“More like she never took her eyes off you.” She gave him a little shove to get him up and moving.
“Sure, it’s all fun and games until someone’s afteryou. And here he comes.”
“What?” Ramsey tried to look around him. “Who?”
“Andy Packard.”
Ramsey relaxed. “He’s here for his mother.”
Mrs. Packard heard that and shook her head. “Oh, no. I know my son. That slightly abashed but eager expression is for you.”
Panic rising, she almost wailed. The bridesmaid had Sullivan in hand and was leading him away. She wanted to hook him by his belt and beg him not to go. The ridiculousness of that thought didn’t even strike her just then. “But I don’t dance!”
“You’re in luck, then,” Will said. “Neither does my brother.”
Ramsey rose as Andy invited her to join him. It was his brief nervous stutter that decided her. If he could do this, so could she. Her smile was perhaps a shade too bright and certainly only an imitation of confidence, but she placed her hand in his and followed him to the clearing.
The music was lively now. There was clapping and stomping and swinging and calling and nobody knew what they were doing, except that they were doing it in time, moved by rhythms as old as the West Virginia hills.
When Ramsey said she didn’t dance, she meant it, but she’d never said she couldn’t dance. Fourteen years of tap, most of them with concurrent lessons in jazz, ballet, and contemporary made her a better than adequate partner on any dance floor. She knew some ballroom, hip hop, and could pop and lock if she was pressed. No one had pressed her in a very long time. No one here even knew to ask her.
Now, following Andy’s clumsy lead, Ramsey realized she was enjoying herself. No one was watching her, or at least no one was watchingonlyher, and she let herself be spun and swung and occasionally lifted so it felt as if she were soaring. She called a breathless halt when one of her combs slipped out of her hair. Gallant Andy got down on his knees and searched until he found it. During that short break, the fiddle and banjo worked themselves into a frenzy. A circle formed as four of the guests, all of them card carrying members of AARP, began clogging. There was no board on the ground to give their steps real sound, but their energy was impressive and their shoes resonated like low rumbling thunder.
Ramsey watched their steps. Heel. Toe. Heel on the downbeat. The heel keeping the rhythm. She could hear the taps in her mind. She looked down at her wedge sandals. She’d give her kingdom for a pair of jingle taps.
She would never know what possessed her to step out of her shoes. It certainly could not be blamed on alcohol. She’d only had two beers, and most of the second one was holding her place at the table. She advanced on the dancers, looked to them for permission, and when they waved her in, she caught their rhythm and began to clog in her bare feet. The grass felt good under her heels, under her toes, and the music made her smile. She laughed at herself when she missed a step. That was to be expected and it didn’t stop her. She eventually felt confident enough to raise her head, adopt the upper body carriage of the other cloggers. She saw the crowd, saw them clapping, but in her mind they were merely part of the beat. She was not performing to the music. Shewasthe music.
Her bracelets jangled. The gold multi-strand necklace with the diamond stations bounced lightly against her chest. She lost both gold studded tortoise shell combs. The anchoring pins gave way, too, and her hair unwound in a fall to just below her shoulders.
Ramsey clapped along with everyone else when the bride was moved to leave the ring and enter the circle. She lifted her dress to reveal red Chuck Taylors. This brought hoots of laughter. The bridesmaids joined her, then a couple of the groomsmen. Mark Dobbs entered the fray. So did Yvonne and Will Packard. It wasn’t long before the guests on the outside were guests on the inside, and they all stayed there until the fiddles and banjo surrendered their music to the quiet.
Ramsey was not sure that she didn’t stagger back to the table. She folded into her seat, though folded was the euphemism she used for collapsed. Andy appeared suddenly at her elbow and handed her the two hair combs and her shoes. She thanked him. He stood there awkwardly for another few seconds until his mother waved him on.
“He’s smitten, I think,” Mrs. Packard said.
“He’s a very nice young man.”
“I like to think so. He’s only twenty-four.”
Ramsey laughed. “A baby, then. I have no intention of poaching.”
“I’m more worried you’ll have to beat him off with a stick.”
Sullivan sat down. “Who’s beating who with a stick?”
“No one,” Ramsey said firmly, closing that avenue of conversation.
“Did you see her dancing?” asked Mrs. Packard.
“I did. Impressive.”
Ramsey shrugged. “We don’t have to talk about it, do we? I had no idea I was going to do that.” She slipped her sandals on under the table and then applied herself to doing something with her hair. She was on her third attempt at stabbing the combs in hair when the bride and groom joined the table. They took up the seats vacated by Will and Yvonne Packard. Linda was beautifully flushed. Tug’s color appeared in splotches and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and upper lip. Still, he looked insanely happy.
Linda landed a friendly punch on Sullivan’s arm.
“What’d I do?” he asked. “Oh, you’re grinning. Then what did I do that wasn’t so bad?”
“What you did was great. You brought her.” She pointed to Ramsey. “She single-handedly got everyone feeling the music.”
