Amber radiated self-confidence and probably could have nailed a tango.
Now she was in his arms, laughing, talking—and not, I was fairly certain, about homeschool or plays. They made a nice pair, with their golden hair and skilled dance moves.
I tore my gaze away and turned around, heading back to my empty, crumb-sprinkled table. I rubbed my forehead. The music made me dizzy.
This whole evening is making me dizzy.
In my corner seat, I smoothed my skirt. I opened and closed the paper fan, then tapped it against the table, conflicted.
Harvey could dance with anyone he wanted, of course. I had no claim on him and shouldn’t think I did. Yet I’d begun to believe something special—even more special than friendship—had been forming between us.
Unless . . . had the talk about fairy tales been a type of warning, his way of telling me to ease off, back off? Was I coming off as needy? Clingy?
I hadn’t thought so. I’d thought we were having a wonderful time tonight. I wasn’t ready for it to end, but I didn’t know how to get it back, or if I should even try. I certainly couldn’t imagine myself walking up to him and trying to cut in on his dance. That would be too rude.
My mother had done a good job of raising me.
Maybe too good.
I set the fan down.
Suddenly inordinately thankful for my glass of water, I lifted it and downed a mouthful. The liquid pooled heavily in my stomach, and by the time I was done drinking, the glass was empty.
Chapter 16
I busied myself counting the individual twinkly lights framing the windows. It beat overthinking.
I’d reached eighty-nine when I decided I deserved another donut. And this time I was going to enjoy it. I was at a celebration, and this night was about Sarah, not me—and not about her brother.
I would find the most sinfully fattening donut there was, and then I’d take two. One for now, and one for tomorrow morning (if I could manage to cram it discreetly in my purse), when I’d look back at this night and laugh.
Okay, maybe not laugh, but I’d force a smile or two.
As I studied the remaining array of donuts, I realized I’d need another glass of water to wash the food down, so I followed the perimeter of the room until I neared the bar, which was crowded with groomsmen, their backs to me.
I immediately recognized Harvey’s voice. Loud. Confident.
“. . . lame pink embarrassment. What was she thinking?”
Laughter erupted from the whole group.
Pink? I touched my hair. No, it’s a coincidence. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t be talking about me. Not after he’d assure me I looked fine. More than fine.
And the way he’d touched my hair and said “Pretty in Pink,” I’d thought that might have meant something.
“. . . only did it for Sally,” he went on. “But after tonight, goodbye and good riddance.”
My mouth went dry.
“. . . and every time she talks . . .”
My ears strained.
“. . . I have to pretend to be interested. So glad it’s almost over.”
A groomsman thumped Harvey’s back. “You’re a great actor, man.”
They laughed and fist-bumped. The other guys hooted and raised their glasses.
Appalled, I inched back and turned away. What I really wanted to do was yell, chuck my heels at Harvey, smack his mouth till it stopped laughing.
He’s just lucky I don’t make public scenes.
I fumed, anger consuming me. But just wait. He still has to drive me home, and when he does, I’ll—
I’ll—
I wasn’t sure what I’d do, not yet. I was too upset to think, but I’d come up with something.
Something to make him feel what I was feeling right now. The humiliation. The pain.
He’d manipulated my feelings and used me all along. How could anyone be so cold and calculating and . . .
My shoulders slumped. Retracing the past, I kept seeing him in my mind . . . in the car, at the park, at the butterfly field, at my house . . . sweet and considerate. How could it have all been an act?
I’d never admit it, but he deserved an Oscar.
Followed by a slap across the face.
I rubbed my temples, a headache building, and paced near a wall.
“Need another glass of water?”
I turned to see Jay offering me exactly what I’d forgotten I needed.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use a cool drink.”
I reached for the glass, but he pulled it toward his chest. “Hold on one sec.” He lifted a finger, and his eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re not going to throw it at me, are you?”
“Of course not.” I caught myse
lf just shy of snapping.
“Because with the vibe you’re giving off—”
“I don’t give off vibes.”
“Really? Then why do I feel one telling me to ‘Get lost’?”
“Sorry.” I blew out a puff of air, then pulled in a long breath, trying to collect myself—and my vibe. “You’re not the one I’m mad at.”
“Good, just checking.” He handed me the glass, and I downed half of it.
I met his eyes. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He made no move to leave. “So . . . want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
I rotated the glass, which chilled my fingers. He looked as cool and crisp in his suit as he had earlier. I averted my eyes. “No, not really.”
He motioned to the dance floor, which had thinned slightly over the past half hour. “Care to dance?”
It was a nice offer, from a nice man. I almost wished I could say yes. “Sorry, but no. I’m actually here with someone.” I’d told him that earlier, but now the statement felt like a lie.
Why was I clinging to some misplaced sense of loyalty? Harvey didn’t deserve it. I was only hurting myself, drawing out the inevitable disappointment by clinging to false hope.
Jay glanced around, as if pointing out that I was not with anyone. But instead of humiliating me further by asking who or where my date was, he shrugged. “It’s just a dance.”
I nodded, and when I recognized the first gentle notes of a lovely old song, I relented. I set my glass on a random table. “Okay, sure. Why not?”
Why not, indeed? He wasn’t the one who’d just made fun of me in front of a bar full of guys. I let him lead me out to the floor, and when he drew me into position, guiding me with one hand at my waist, I found the closeness strange, yet pleasant, a comfortable assurance that here in this moment, I was respected, cared for.
He wasn’t laughing at me.
He moved with small steps, and I mirrored him. The swaying motion settled me.
His eyes smiled. “So tell me about yourself, Lila. Where’d you go to school?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Not that subject again. Couldn’t we just dance? The singer’s voice should be the only one allowed right now.
The Butterfly Recluse Page 10