Page 14 of Dancing in the Dark

“So for as long as that’s your answer, then that’s all I need to know. If dancing makes you happy, Daddy will do everything he can to make sure you get to do it. If you ever change your mind, then that’ll be okay, too. If you want to dance on a stage, then I’ll make sure it happens. And if you ever decide to invite other people to watch you, then I’ll make sure I save enough seats for them all. I just want you to be happy.”

“If I invite other people, I fink I’ll be even more embarrassed when I freeze up.” She buries her face against my chest and uses my skin as a tissue. “I don’t want anyone else to laugh at me, Daddy.”

“I think if you love someone enough to invite them to your recital, then they’re probably a really amazing, special person, and really amazing, special people will never laugh at you for freezing up.” I lay my lips on her forehead and swallow my groan. Because I’m pretty sure dancing isn’t your dream at all, baby. You’re just too young to understand your desperate need for a dead woman’s approval. “Maybe inviting other people, like Cato or Uncle Arch, could help you be braver? Do you think?”

She shrugs, sniffling in the darkness. “Maybe. When I’m all grown up and have a job and lots of money, I promise to give you some. I’ll give you lots of it, cos I wasted so much this year.”

“I’ll accept none of it, silly Billy.” I drag the heel of my palm across her cheek and hate the moisture I collect on the way. “When you grow up and have a job, that money is for you. But do you know what you could give me?”

She pulls back and searches for me among the shadows. “What?”

“More of those poems like you wrote in class last week. I made this poem just for you… you… you…” I recite with a smile. “Because I love you through and through. That’s pretty good, don’t you think? It rhymed and everything.”

“I didn’t even know what frew and frew means,” she snickers. “Mrs. Greene helped me.”

“Well, Mrs. Greene is pretty amazing at rhyming, too. If you ever want to give me something to make me happy, poems are where it’s at, baby. Lots and lots of poems. Now I need you to go to sleep.” I firm my voice and work hard to make it cranky-ish. “Morning will come really fast, and if you haven’t slept, you won’t be able to go to Aubree’s party.”

She twists under the sheet again, under my arm, until she becomes my little spoon once more. She digs her butt back against my belly and plays with my fingers, trailing the tips of hers over my flesh until it tickles.

But I don’t dare tell her so, because then she might start giggling again.

“I love you so much, Moo.” I press a kiss onto the back of her head. “More than anything in the whole wide world.”

“I love you more,” she counters.

It’s a game we enjoy. A repetition she adores. Playing my part, I add, “I love you most.”

She exhales a happy sigh. “I love you forever.”

Silence descends for a minute, broken only by the soft hum of traffic on the street outside, the clatter of pipes in the wall, and the quiet whispers of something on Mia’s breath.

“Hey, Daddy?”

I want to groan. I want to grumble. I want to demand she sleep. But I do none of those things. Instead, I tighten my grip across her torso and simply breathe, “hmm?”

“I wrote another poem. You wanna hear it?”

“When? Just now?”

“Mmhm. You said you like poems, so I’m gonna write a zillion of them for you.”

“Sure.” I bury my face in her hair and smile. “Tell me your new poem.”

“Hold my hand and stay right here.” She twines her fingers with mine. “I like it when I can hear your heart in my ear.”

7

SERAPHINA

My heart pounds mercilessly in my throat as I approach the outside of Tim’s bar. Music penetrates the brick walls, and the smell of beer is a common scent in the air around here.

I dangle a small gift bag from one hand and carry my phone in the other. I have no need for a purse, no desire to carry an entire bag around, so I keep a single key in my jeans pocket and a ChapStick right beside it. Slipping my phone in with them and glancing down at myself, at my black jeans, tight enough to tell everyone exactly what shape my bottom half is, then to my floaty, floral blouse with puffy sleeves and a cinched waist, I brush a hand over my nervous belly and draw a deep breath.

Pasting on a smile I don’t entirely feel like wearing, I push the heavy bar door open and step into a world bursting with laughter and familiar faces. The smell of fried food dances in the air, a jukebox plays music my toes yearn to move to, and behind the bar, a woman I know only as Daisy serves up drinks with expert precision.

“Fifi!” Aubree rises amongst the crowd, her head popping up amongst others I know for a damn fact are taller than her. But as the crowd parts and the stool she’s standing on is revealed, I discover her secret and, I’m pretty sure, a woman who may be closer to drunk than she is sober. “Fifi’s here!” She stumbles to her feet and brushes stabilizing hands off her arm. Shoving through the horde and dodging the squealing delight of her nieces and nephews—some even as small as Mia—she slams all one hundred and ten pounds of medical examiner with pink-streaked hair against my chest and wraps me in a hug that ends with a noisy grunt. “Hi!” Pulling back, she smooshes my face in her palms and stares up at me through bright blue eyes. “Hi, Fifi!”

“You’re drunk, huh?” I offer my gift. Distraction 101. “Happy birthday, Doctor Emeri. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”