Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (23 page)

 43 

W
hen Jim arrived home from work the next day, a familiar bright yellow ’68 Chevy Impala with a black vinyl top was parked in the driveway.

Uncle Henry.

Why didn’t he ever call first? He always just dropped by. It wasn’t like he lived in the neighborhood. As Jim pushed the garage door opener and pulled up beside him, he noticed Uncle Henry didn’t react. Jim looked at him more closely; he was sound asleep, his mouth wide open, head tilted to one side.

At least, Jim hoped he was asleep.

He slid the passenger window down and was relieved to hear Uncle Henry snoring. Jim smiled as he pulled his Audi into the garage. What a character. As he walked back toward Uncle Henry’s car, he became aware that he didn’t resent the sight of him like he usually did. His uncle was obviously there to check up on Jim, as usual. Standing there, staring at him, Jim remembered some of the things Uncle Henry had said the last time they spoke, right here in the driveway over a month ago.

Everything Uncle Henry had said back then was either true or had come true.

Jim wondered if his newfound friendship with Audrey Windsor had anything to do with this, but he felt a warmth inside looking at his uncle just now. “Uncle Henry,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

“Huh?” His head moved slightly, and his eyes opened. “What?”

“It’s me. Jim. You’re in my driveway. You must’ve fallen asleep.”

Uncle Henry sat up then looked up. “Jim, there you are.”

“How long have you been here?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost five-thirty.”

“Then not long at all. Guess I dozed off. Got here at five-fifteen. I was coming back from a trip to Orlando, thought, how can I drive by my favorite nephew’s place and not stop by to say hello? I knew you always came home from work on time.”

He began to open the car door. Jim stepped aside. Uncle Henry held out his hand. Jim didn’t know why but he hugged him instead. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Henry.”

“Well,” he replied, stepping back from the hug. “How you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess. Marilyn’s still gone. It’s been more than a month now.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry said. “You doing okay? You seem . . . better somehow.”

Was he better? “Maybe it’s just the shock has worn off, and I’m getting used to it.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. You seem calmer, on the inside.”

“I guess that’s possible. I took your advice, by the way.”

“What advice?”

“About humbling myself, getting some help.”

Uncle Henry leaned back against his car. “That so? Tell me about it.”

There was no way Jim was going to tell him about the dance lessons. “It’s a long story. But oddly enough, I met this elderly lady, and she’s given me a lot to think about. Her husband passed away, but they were married over fifty years.”

“I imagine she has lots of insight,” Henry said.

“Yeah, she does. I can see a lot of things I’ve done wrong with Marilyn.” Jim sighed. “A whole lot.”

“Wow,” Henry said.

“What?”

“The Jim I talked with a month ago would never have said something like that, or said it that way.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not sure it matters now.”

“Why?”

“Marilyn can’t see any change. She still won’t even talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Yeah.” Jim wanted to tell him about his fear that he was losing her to this dance instructor, but he didn’t say anything.

“But you know, you’re putting yourself in a good position to get all kinds of help from God now.”

“How so?”

“Are you starting to turn to him with your troubles or are you still keeping them all bottled up inside?”

“I’ve started praying more often,” he said. “And I’m reading my Bible again in the morning.”

“That helping?”

“I guess. I’m not as depressed,” Jim said. “Don’t feel as angry inside about all this.”

A surprised look came over Uncle Henry’s face. “Jim, that’s huge.”

“What’s huge?”

“What you just said. Do you know how unusual that is for people going through the kind of trouble you’re having who are totally depressed all day and full of rage inside?”

“Yeah . . . no. Well, I guess.”

“They’re taking pills every day or drinking up a storm, anything to take the edge off.”

“I never really thought about it.”

“You’re experiencing God’s grace, Jim. That’s what’s going on here. God gives grace to the humble.” A big smile came over his face.

Jim had never thought of it that way, but it kind of made sense. Uncle Henry had never made sense before. Jim would have called this kind of conversation spiritual mumbo jumbo a month ago.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m not sure how any of this progress helps me and Marilyn get back together.”

Uncle Henry walked over toward him, put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “Don’t be afraid, Jim. It’s gonna be all right. Somehow, I just know it. Your aunt and I pray for you guys every night. Even this talk we’re having now is an answer to prayer. God hasn’t given up on you, so don’t you give up.”

“Man, that’s crazy.”

“What?”

“That elderly woman I told you about, she says almost the exact same thing whenever I get down about this.”

“I like this lady.” Then Uncle Henry got a strange look on
his face. His eyebrows drew close together. “I got an idea, and I think you should consider it.”

“What?” Jim was open to almost anything at this point.

“Start practicing what you want to say to Marilyn if you got the chance. Like an act of faith. I know she’s still not talking to you. But we’re hoping someday that’s going to change. You be ready when the time comes.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “Start writing it down. Ask God to help you, show you all the things you wished you could tell her, all the things you’re sorry for.”

“You think I should send her a letter?”

“I don’t know, the idea’s not that clear to me yet. But I just think you should do it. Take some time—you got plenty of that—and start practicing.”

“Okay, Uncle Henry. I will. Say, do you want to come inside? Don’t have anything fancy for dinner. Just some premade dish I bought at Sam’s for Doug and me, but you’re welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”

Uncle Henry took a step back; it looked like tears were forming in his eyes. “I’d love to, Jim. But I told Myra I’d be home by seven. Going to take her out to dinner. But you know something? In all the times I’ve stopped by over the years, this is the first time you ever invited me in.”

“Really? I’m sorry, Uncle Henry. That’s terrible.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just one more answer to prayer. You go on in there and give Doug a hug for me. I better get home.”

They hugged again, and then Jim stood there and waved as Uncle Henry drove off.

A few minutes after he got in the house and set his things on
the counter, Doug came running in kitchen. “Dad, you been watching the news?”

“No, what’s up?”

“Some big tropical storm has formed in the Caribbean. The track has it clipping the Keys in a couple of days then heading into the Gulf.” He walked over and picked up the remote, clicked to the local station, one that constantly gave updated weather reports.

“You know those things hardly ever come here, Doug. Not to central Florida.” Jim watched the TV as the anchorwoman turned things over to the weatherman. The weatherman pointed to a map of Florida and the Caribbean. The familiar hurricane symbol appeared just south of Cuba with the name “TS Harold” beside it. A half-dozen colorful lines had it tracking a half-dozen different locations. The farthest one to the right had it coming across the state.

“See that one?” Doug said, pointing to the track. “Coming right our way.”

“Doug . . . that’s just speculation. The last time a hurricane hit here was in 2004. I can’t even remember the last one before that.”

“You’re probably right,” Doug said. “But don’t you think we ought to call Michele? Even if it misses us, look at the days they’re projecting. Won’t that mess up her wedding? It’s outside, down at Riverfront Park.”

Jim looked at the TV screen again. “It should be well past us by next week,” he said. “If it goes where most of the tracks take it, we might not even get any rain.”

 44 

M
arilyn wasn’t at all sure about this. The fact that she’d all but lied to Charlotte about where she was going tonight also bothered her. It was clear by Charlotte’s probing questions that she’d become increasingly nervous about Marilyn’s private dance classes with Roberto.

But she had no reason to be, Marilyn kept assuring her. Here it was Tuesday night, their final dance lesson, and Roberto had been the perfect gentleman all along. This was the first time he’d asked to see her outside of the studio. At first, she’d said no. But Roberto had told her it was appropriate for them to celebrate their achievement. This Saturday was the big contest, and he was amazed at how well she’d done. He was confident they would either win or place very high in the scoring. He wanted to thank her tonight, the night of their final practice, by buying her dinner.

What was wrong with that?

She saw the restaurant up ahead, an upscale bistro in the historic downtown section of Sanford, maybe twenty minutes
away from River Oaks. As she got out of her car, she saw Roberto standing by the doorway. He carried a gift box under one arm.

“Ah, my dear, you’ve made it,” he said. “I have reservations. They just called for us.” He escorted her to the front, where the maître d’ greeted them and led them to their table.

“This is so nice,” she said.

“Have you never been here?”

“No. I’m sure I would have remembered.”

He placed the gift box under his seat then came around behind her and pushed her chair in after she sat. “I hope you didn’t mind the little drive,” he said, taking his seat. “I know you are . . .
sensitive
about such things, not wanting to give others the wrong impression. River Oaks is such a small town, I thought—”

“I didn’t mind the drive at all. I’m glad you thought of it.” And because he had, she hadn’t worried the whole way here about someone catching her doing something she had no reason to feel guilty about in the first place.

The waiter came up and took their drink orders. “Would you care for an appetizer,” he said, “or do you want a few minutes to look over our selections?”

“Do you like calamari?” Roberto asked her.

“Yes.”

“They have the best I’ve ever tasted here. Lightly battered, with this delicious spicy sauce to dip it in.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“We’ll have that,” he told the waiter, who wrote it down and walked away. Looking back at her, Roberto said, “Let’s look over the menus before we start to chat. Pick anything you like, my treat.”

As Marilyn looked over the menu, the prices shocked her, which was a funny thing. She and Jim rarely went out to eat, but
when they had, he’d always go to high-end places like this and would often spend a great deal of money. Her mind had already adapted to eating cheaply, entrees that cost less than even the appetizers here. For that matter, she had even grown to enjoy eating Lean Cuisine dishes with Charlotte around the dinette table.

“See anything you like?” Roberto asked.

“Too many things.”

“Are you more in the mood for beef, chicken, or seafood? They also have some amazing pasta dishes.”

“I think seafood.”

“Are you allergic to anything, like shellfish?”

“No.”

“Then allow me.” He waved to the waiter, who was already heading in their direction. “You’re going to love this.”

“Are you ready, sir?”

“Yes, Albert,” he said, reading his name tag. “I’ll have the bronzed sea bass with lemon shallot butter. And she’ll have a dozen—make that two dozen—of the broiled rock shrimp.”

“I can’t eat two dozen,” Marilyn protested.

“Have you ever had them?” She shook her head no. “They’re pretty small, actually. They taste like little lobster tails.”

“Two dozen then?” the waiter said. “Would you like melted butter with that?” he asked Marilyn.

“Of course,” Roberto answered for her. “For our sides, rice pilaf and Caesar salad. Is that okay, Marilyn?”

“Fine,” Marilyn said.

The waiter wrote this down and walked away. Roberto turned toward her with that full, deep gaze of his, the one he clicked into whenever they danced. “You look lovely. Really, that dress is amazing on you. Heads were turning the moment you walked in the door till you sat down.”

She didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.” Surely, he was exaggerating. And she was wearing the same red dress she’d worn at every practice, because they were going back to the studio right after. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen it before.

He took a sip of wine. “These past weeks with you have been a total joy for me. You have completely exceeded my expectations.”

Again, she was taken aback by his words. He had always been complimentary during their lessons, but now he seemed different somehow.

“I’m actually dreading the thought that our time will be coming to an end,” he said. “That is, after this weekend.”

“Well, the other class, the group one, doesn’t end until next Thursday.” She remembered this because Friday, the very next day, was Michele’s wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Roberto said. “I’m talking about the times we’ve been alone.”

There was that look in his eyes again. She didn’t know how to respond, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“I wish there was some way it wouldn’t have to come to such an abrupt end,” he said. “You’ve become like a habit for me. A good one. One I would rather not break.”

The waiter walked up to refresh their drinks and drop off a basket of fresh bread. “The bread smells delicious,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“I have something for you.” He reached under his seat and pulled out the gift box. It was light brown with a dark burgundy ribbon. Handing it to her, he said, “Go ahead and open it. You won’t be able to see it properly here, of course.”

“What is it?” She took the package and untied the ribbon.

“Open it and see.”

She lifted the lid and saw an article of clothing. At first, she thought it was a bright red scarf, but there was far too much material. Was it a blouse?

“It’s a new dress,” he said. “I want you to wear it this weekend at the contest. You will simply blow them away in this.”

“But I already have a red dress.”

“Yes, and it’s lovely. You know how much I like it. That dress is fine for the studio. Or even for a fine restaurant like this. But the contest, it’s . . . like a Broadway stage. You need a costume that fits the occasion. You’ve seen the dresses dancers wear on TV.”

“Like
Dancing With the Stars
?” she said.

“Yes. Like that. Only this . . . this one is even more amazing than anything I’ve seen on TV. I can already picture you in it, both of us, dancing our routine before the judges. They won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

Marilyn was stunned. She had watched that show before. There was no way she’d feel comfortable wearing most of the costumes the women wore. And the way Roberto was looking at her now . . . she was almost certain she didn’t want to wear the red dress nestled in this box.

What she wanted to do was set the box down, get up, run out the door, and forget all about the “big contest” this weekend.