When the Music Stops (2 page)

Right, thought Marta. That’s not on the top of my welcome home list. She shook her head, trying to release her grumpy mood much as she would have done at ballet rehearsals last fall.

Robert unloaded her luggage, opened the gate, and walked along the side of the house to unlock the back door. Marta stopped at the base of the steps to look around. The porch light illuminated her mom’s wisteria as it climbed along the grape arbor, entangling with the grape vines. The light also reflected off the window panes of her playhouse. Lots of memories lived inside the tiny doorway. But that could wait as well.

Once inside the kitchen, the familiar aroma of cinnamon and coffee surrounded her. She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and looked around. The light over the sink cast shadows on the dirty dishes left there. Not like her mom to leave the kitchen without tidying it up. Must have been in a huge hurry.

Robert turned on the overhead light. “I know your mom’s sad she’s not here. Can I fix you a snack or pour you something cold to drink?”

“I’m fine. Thanks again for picking me up.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll set your bags in your old room.”

Marta watched him move toward the hallway. He acted comfortable in the house. Guess that’s to be expected. Last spring she’d spoken with him when he took care of her mom during her bout with the flu. Plus, every time Marta called home, her mom and Robert were heading out to dinner or to visit with friends.

The kitchen felt smaller than she remembered, but the familiar surroundings opened a flood of memories. Same red Formica and chrome table in the kitchen nook where she did her homework last year. Same Bakelite phone on the wall where she’d talked with high school friends. Same lacy curtains edging the corner windows. Nothing new except Robert, hovering.

He returned to the kitchen and pointed to the basket on the counter. “Spare house key is in the basket. I’ll leave you to settle in.” As he stepped onto the back porch, he turned back and smiled. “Welcome home. Have a good rest.”

“Thanks, I will.”

After he exited the back gate, she locked the door and walked into the living room. A bouquet of red roses spilled from a tall vase, filling the muggy room with their heavy, velvety scent. She plucked the delivery card out of the arrangement.

Marta,

You’ll always be my favorite ballerina. I miss you already. Call me so I know you arrived safely.

Love,

Steve

A tear slid down her cheek and slipped between her lips. Her chest tightened as she thought about him and Lynne. She shook her head, not willing to let herself dwell on Bartley.

A postcard and a letter lay next to the flowers. Marta chuckled to herself as she read the postcard.

Miss me yet? I wanted you to know I started missing you the minute you handed me that box of costumes for the little girls. Be home when I call on Sundays, OK? Probably in the afternoon, unless I have a date.

Lynne

Lynne. Such a funny best friend. She’d mailed a postcard showing downtown Billings, the place Marta had just left. Not hearing about her dating fiascoes or seeing her every day would be a serious adjustment.

Marta picked up the letter with Steve’s home address as the return. She turned it over in her hands and hesitated. Could she handle reading what Steve wrote before she went to bed? No. She returned the letter to the table and headed back to the kitchen.

With the overhead light turned off, darkness enclosed her in the small space. Was coming home an ill-conceived decision? Should she have stayed and auditioned at the end of summer as a new corps dancer? Three more months might have been all her ankle needed to be able stand up to the rigors of the Intermountain Ballet Company again. But it had already been nearly five months since she broke it. It had gotten stronger, but not strong enough for professional ballet. And even if it did fully heal, she wasn’t sure the director, Madame Cosper, would give her another chance. Marta wasn’t sure she could face another failure.

It was sad that shattering a tiny bone in her ankle ended her career in a few seconds. She still shuddered when she thought about how she slid across the icy porch and broke through the railing. Nothing happy about that New Year’s Eve in the mountains.

When Marta stepped into her old bedroom, she gasped. That was fast! Her mom had reorganized. A work table and a kitchen chair filled the space where her second twin bed once stood. A double-headed work light replaced her frilly table lamp. Neatly stacked fabrics sorted by color filled an open bookcase. So much for my bedroom.

Her small window facing the backyard framed a black square of night. Hopefully the daylight view of the garden would brighten everything, including her mood. The room would never be as bright or spacious as her room in Billings; there was no space here for a rocking chair and no view of the neighborhood street. She’d need time to readjust how she’d handle her quiet times.

Marta changed into an old seersucker nightgown she pulled from the dresser and stepped into the bathroom to prepare for bed. When she climbed between the sheets, their coolness relaxed her tired body. She curled up to massage her throbbing ankle and waited for sleep to erase all thoughts of her recent disappointments. Could she have stayed in Billings and lived there without dancing? Not likely.

~

The next morning when she woke, she felt the silence in the house. Her mom must be gone already. She stretched and padded to the kitchen. No mom. A note rested against the sugar bowl on the kitchen table.

Honey,

Sorry about last night. Got in about 4. Know you need your rest. Dress rehearsal until 8 tonight. See you after. I’m so glad you’re home.

XOX,

Mom

After a long bath followed by a cup of mint tea, Marta unpacked. She hung her clothes, then moved her mom’s sewing notions from one drawer to make room for her personal items.

The last item out of her suitcase was her cigar box filled with
pointe
shoe ribbons. She let her fingers slide through their satiny smoothness. She’d collected 84 ribbons, but the goal of attaining soloist status by that time had proven unrealistic. A featured role required at least another year of dancing, performing and competing, gathering another hundred worn out
pointe
shoe ribbons. And even more if Madame didn’t like you.

Marta allowed her disappointment to wash over her like a chilling ocean wave. So many performances waited to be danced, now by someone else. She closed the box, stood, and looked around the room. The top of the curio her dad made would be perfect. She stretched and shoved the box back from view.

What next? Open the letter from Steve. Marta retrieved the letter from the dining room table and slid the letter opener along the top edge of the envelope. She expelled a long breath as she lifted out a single sheet of ordinary notebook paper.

Dear Marta,

The moment you walked away from the ballet company building, I started missing you. I knew you’d leave me and Billings. I understand it’s what you need to do. Just know you haven’t seen the last of me, Miss Fluff!

Love ya!

Steve

A smile, a laugh, tears, and a sharp pain mingled inside her. Thank heavens she’d shared her true feelings before leaving Steve. Otherwise he’d have sent an entirely different letter--if he’d sent one at all.

Marta scanned the room, looking for something to distract her. Nothing. A tour of the backyard would refocus her. The overcast morning matched her muted mood. On close investigation, the grape arbor bore only leaves. Soon hundreds of clusters of tiny green nubs smaller than peppercorns would push out. It would be months before they’d turn pink, then rose, then grow larger and become Concord purple and be ready to pick and eat. Her mom tried to keep them trimmed, but they needed her dad’s long reach with the clippers. He’d trained the decades old branches to shade the back and one side of the garage on hot days. How he’d loved his grapes. Funny thing though, when he ate grapes, he always spit out the skins.

She cut a bouquet of late May blossoms and ivy for the kitchen table, then returned inside to put them in water. What did she want to do next: sew, sleep, bake, listen to music? What she wanted to do she couldn’t. Nothing alleviated her restlessness, so she surrendered and sank down into her dad’s overstuffed rocker.

~

As dusk changed to dark, she put a chicken and new potatoes in the oven to bake, assembled a green salad, and set the kitchen nook table for two. At nine she turned down the oven and returned to the living room to rock.

When the phone rang she expected to hear her mom’s voice on the other end.

“Marta! Are you OK? I’ve been frantic waiting for your call.”

“Steve? Hi. I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I got busy and…I’m sorry.”

“Thank heaven you got home safely.”

Marta shared her uneventful train trip, then asked about his college project.

“It’s going well,” he said. “But don’t change the subject. You know how much I miss you, don’t you?”

“Yes, because I miss you too.” She twisted the phone cord with her fingers as she smiled, picturing his anxious face staring at her.

“That’s good to know. Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, and the flowers. I loved both. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“You know, I think of you every hour of the day and night and wish you were here with me.”

“I love you and miss you too. I’ll be better about calling you from now on.”

“How about I call you Sunday evenings like I did from San Francisco? That’s when I know I’ll have free time. My weekdays are so crazy, if you call I might miss it, Miss Fluff.”

After they caught up on his week’s activities, Marta stayed seated in the dark kitchen, feeling warmth like a smile glide through her body. “Miss Fluff” had been their joke ever since Steve called ballet ”fluff news.” After his first night attending the ballet, he quickly changed his tune, but the fluff nickname continued, cementing their connectedness that blossomed into love.

~

Marta’s mom returned at ten, with Robert following close behind.

Marta raced into her mother’s outstretched arms and enjoyed the snugness of being held tight.

“Marta, honey. I’m so glad you’re home. I looked in on you when I returned, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She held her at arm’s length. “You look like you’ve lost weight. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, considering.”

She fingered Marta’s short, curly hair. “When did you cut your hair?”

“While I was still wearing the cast. One less thing to worry about.”

“Want to talk about your re-audition?”

Marta shrugged and wiped her eyes. “I danced as well as possible, considering. I didn’t tell them about the new injury. I decided mentioning it sounded like an excuse, and I wanted to act professional. I expected they’d give me the summer to regain my strength, but they said ‘sorry’ and I was expected to say ‘thank you’ and walk away.”

Marta watched Robert back into the kitchen as the conversation with her mom continued.

Her mom pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. “You’ll see. You’ll prove them wrong. You’ll get stronger and dance again, right?”

Marta nodded and stepped free of her mother’s arms and returned to the kitchen to reheat dinner. She reset the table for three, noticing that not only did Robert hang around, he automatically sat in her old place at the table.

As they ate, the conversation settled on Marta. “So, honey,” her mom said, “how was the trip? Better than last year when you were traveling on the bus to Billings?”

“Tons better. I enjoyed watching the world roll by my window. Mrs. B. made me a box dinner and snacks. Even though I told Lynne and Steve not to come to the depot, they showed up with a funny sign.” Tears puddled in her eyes. She stifled a sob.

Mom leaned forward and squeezed Marta’s hands. “I’m sure this is hard for you, but I’m glad you’re home. You’ve got all summer to regain your strength and recover.”

There it was again. Did her mother think she’d be prepared to dance by the end of summer? Didn’t she realize dancing in
pointe
shoes might never be possible again? Did her mom expect her to pack up and move on by fall? Marta stared at her mother until she realized Robert was speaking to her.

“I’m certain you’ll overcome that setback,” Robert said. “Elle’s been busy restoring your room when she’s not at the dance studio all day and night.”

Marta blinked as she struggled to focus on their conversation. She couldn’t shake the strong evidence of changes in her mom, mostly because of Robert’s presence in her family home. She sat taller and folded her hands to appear to be listening.

“Well, yes,” her mom said. “But you know how I get my sewing all over the place. Two clients needed Masonic gowns in a hurry last week. After the recital’s over I’ll get in and clean out more things.”