Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (40 page)

She almost didn't read it, but she couldn't help herself. She opened the text.
You better stop seeing that guy. You're setting a bad example for Lily.
 

Her, a bad example? And what was
he
? Rage filled her chest.
 

But just as quickly it deflated, because she
wasn't
doing right by her daughter.

Not sure what to do, she did what she'd always done when she was confused: she went to see her aunt.

Debra smiled when she looked up and saw Eleanor enter her shop, but her smile faded almost as quickly. "What happened? You're limping."

"Oh, I don't know." Eleanor threw her hands in the air. "I decided I could choreograph a program for the Joffrey, and I've mangled my feet. On top of it, I'm a bad parent, Max is determined to make my dance studio a reality, and Dad is helping him make the dream come alive."

Taking her glasses off, Debra shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know." She dropped her head in her hands.
 

Suddenly she felt her aunt's arms around her, soothing her back the way she used to when she was a girl, after her mother passed away.

"Eleanor, are you pregnant?"

She gasped, her head popping up. "
No.
Of course not."

Debra shrugged. "It was a valid question, sweetheart. You're still seeing Max, aren't you?"

"Yes, but"—she gaped at her aunt—"
no
. Geez. I have a teenager."

"But you're still young, and Max looks virile." Debra winked. Then she grew serious again. "Do you know what I always admired about you, Eleanor? You always knew what you wanted and you went after it."

"I don't remember that girl."

"She's still here." Her aunt tapped her on the center of her chest.
 

She shook her head. "I don't even know what I want."

"Don't you?" Debra tilted her head, studying her. "Deep down, don't you know what you want?"

To work with Anya, creating. To be friends with Lily.

Max.

A family again.

Love.

Debra brushed Eleanor's hair back. "I like that you've started wearing your hair down again. I always loved it when you wore it loose."

"Max does too," she admitted.

"He's a smart man." Debra smiled. "He picked my niece, after all."

"Lily likes him, I think." She cut off the green tendril of jealousy that threatened to wrap itself around her heart as she remembered them laughing. "She was helping him with the studio."

"That's so sweet," Debra said with a gentle smile.

"What?"

"Lily. She wants you to be happy." Eleanor must have looked as confused as she felt, because Debra said, "She wouldn't have helped him if she didn't want to make things up to you somehow. That's what you hold on to when she drives you crazy."

Eleanor blinked. "I didn't get that."

Debra kissed her forehead. "That's why you have me here."

*
 
*
 
*

It wasn't until she saw the package that had been delivered that she knew how she was going to repair her relationship with her daughter. She opened it, waiting impatiently until Lily got home.

When the teenager walked into the door, Eleanor was standing ready despite her feet, hands on her hips.
 

Lily faltered when she saw her. "What are you wearing?"

"My new tutu." Eleanor ran a hand over her white tutu. It looked beautiful, but more than that it felt perfect. "Do you like it? Careful, there's only one right answer."

The girl rolled her eyes.

But Eleanor was paying attention, and she saw a hint of amusement lifting her daughter's lips. "Guess what?" she said, feeling lighter than she had in days.

"What?" the teenager asked carefully.

"I've got one for you too. "Eleanor reached in the box on the floor and pulled out one that was fluffy dark purple. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. But I was wondering if you would do one thing for me."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Is it laundry?"

"My friend Anya who dances for the Joffrey asked me to choreograph a piece for her, and I'm having some trouble getting inspired." She smiled hopefully. "I was thinking maybe you'd help me."

"Me? Really?" Lily glanced at the purple tutu.

"You don't need to wear it." She set it back on the box. "I just thought you might like it."

Lily bit the inside of her lip. "Purple is my favorite color."

"I've noticed." Eleanor brushed back a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "I'm sorry you've felt like you're falling through the cracks. It makes me sad that I've neglected you. It makes me sad that I haven't thanked you for helping Max finish my studio."

Lowering her head, Lily nodded, trying to hide a sniffle.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around the girl. "I love you, Lily."

"Love you too," she murmured back.

She exhaled. It was a start—a really good start. "So what do you say? Dance with me?"

Her daughter nodded. As they went into the living room, she picked up the tutu and brought it with her.
 

Eleanor smiled wide, flinging her arms out and doing a pirouette.

"Whoa." Lily gaped at her. "That was good. What was it for?"

"Just because." Because she felt the hope of the future. She danced across the room to start the music, believing for the first time in forever that everything was going to be okay.
 

Before she started playing the playlist from her phone, she started to send a text to Charles:
I am the BEST example to Lily
.
 

She stared at the message and then deleted it. He didn't know—he never would—and she didn't need to prove it, because she knew it in her heart. And seeing her daughter's hopeful face right now was only more confirmation.

Chapter 18

Eleanor still had three things to take care of. She counted them on her mental list as she drove through town.

One was Max.

The second was Anya. She called her friend and arranged for her to come over. Eleanor had sat down with the music, in her tutu, and focused all her attention on the flow of the melody. She'd closed her eyes, and the moves had come to her. Instead of trying to dance all of them, she'd written them down on a pad of paper.

She had her piece for Anya. She hoped her friend would like it.

Just thinking of it made her twitchy. So she stopped and focused on taking care of the third thing on her list.

She pulled up to the white house with the pseudo Greek columns and marched up to the front door. She rang the doorbell and then, for good measure, banged on the door.

The door swung open, and an irritated Barbara poked her head out. "You don't have to act like a barbarian," the woman said.

"And you don't have to act like a bitch, but you do." Eleanor pointed at the woman. "I'm not going to say everything I want to, because you're the only grandmother Lily has and I don't want to come between that, but I'm going to tell you now that I'm not going to allow you to dictate my life."

The woman raised her brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you'll be able to figure it out." She leaned in. "But I didn't come here to talk about me. I came to talk about you and Charles."

Barbara's expression grew cautious, like it always did when her precious offspring was threatened. "Charles won't take you back."

"Super," Eleanor said enthusiastically. "Because I wouldn't take him. I'm here to deliver a message for you to give him. He has one daughter, and that's all he'll ever have. If he's not careful, he's going to lose Lily, the same way you will."

"He'll remarry," the older woman said, her nose in the air.

"Maybe, but he'll have to undergo serious treatment to get his vasectomy reversed." She tried to keep her face serious despite the look of outrage on Barbara's face. Then she let it all go and sighed. "Barbara, Lily is a bright, talented young woman. If you decide you don't care to get to know her, fine, but don't string her along. She deserves better than that. And I will never allow anyone to come between her and me, so you can tell Charles to stop trying."

Without another word, she returned to her car. Her hands were shaking as she started the car, but she felt satisfied. She couldn't control what Barbara and Charles did, but at least she spoke her piece.

When she arrived home, Anya was already waiting for her, leaning against her sleek car.

Taking a deep breath, she went to greet her friend.
 

"You're terrible, Eleanor, making me wait like this." The ballerina air-kissed Eleanor's cheeks. "Are you ready this time?"

"Yes," she said with more certainty than she felt. "I just need one thing. Wait here a second?"

Anya arched her brow, but before she could say anything, Eleanor jogged across the yard to Max's front door. She rang the bell and tapped her foot impatiently while she waited.
 

He opened the door, blinking when he saw her. "I told you, I don't do bootie calls."

"I'm going to discuss that with you later, but right now I want to know how the studio is."
 

His brow furrowed. "Jack and I hung the mirrors today. The exterior needs one more coat of paint, and then I need to rehang the door. Why?"

"You'll see." She took his hand and tugged him to follow her.

Anya perked up when she saw Max trailing behind her. The dancer's lips curled with feminine charm. "Of course it's Maxi." She lifted her cheek for him to kiss.

He rolled his eyes at Eleanor before he smacked a sloppy one on it, which was completely unlike him.
 

Anya just laughed, pushing his arm. "Maxi, you're terrible."

"Enough flirting," Eleanor said, giving her friend a look as she drew Max away. "Let's do this."

"What are we doing?"

"Showing Anya the dance I choreographed." She swallowed the queasiness that rose in her throat and headed to the studio in the back.

They followed her, chatting amicably. She focused on her dance, running the moves in her head one more time. Walking into the studio, she sat on the floor and took her ballet shoes out of her purse.
 

She'd decided to carry them today for good luck and to remind her of who she was.

"Where's your tutu?" Max asked.
 

"In the living room."

He frowned at her before leaving. They both watched him stride across the yard into the house.

Anya purred. "Your Maxi is delicious."

"He's not mine." Yet. But she hoped he would be.

That was for later. First things first, she reminded herself.

He came back, brandishing her white tutu with the pink flowers. "You needed this," he said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe her.

"Thank you." She took the tutu and wiggled into it. "You're always going to look out for my best interests, aren't you?"

Stilling, his gaze sharpened on her. "Always," he vowed.

She smiled, her heart thawing from the fear for a second. But then she faced Anya and it all came back.
 

Anya stepped forward and took her hand. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I didn't believe you could."

Nodding, she exhaled. "I'm going to pantomime some of the harder moves."

"Of course," the prima ballerina said as though it was a given.

Before she could come to her senses, she connected her phone to the portable speaker and hit "Play."

The music began, and she launched into the movements. She talked the moves through, acting them out when her body couldn't do them.

Instead of sticking to pure ballet, she'd ended up mixing a little of everything in, going from salsa to modern to hip-hop in the blink of an eye. She lost herself in acting it out, getting caught up in the drama of it. She moved into a pop-and-lock sequence with her shoulders and arms, ending it precisely as the last note hit.