Awakening (Book One of The Geis) (14 page)

I smiled, holding the phone with both hands. “Thanks.”

The next morning I tried to sleep in, but my mind kept running through my disaster-of-a-date with Lucas. By the time I came downstairs, I didn’t feel like having breakfast. I wanted to make cookies. I threw the ingredients together from memory and stuck a full pan in the oven.

I wandered to where Zoey was watching cartoons in the living room. Lucas had said he thought I was amazing. Had it all been an act? Probably. The thought fanned the flames of my embarrassment. Lucas needed someone to use as bait to get back at Taminy for her pettiness. And I had wriggled willingly onto the hook.

The cartoon had a catchy beat. I tried out my soft shoe reel to see if I could make it match the music. Zoey gave me a look, and then went back to watching TV. I danced until the song ended.

Something was burning. I ran to the oven. Smoke curled out of the vent, filling the air with the scent of burnt sugar.

The cookies were burned to a crisp—the batter was charred the same color as the chocolate chips that now were totally wasted.

“Dang it!” I pulled the pan from the oven. The dough had tasted perfect and I had let the cookies burn.

“What is that smell?” Mom wrinkled her nose as she walked into the kitchen. She carried a box, collecting things on her quarterly crusade to overcome clutter.

“Nothing.” I slapped the pan on the counter.

“When you finish in here, could you check and see if you have anything in your room to donate?” She put the box on the counter and climbed the stairs, heading for Dad’s office.

Something in the box caught my eye. The Celtic knot that Aunt Avril gave me hung from the box. “I don’t want to give this away,” I said.

“Can I have a cookie?” Zoey bounced into the kitchen and prodded one with her finger.

“If you want. They’re burnt.” I put the knot down on the counter and picked up a spatula.

Zoey scrunched up her nose. “Why did you burn them?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” I scooped the cookies into the garbage, where they fell to the bottom with a clunk.

I dropped the pan in the sink, leaned against the cupboard, and slid down it onto the floor, spatula still in hand.

The idea of going to school on Monday and talking to Lucas filled me with dread. I laughed, and the laugh turned into a sob.

“Are you ok?” Zoey squatted down in front of my face. I wiped at a tear and laughed again.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Zoey sat next to me, crossing her legs to match mine. “Don’t worry, I can help you cook some more.”

I leaned my head on top of Zoey’s, the aquamarine comb biting into my scalp where it was sandwiched between us. I couldn’t tell where my hair ended and hers began.

“That is a good idea,” I said, tweaking Zoey’s nose. “There’s still some dough left.”

Zoey’s face lit up. She hurried to find another pan. Her enthusiasm sparked a thought. I couldn’t do anything about Lucas, but there was one thing I could do. I reached for my phone.

Leah put the phone down and stumbled to David’s recliner. Curling her knees up to her chest, she stroked the leather of the chair with one finger. She had stopped crying months ago, but the memories of her husband were tender and easily brought to the surface. She had bought the chair for David their first Christmas together. They had agreed that the new studio would be their gift to each other, and he had been so surprised when Leah’s dad lugged the chair into the living room for him on Christmas morning. David had placed it right next to her rocking chair and swung her into a waltz that left her dizzy.

“You’re my doll, Leah,” he had whispered, holding her close. She could almost hear his voice.

Leah met David in a college theatrical production. Cast as lead dancers, their connection was immediate—their courtship a whirlwind of dance and laughter. They graduated together and were married a week later.

David had had plans to pursue a master’s degree in dance therapy, and Leah had longed to open a school to teach the dancing she had competed in as a child.

Dreams don’t often come true,
Leah thought. She pulled herself from the chair and headed for the garage. She paused, holding the doorknob that led to the studio. Clenching her eyes shut, she opened the door.

The smell of paint and wood soap assaulted her senses, sending the memories reeling though her mind. Two months after Christmas, David had gone in to the doctor, complaining of the seasonal depression that afflicted many of those who struggled through Star Valley’s long winters. What had seemed like a mild case of lethargy turned out to be terminal.

“Cancer?” Leah had gasped, the impossibility of it leaving her light-headed.

David had led her to his leather chair, so new that the musky scent of it still perfumed the room. He had taken her tiny hands in his.

“Maybe it’s not.” David’s voice shook. “They want me to go back to the hospital and do some more tests.”

They pushed forward. Leah certified to be an Irish dance teacher during the summer, and David continued working for her father at the bank while they saved for grad school. Together, she and David had transformed this place into a dance studio, complete with mirrors and a brand new sound system. The studio opened in the spring, but David wasn’t there to see it.

Leah had taught classes for a few months, but the dancing had reminded her of the dreams she and David had planned together. She had closed the studio, locking her dreams with the turn of a key.

And now this girl, McKayla, had called her unexpectedly, asking her to teach again. Leah had tried to cut the girl short and tell her that she no longer danced, but the girl’s excitement had pierced through the bindings she had wrapped around her heart. She hadn’t been able to believe it when she’d heard her own voice telling the girl to come over to the house tomorrow.

“What was I thinking?” Leah said aloud, her voice echoing in the empty studio.

Leah looked at her reflection in the mirror, searching her own brown eyes. If David were here, he would tell her to dance. Leah pointed her toe. The arch of her foot ached from lack of use, but it felt good to stretch.

Rourke sat in the car, looking at the house. He checked the address McKayla had given him, confirming that it matched the house number of the woman who apparently had an extra studio hanging around the house. He opened the car door and stepped onto the gravel driveway, waiting until the lizard exited the car before closing the door and facing the house.

It had a thrown-together sort of look. Rourke could make out the original structure squatting under the trees like a frog, appendages growing from it in a hodge-podge collection. Decades of additions were manifest by the combination of stone, brick, and siding that clung to the house.

He approached the entrance that he assumed was meant for potential dancers, and peered through the windows on the door.

McKayla and Christa were already inside the garage, clustered next to a young woman who sat on a stool in the far corner, flipping through music on her sound system. They turned when Rourke came in, and he steeled himself for an awkward introduction. When McKayla waved and continued talking with the woman, he relaxed.

Whoever had remodeled the garage into a studio had known what they were doing. Mirrors filled the longest wall, reflecting the two windows opposite that let in muted light. On the far wall, an entertainment center nestled into custom cabinetry. Rourke stepped from the tiled doorway and tested the dance floor. Padded, he decided, and suspended on a frame.

Professional and functional
, he thought. The only things missing from the studio were the usual inspirational photographs of dancers, poised and forever balancing.

Laughter echoed off the walls, and Rourke turned his attention to the woman who owned this pristine and barren room.

She was young, much younger than Rourke had expected. From the way McKayla had talked about her, he had assumed the former teacher would be a spinster. Her husband had died of cancer last spring. For some reason, that information had made Rourke picture her as older.

This woman had long dark-brown hair that fell in waves around her shoulders. Her face had the rosy vibrancy of youth, and her trim figure confirmed years of dedicated practice. Rourke placed her at barely over twenty years old, only a few years younger than he himself appeared to be.

“Mr. Rourke, you brought your lizard.” The small voice came from behind him near the door.

A set of benches lined the wall near the door. McKayla’s younger sister curled beneath one of them, holding the lizard as if he were her favorite stuffed animal. Rourke chuckled. He had seen the creature in many a tight spot, but this was the first time he had seen him patiently endure it. Crouching down, Rourke winked at the girl.

“I’m coming to dance class. Mom says I get to come.” The smile on her face spoke of innocence, and unspoiled dreams.

Come
. Rourke motioned with a universally understood sign.

The child followed him across the dance floor, the lizard trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

“Rourke, meet Leah,” McKayla spoke and signed to him. Leah didn’t act surprised by the sign language, which meant they had been talking about him before he came. Her smile embraced her eyes.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Leah said, her voice soothing and melodic. Her handshake was firm and warm in his. Rourke let go quickly.

Thank you
, he signed. Even those who didn’t have a clue how to speak sign language could figure that one out.

Instead of responding with standard graciousness, Leah spoke up.

“I didn’t really want to open the studio, but I can’t let all of this go to waste while I wait for better times.” She swept her hands down and out toward each wall, and Rourke wondered if she was referring to the studio or her talents on the dance floor.

“Since we are all here, let’s get started,” Leah said, jumping down from her perch on the stool. She pointed her remote to the entertainment center, and it came to life, filling the room with a lilting slip jig that Rourke knew as well as his own heartbeat.

McKayla and Christa stood in front of the mirror, rotating their ankles to warm up.

“Do you want to show me what you have been teaching McKayla?” Leah stepped next to Rourke. He could smell a hint of her shampoo, a pleasant mixture of vanilla and lavender. He stepped back with a shake of his head.

“All right. You can sit there if you would like.” Leah pointed to the stool she had been sitting on. Rourke sat on the stool, still warm from her touch. “I’ll start out with some drills, then. Cut in anytime you want to.”

Rourke nodded, feeling more uncomfortable than the poor lizard, who was once again in Zoey’s clutches.

Leah walked past Rourke and reached her hand to the girl. “Are you ready for your first lesson, Zoey?” Zoey nodded her head, but didn’t let go of Ansul. “What are you doing down there on the floor?” Rourke wondered what Leah would think if she could see the large lizard that Zoey clung to.

Leah handed her remote to Zoey. “I need some help with the music. Do you want to click the next song when I tell you to? You will have to leave that reptile there and come over here with me.”

Rourke stared at Leah. She could see Ansul? He must have taken a liking to her—the lizard rarely revealed himself to people, especially if they had no magic, like Leah. And how was it that she wasn’t alarmed about having a giant lizard in her studio? Rourke was intrigued.

Zoey patted the lizard on the head and followed Leah to stand next to the mirrors. Ansul curled around the stool, resting his head on Rourke’s foot.

Christa and McKayla were quiet during warm-ups, refraining from their usual chatter. When Leah announced that she would teach them a reel, McKayla lit up.

“Is this a competition dance?”

“Yes, you will both use the same dance in competition. I’ll start with a beginner reel, and then I—” Leah glanced at Rourke, “we will decide what level to place you at during the Utah feis.”

Leah motioned to Zoey, who pushed a button on the remote. The music changed, and accordion music pounded from the speakers. Rourke saw McKayla grin at Christa before she turned, squaring her shoulders to the mirror.

Leah drilled the girls in the basics, stopping to correct their technique. Soon even hesitant Zoey hopped and leaped across the room. McKayla’s emotions flew off of her, pelting Rourke with dashes of joy and frustration until he had to block the scattered teenage feelings from his mind.

Rourke hoped that Leah would demonstrate a dance for the girls. He wanted to see if she was any good. Although she appeared to know what she was talking about, and her technique was quite good, Rourke couldn’t sense any sort of emotional connection in the way she instructed. She moved with a quiet grace, but her emotions were slow and buried, like a stream in frozen winter. If he had a chance to watch her dance, he would be able to get a better feel for her.

The longer Rourke watched Leah teach, the more agitated he became. This Leah had potential, but she was keeping it locked inside. When Christa’s brother came to pick up the dancers, Rourke drew an inward sigh of relief.

“That’s enough for today girls. Make sure you stretch before you leave.” A smattering of applause followed Leah’s comment, and Rourke stifled a smile at Leah’s reaction. “Why are you clapping?”

McKayla looked at Rourke, who recovered his poker face. “In ballet we always clap for our teacher. We’ll stop if it bothers you.”

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Leah walked over to Rourke. “I should have been a ballet instructor.” She winked.

Rourke stepped away from the stool, offering it to her. She waved away his hand and sat on the floor, removing her shoes and rubbing her feet.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve practiced. I’ll have to earn those calluses all over again.” She laughed, a happy little trill that ended far too soon.

Rourke shoved his hands in his pockets, looking over to where the three girls were packing their shoes and shrugging on coats. Christa’s brother stood near the door, his stance mirroring Rourke’s own discomfort. Rourke had seen Christa’s brother briefly as he’d picked up the girls from dance, and his observations now confirmed what he had already suspected.

The boy stood coolly, one thumb hooked into his pockets. With the other hand, he nervously strummed a guitar pick against the thick denim of his jeans. He looked around the room, but every time his gaze landed on McKayla, he would stop for the slightest second, and then glance away.

Interesting
, Rourke directed to Ansul, pulling his own hands from his pockets.

Leah placed her shoes near the door, calling out goodbyes to the dancers. She appeared older than she had earlier, and Rourke sensed a weariness in her that felt out of place for someone so young. Leah noticed Rourke looking at her.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Leah asked. Rourke didn’t know how to respond. He considered using magic to make her understand his sign language, but he didn’t know how she would react. He would have to help her learn it a little at a time. He answered her question with a nod. She saw his predicament right away. “So sorry, that is rude of me.” The silence between them grew. Rourke couldn’t take his eyes away from her face.

“You’ve done a great job with these girls. Their technique is very good.” Leah frowned. “I just can’t put my finger on the style, though.” She smiled when she realized that Rourke still studied her face. “I look forward to seeing you teach. Maybe next week?”

Rourke shrugged. He held Leah’s gaze for a moment longer before walking out, all too aware of the loneliness he left her with behind the closed door.