Mine included.
I slipped that coat around me and held it close like an embrace and remembered him holding me firmly as we flew through the darkness on the trapeze, my panic ebbing away in his solid hold on me. In that coat I smelled freedom from fear, freedom from rules, freedom to be wholly myself as I had never been with any other human. Even Mama had held unspokenexpectations for me, but Jack—and only Jack—embraced me fully, then pulled me up with a sense of adventure into more.
I buried my face into the oversized sleeves, hugging it tighter about me, and let the tears fall on it, allowing myself at long last to acknowledge the deep pain of his rejection—and my desperate desire to be in his arms once again. A light swish of air drew me upright, had me looking about. I clung to the coat and walked around, but again there was no one. No one but me, Craven, and all its collective tragedies.
40
Lights blinded me. The curtain swept back with a whoosh of cooling air. Every seat, every balcony, even the aisles were filled to capacity as we opened Jack’s ballet for a second time. The stage had been rebuilt over long months, with a loan against this performance’s profits.
Smooth and steady, the music from the orchestra pit climbed in volume and intensity. I rose in a slow spin, unfolding my body and stretching heavenward. It felt magnificent to dance onstage again, to offer my body as a living sacrifice in worship.Hello, Father.I swept up first one arm, then the other, feeling the music of Fournier’s orchestra sink into my marrow and animate my limbs, inviting me into spins and lifts.
I’d promised myself I’d go easy now that I was back, and I had at rehearsals, but once the music flooded my being, I couldn’t help it—passion came out in full measure and I danced with it. The cellos wound me up like the key in Mama’s music box, and I flew through my turns, whipping about with my eyes on that peep, thinking of Mama, thinking of Jack.
I breathed in. A double fouetté, then an arabesque. I pushed myself, giving my mind over to the music.
The end of the first act came quickly, and I grand jeté’d to stage left and collapsed into the curtain with all my spent passion, huffing and holding my head, cooled by the moisture trailing down every crevice.
The Great Fournier hovered over me, his shadow stretching across most of the backstage area. “Not terrible, for your first attempt.”
I lifted my head to smile at him. “Not my first.”
“First in a while.”
It was then, as my racing heart steadied itself, that I noticed the twinkle in his quiet face—that knowing glimmer in his eye. Lily used to wear it too, and I knew what it meant. “What? What have you done? Who’s in the audience?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s never about who’s watching—you should know that.”
“What is it, then?”
He heaved a deep sigh, clasping hands behind his back. “He’s the one who made the promise. I’m merely making sure he keeps it.”
Philippe. “You’ve told him then, have you? About how I’ve wished to dance with him again.” This is one outcome I’d never have guessed from telling Jack my story so long ago. Served me right for opening my mouth.
“We had quite the talk. You’ve no idea what you’ve done to him.”
My breath came in gasps.
“Well, it’s too late now. It’s been a long time coming, and you owe it to the both of you to see this vow through.”
Then the callboy came for me, his urgent whisper beckoning me back to my position. It would start with a lengthy divertissementbefore the hero’s entrance, so I posed alone behind thatcurtain, feet in second, the cool hush centering me, allowing me to regain my footing with God. With a long inhale, I reached my fingers and my soul up to him, wrapping myself in the Psalms.
Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
It was my favorite time, that moment just before the music began and the curtain opened—a sacred rest where my soul settled back in place and the nerves fell away in the presence of something far greater. Then my heart turned to the familiar, soul-centering words.
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart.
My vision. The only right focal point. I poured myself into that opening movement, and as more dancers joined me on the stage, my thoughts turned to the hero. The principal dancer who would soon be joining me. It was a perfect bookend to my theater life—for I’d decided this would be my last public performance—this dance with Philippe. So much had changed in me since then, and I found it was no longer my dream. Perhaps because I’d discovered what it was to dance a pas de deuxwith my heavenly Father, and that was plenty.
Orchestra music began and the curtain swept open. Unfurling my limbs, I twirled out before a hushed audience and once again wrapped myself up in the music of the theater, alive under the lights and invigorated by the dance. I twirled between the wooden trees and swept down to brush the floor and sweep up again.
Then even though I closed my eyes, I felt him join me on the stage, all the way on the opposite end. It was time. Memories flooded my being, taking me back to that night, then to the star-filled dreams and prepared speeches that followed. How much had occurred in all those years.
Then he came, bounding across the floor to a burst of applause, the hero who used to haunt my dreams and alight my heart with hope. He whooshed by in a cool breeze, and finally I dared lift my head for a glance—but oh! There was no Philippe with his dark hair and darker aura slicing dramatically through space. It was Jack Dorian, vivid and alive, commanding attention with contagious delight, his every buoyant leap an invitation to join his high spirits. How powerful—how very dramatic he was.
Shards of pain mingled with inescapable magnetism. Despite everything, I was drawn to him. I lifted my arms, rising onto my toes, and in three beats he had swept me up into his dance, his heady rhythm, and we flew about the stage together, our energy mingling and multiplying. He looked at me as we danced close, searching deeply as he always did, likely seeing my entire heart on my face. In the end, it was Jack Dorian I’d not been able to forget. On and on we danced, apart, then together, our bodies circling. “Where is Philippe? Fournier told me—”
He leaned close, and I caught the fresh scent of him again. “I have a secret to tell you.” His deeply familiar voice lighted sparks in me—a flame I’d hoped was put to rest. He was breathless as he led me. “We’ve danced this way before.” A breath. It wasmy speech.The one I meant to give Philippe. I spun out, then he pulled me close again. “You may not recognize me, but I’ve never forgotten you.”
