Pretending to Dance (47 page)

Authors: Diane Chamberlain

BOOK: Pretending to Dance

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“I'm so different from my friends now,” she lamented a couple of weeks ago when we went out to lunch together. “I've changed too much to really fit in. I'm having fun and everything, but my friends will never understand what I've been through.” She looked wistful. “I have this deeper part of me they'll never really know,” she said.

Sienna made a toast during the party. We were sitting around the living room eating birthday cake when she lifted her glass of Pepsi in the air.

“I want to say something,” she said, and everyone quieted down to listen. Nora lifted Natalie onto her lap and even Kai and Oliver stopped playing with their toy cars and looked in Sienna's direction. “A year ago today, when Natalie was born,” Sienna continued, “it was the best day of my life and the worst day of my life, all wrapped up in one.” She looked at Natalie and smiled. “I finally got to see my amazing baby and cuddle her and love her,” she said. “And then I had to lose her. But I didn't really lose her, did I?” She looked toward Aidan and me. “In some ways, I gained so much more than I lost.”

Aidan put his arm around my shoulders as she spoke. Our very best day had been Sienna's very worst. I will never forget that. I know there is still grief inside her. There is grief, but not regret.

Sienna's birthday gift to Natalie was a little quilt made from her maternity clothes. She'd sewn the squares together by machine, admitting that she'd never used a sewing machine before “and I hated every friggin' minute!” The squares are a bit off kilter and the fact that she'd never sewn before is evident, but I am touched by that quilt and the love that went into it. I hope Natalie will treasure it forever.

There is one more gift to be opened, but it's not for Natalie. Once we have all the wrapping paper put away and it's just Sienna, Natalie, and myself in the living room, I hand Sienna the small jewelry box and I watch her as she lifts the lid.

She looks up at me as she lifts the bracelet from the box. “A charm bracelet?” she asks, and I nod.

“Empty, except for one charm. See?” I reach over and lift the tiny silver baby shoe with the tips of my fingers.

“It's so cute,” she says.

“We want to give you a new charm for each birthday,” I say.

“I love it,” she says, and I help her put it on.

Aidan and I just wrote a new “dear expecting mother” letter. We hope to find a sibling for Natalie. The group meeting at the agency is next week, and now we will be one of the couples the other waiting parents resent, since we already have a child and are taking up precious space as we hope to complete our family. I think, with a jolt, we could even be that family that sits in the center of the circle to illustrate open adoption. How amazing is that?

Sienna and I finish cleaning up the living room, and she and Ginger get ready to leave. At the front door, I hug them both. My arms remain around Sienna for a long time. I worry how she will feel leaving the house tonight on this, the anniversary of her best and worst day.

“I love you,” she says as she pulls away.

“I love you, too,” I say.

She smiles gamely, and I am glad that Ginger will be there to pick up the pieces if she falls apart in the car.

*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *

Aidan and Nora are still in the kitchen and now Natalie is fast asleep on the sectional. I lift her gently into my arms and stretch out on the sectional, my head on a throw pillow, Natalie sleeping on my chest. I'm tired but so happy.

“How did you like your first birthday party?” I whisper to my daughter, my lips against her silky dark hair. “Pretty cool, huh?”

She makes little smacking sounds with her mouth and settles more deeply into my arms.

Maybe it's having Nora in the next room that makes me think of my father. Or maybe it's because I finished my application for graduate school this morning. I want to work on a counseling degree. It feels right to me. A relief, actually. I know it is what I am meant to do.

Either way, I sense that my father is with me right now. It's a warm and comforting feeling and I smile at the ceiling.

“Are you watching, Daddy?” I speak softly. “Is this family messy and crazy and full of love enough for you?”

I rub my hand lightly over Natalie's back and let out a contented sigh.

I don't believe in an afterlife.

I don't believe my father can see me.

I don't believe he can hear me, either.

But I'm more than willing to pretend.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I have many people to thank for helping me write
Pretending to Dance
and getting it into my readers' hands.

My good friend and fellow novelist Emilie Richards read an early draft of the story with insight as an author, a reader, and an adoptive mother. Her input proved invaluable and helped me move the story in the right direction.

My stepdaughter, Brittany Walls, and my sister Joann Scanlon read the penultimate draft and offered their thoughts and suggestions. Joann, who has the same form of multiple sclerosis as Graham, helped me understand not only his physical limitations, but his emotional challenges as well. Joann's aide, Nina Babukhadia, provided a loving role model for Russell.

Kathy Williamson helps me in too many ways to count. From maintaining my Web site and blog to finding resources that make my research easier, Kathy does whatever it takes to keep my professional life running smoothly.

I admit it: I set
Pretending to Dance
in Swannanoa not only because it was geographically a good location for the story, but also because it was so much fun to say its name. I loved getting to know Swannanoa resident Deborah Potter, who was generous with her time as she shared her firsthand knowledge of the area. Carla Hollar and Caryl Houghton, librarians at the Swannanoa Library, were also enthusiastic sources of information, as were the folks in the Swannanoa Valley Museum in Black Mountain. I'm grateful to all of you.

For their various contributions, thanks go to Susan Stripling, who was at the same New Kids concert that Molly and Stacy attended in Atlanta; George Felos, who helped me understand the legal implications of the events at Morrison Ridge; and Gwen Crews, whose story of her North Carolina ancestry inspired Russell's background. Thanks also to Barbara Fisher and Myrtle Hepler for their input and friendship.

Rabbi Marc Gellman wrote about “Pretend Dancing” in one of his syndicated âGod Squad' columns and I'm happy that I stumbled across the article. As soon as I read it, I knew how pretend dancing would fit into my storyÂ â¦ and I had my title.

My agent, Susan Ginsburg, is sweet and compassionate at the same time that she's tough and courageousâa rare and perfect blend of traits for an agent. I'm grateful to her and to all the staff at Writers House who make the business end of my life go smoothly so I can focus on writing. Thanks also to Angharad Kowal, my agent in the United Kingdom, for the work she does on my behalf.

Jen Enderlin, my editor at St. Martin's Press, once again helped me see my story with wise new eyes. Thank you, Jen, for your encouragement and patience and for helping me shape
Pretending to Dance
into a novel I can be proud of.

Thanks, too, to everyone else at St. Martin's Press for your faith in me and for the extraordinary energy and skill you put into publishing. I'm grateful to you all, particularly Sally Richardson, Jeff Dodes, Lisa Senz, Nancy Trypuc, Kim Ludlam, Malati Chavali, Jonathan Hollingsworth, Anne Marie Tallberg, Tracey Guest, and Lisa Davis and the entire Broadway and Fifth Avenue sales departments. A special thank-you to my publicist, Katie Bassel, whose responsiveness and creativity make promotion fun, and to Olga Grlic for once again giving me a cover that is both beautiful and haunting.

The team at Pan Macmillan in the United Kingdom has done an amazing job of getting my books into the hands of my awesome UK readers. Thank you Wayne Brookes, Louise Buckley, and everyone else at Pan Macmillan who's made my publishing journey in the UK so rewarding and enjoyable.

I couldn't possibly complete a book without the brainstorming retreats, lunches, and e-mail exchanges with my Weymouth 7 writing buddiesâMary Kay Andrews, Margaret Maron, Katy Munger, Sarah Shaber, Alexandra Sokoloff, and Brenda Witchger aka Brynn Bonner. What I would do without the friendship and support of these amazing women, I don't know.

My Facebook readers are an incredible resource when it comes to both research and to naming characters and places. For
Pretending to Dance
, they helped me with everything from christening Morrison Ridge, to personal memories of New Kids on the Block, to “material things a fourteen-year-old girl would yearn for in 1990.” My readers' enthusiasm and playful willingness to help makes interacting with them both fun and fruitful.

I've lost count of how many dinners I've spent discussing this story with John Pagliuca. As always, John has been patient and creative as I struggle with structure and plot, tolerant of my panic as deadline nears, and more than willing to help me celebrate when my story and characters finally fall into place. Thanks, John, for sharing the dog care, the housework, the meals out, and the brainstorming. You're one of a kind!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DIANE CHAMBERLAIN
is the international bestselling author of twenty-five novels. She lives in North Carolina with her partner, photographer John Pagliuca, and her shelties, Keeper and Cole. Visit her online at
www.dianechamberlain.com
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here
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