“Are you coming back?”
Not anytime soon.
“Oh, but when you do, will you teach?”
Possibly.
The questions went round for round until one of the little girls asked to take a picture. I agreed, and we went inside the studio. The two little girls begged me to dance, so I put on some music, and the three of us danced while my husband occupied their mothers.
“Scarlett,” Brando said nice enough, but his tone held that worried edge. “Be careful with your leg.”
It had been a while since I moved just for me, and the movements were invigorating. We danced in front of the picture window like I used to do when I was their age. On a twirl, I caught sight of a young couple loitering outside.
The woman waved first. Early twenties, bronze skin, black hair. I waved back. The man next to her lifted his hand in return. Around the same age, blonde hair, blue eyes. The woman pointed to the side of the building, where the entrance was.
“Brando, can you see what they want?”
His eyes narrowed when he came to the window. Cursing, he went out to meet them. An hour had gone by, and the girls were about to leave, so I offered them Cerise’s address in Paris. She loved pen pals. After seeing them out, I caught sight of Brando and the couple standing outside of the building.
Brando was shaking his head, and when he looked behind and caught sight of me, I could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes so hard that they met heaven.
The woman met me by the door, followed by the man.
“Scarlett Fausti?”
“Yes.” I looked over her shoulder, trying to catch Brando’s eye. He looked perturbed, almost to the point of murderous.
“Mitch Lewis told us where we could find you,” she continued, capturing my attention again. “My name is Kit, Kit Wilkie.”
She held out her hand and we shook.
“We’ve driven a while to see you. Your husband—” she looked over her shoulder briefly “—he doesn’t seem too happy to see Nathan.” She presented him. “My husband.”
He offered me his hand and we shook. He had a nice smile.
She must have sensed my confusion because she said, “Your husband and mine work offshore together.”
“Oh,” I said. “Come in.”
I stepped to the side as they passed. I called for Brando and he followed, but he was hesitant, giving me a mean look on the way in.
What in the world?
Pointing to seats where parents could sit during class, I offered them a juice box, all that we had in the fridge. Both Kit and Nathan declined. I took a seat next to Brando, who looked at Nathan Wilkie with solid-fisted intent. His hands opened and closed. The tick in his jaw jumped.
I cleared my throat, but before I could ask whether there was something wrong,Kit spoke up.
“Nathan didn’t think he would have this chance. We know you dance abroad. We heard you were waiting for Mr. Fausti when he came ashore on Thursday. Nathan was sure sorry he missed you. But Mitch told us you’d be here for a while.”
Brando made a crude remark about Mitch and I jabbed him in the ribs.
Kit smiled. “Go ahead, Nathan. Tell her.”
Nathan Wilkie steepled his fingers, bringing them to his nose, and leaned over his legs. His eyes met mine. “I went down on a dive with your husband—lead diver Fausti, I mean. And I almost got him killed, ma’am.”
The words hung in the air. I reached out and took Brando’s hand. He didn’t hold mine, but it didn’t matter.
“I never wanted to be a diver. Not truly. But the water beneath the platform, she sings to you, ma’am. Until you follow her song. For some of us, we realize too late that it's not a song but a siren. It's not a job for every man.”
