Another song came on, this time a woman’s voice, rising up out of the coffee mug. Liz put a hand over her mouth. “Oh! June Carter Cash! She was Mom’s favorite. It’s a sign!”
My mom sighed. Kasey said, “Please don’t let Kenny Rogers be next. I can’t take it.”
Liz sighed. “Remember that cocktail bar the Judge took us to sometimes, where they always played that old country music?”
“Dupont’s,” Kasey said, taking another swig.
“Wasn’t that over by Boatyard?” Ben asked. She nodded.
“Those waitresses in the little skirts!” Liz said. To me she added, “They always gave us free Shirley Temples. Plus as many cherries as we wanted.”
My mom picked up the phone, abruptly switching away from the current song. A beat. Then an older song I knew well from weddings and social media began.
Liz shrieked. “Turn it up.”
My mother complied, cranking the volume before setting the phone back into the mug with a clank. “Oh dear,” Kasey said, giggling. “She’s going to dance.”
“Mom,” Anne said, now paying attention, but it was too late. Liz was up, shaking her hips and snapping as she moved around the table, behind Kasey, who then joined her.
“Whoa,” Lana said.
“Wine.” Anne’s voice was flat. “Wine did this.”
At this, my mom laughed out loud, which was strange enough. Then Liz turned, mid–hip shake, and stuck out a hand. And to my surprise, cold, quiet Catherine Finley Hope took it. Then she let herself be pulled in.
To the circle. The music. The moment. I watched, fixated, as she began to sway to the beat. Meanwhile, Kasey had Anne up and into a dip, both of them giggling,
Liz turned, face flushed, toward the rest of us. “Come on!” she said, waving her arms. “Big finish!”
Lana quickly moved to join them, bumping a hip against Anne. Kasey started doing jazz hands, while my mom closed her eyes, extending one hand over her head. Watching her, I had that feeling that she was both known and unknown. A composed, quiet presence at graduation only three weeks ago. And now, face flushed, lost in the movement and music but still, somehow, as here with me as she’d ever been.
I looked across at Ben. He was sitting there, a bemused smile on his face as the women of my family spun and twirled around us. The song was building, and I had a flash of myself at Colin’s church, way back at the beginning of what had once felt like everything. Then I’d had to wait to be summoned, the biggest moments of my life initiated by others. Now I pushed back my chair and stood. When Ben looked up at me, I motioned for him to join me.
It was just a moment. One song. Everyone there was caught up in it. Still, as his fingers clasped mine, I again felt that pull, stronger than ever. Ben slid his other arm around my waist. His palm, landing exactly in the stretch between my waistband and the bottom of my shirt, was on my bare skin.
We stood there for a second. Two. The time stretched out both behind and ahead of me. Then I took a step, he did the same, and just like that, we were dancing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When Lana and I got back from the Egg the next day around noon, debris from the night before still littered the table. Wineglasses. The champagne bottle. Various plastic cups. And the mug speaker, now filled with pistachio shells.
Anne was at the end, studiously moving things around in the dollhouse. The last I’d seen her, she was heading toward Kasey’s with a wobbly Liz, where they planned to crash. I’d followed behind, ostensibly to ensure they made the short walk across the driveway safely. Really, though, I was looking for Ben, who had left around the same time. I caught up with him just down the driveway.
“Might not make it tonight,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “Since it’s late already.”
“Daytime Us had a big day,” he agreed. He moved a little closer, touching my arm. “Not that I’m complaining.”
I smiled. “If you were, we’d have bigger things to talk about than logistics.”
“Logistics are hot, though.” As if to prove it, he bent down, putting his lips to mine. Kissing away from the dock was another first. I liked how we kept adding them.
Now there was another clank from the dollhouse. “Didn’t expect you to still be here,” I said to Anne. “You guys must have seriously slept in.”
“Lucky,” Lana grumbled. “Meanwhile, I’m exhausted and have syrup caked in my hair.”
I was sporting a grease stain on my own sleeve that in shape resembled the state of Texas. Aprons could only do so much.
“We’ve been up for a while,” Anne replied. “Mom went home to hydrate.”
