When the Music Stops (29 page)

Steve started to protest, then shrugged. A faint smile played in his eyes but didn’t reach his lips. “Okay. I get it. I’ve reappeared and thrown you off kilter. May I drive you home?”

“No. Mom left her car at the studio.”

Steve rose as Marta put on her jacket. She shook her head, warning him away. Picking up her purse, she turned for the door and left without a single backward glance.

She drove to Corbett without knowing how she got there. She parked the car in the driveway, walked into her little home, and looked around seeing only a blur through the tears that cascaded down her face. She heard sobs, as though from another person, not herself. It was hard to breathe. Holding herself tightly, she let the past and present flow over her like an icy stream. Seeing Steve stirred up so many emotions. Maybe he was still part of her future and not her fading first love. And why did she act so snarly? He’d kept in contact with her mom and he’d come all this way to see her. What was she afraid of?

The phone rang. She let it ring. Nothing felt important right now.

All night when she tried to close her eyes, a strange black and gray fog circled through her and a wild throbbing pulsed in her chest. Marta pushed aside her covers and paced her tiny house. Her muscles twitched as though she’d taken too many diet pills.

In the past, she’d coped with her confused feelings by taking pills and keeping herself busy. Tonight no activity distracted her. She almost wished she’d stashed a few diet pills to lean on since nothing else worked.

Hour after hour she struggled with a roiling tangle of thoughts. How did Steve figure out she was seeing someone? How did that make him feel when she confessed she was seeing Sam? How did Sam and Betty fit into her life? Was it love or concern she felt for them?

Tonight after seeing Steve, she realized she still missed him. He’d seen her through her happiest and saddest moments. When he looked into her eyes and smiled, her body melted. Maybe she still loved him.

At dawn Marta showered, put on clean clothes, opened her living room blinds, and froze in place. A man stood leaning against a blue car parked next to her mom’s car. It was Steve. He’d done the same thing when they’d first met and again when she’d lost her position with the ballet company. Was he for real or just playing with her?

She put on her blue sweater and walked out to the car. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He moved to stand free of the car and stared at Marta.

She frowned, but inside she realized his caring touched a special place. “Where did you stay last night?”

“Here. I thought….”

“I get it. You thought if I looked out and saw you, I might want to go for a ride or talk?”

A half smile played on his lips. “Something like that.”

“Steve, I don’t know if I can do this. You just popped back into my life. Do you expect me to go back to the way we were and resume our relationship?”

He opened his hands and shrugged. “Marta, I have absolutely no expectations. I took a chance, that’s all. I’ve tried to get over you, but I think about you every day. I wonder what Marta’s doing? Is she happy, is she getting healthy? Does she ever think about me? I’m ready to settle down, move my life forward, but you’re still in my head.” He took her hands. “You’re my favorite unresolved issue, so I keep coming back.”

Marta nodded and pulled her hands free to button her sweater. “I know. I guess I’m still stuck with you in my head, too. Come on. I’ll fix you something to eat and we can talk.”

Since Marta had no classes to teach, they spent the morning talking and walking along the shore in front of her house. That afternoon when he drove away, she collapsed, drained as though she’d danced for hours. She sat in her rocking chair, absorbing the steady rhythm of the motion. The next step still belonged to her.

Their conversation had zipped from one topic to the next, including her confirming that she’d stopped taking diet pills. When he spoke of job interviews and the difficulty of finding the position he desired, she realized that his life contained issues she’d not associated with someone graduating from college. That confused her more than thinking about their tattered relationship. She wanted the best for him and realized that she wanted their lives to interconnect as they moved forward.

A knock on her door woke her. The clock showed eight-thirty in the evening. When she opened the door, Sam looked at her with concern. “Hey. I tried to call yesterday. Are you okay?”

Marta nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve needed time to think, so I haven’t answered the phone. Come on in.”

He stepped inside and reached for her hands. “I drove by yesterday, but I didn’t stop because I saw you had company.” Sam paused. “Marta, are you sure you’re okay?”

“No.” She walked to the window and fiddled with the blinds, opening and closing the slats. “My life is crazy busy. I need some alone time right now. Call me after the recital is over. I promise I’ll be more focused by then.”

“Sure.” Sam looked puzzled as he hugged Marta and headed out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Before the hour ended, Marta found herself parking her mom’s car and walking in the back gate of her family home. She knocked on the kitchen door and called, “Mom?”

Her mom came to the door drying her hands. “Hi, honey. I…are you okay? What’s happened?”

Marta let herself be hugged. After a long moment, she pulled back to look into her mother’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking with Steve?”

“He asked me not to. I didn’t know if you even wanted to know he was calling, so I kept quiet. I’m sorry if you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I feel like my life is flying out of control again. First I had nothing; no one who cared about me, but you. Then I met Steve and my loneliness ended. After my career fell apart and I came home, I was alone again, except for you and my confusing conversations with Steve.

Then I met Sam. I thought I’d put my life back together and making everything jell again, but now I have two people I could love. Why is life so complicated?”

“Did you and Steve have a chance to talk?”

“We did. I apologized for being a jerk and not staying in contact. I told him about the dance studio problems, and…I told him about Sam and Betty.”

“How did that go?”

“He was hurt. For now we’re letting our lives settle down. After the recital and dance studio business, we’ll sort things out.” Marta inhaled deeply. “As much as I try to move on or forget about him, Steve holds a large portion of my heart. I owe it to him to figure out my next steps.”

16

M
arta left her mom's house and walked to the dance studio. She inhaled the fragrances of May flowers as she walked the familiar route. Not much traffic this time of evening. All the homes looked snug with their curtains closed against the darkness. Tonight she’d take a step closer to making a decision about what place dancing held in her life.

She turned on the upstairs practice room lights, pulled out several classical ballet records, and cranked up the volume. She played
Swan Lake
, followed by
Sleeping Beauty
, the
Nutcracke
r, and
Coppélia,
filling the entire space with memories of performances and visions of dances yet to be learned. Her soft ballet slippers slid smoothly across the floor as she danced, then walked each piece of the choreography.

When exhaustion overpowered her, she collapsed on the floor allowing her performance images to float across her mind like a motion picture. What should she do about her dancing career, the situation with the dance studio, and her feelings for two different men who said they cared about her? Why did life give her so many options when all she wanted was simple day-to-day satisfaction? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

When the chill of the linoleum soaked into her body, she got up, went to the lost and found, and pulled out a pair of
pointe
shoes that looked her size. She rummaged through the drawer of Bandaids and wads of lamb’s wool and found a pair of bunnykins. Such a comfortable change from wadded up lamb’s wool. The furry insides of the rabbit fur covers protected her toes from the rough interior of the
pointe
shoes. That meant tighter fitting shoes, but delayed her getting blisters, which she appreciated.

As she tied the ribbons, the familiar crowding of her toes in the box of the shoes sent mild pain up her legs. She stood, shook out her arms and legs, and walked around to settle her feet into the shoes. How long had it been? Close to a year since she’d worn
pointe
shoes. Oh, how her feet ached just walking in them, but now was not the time to chicken out. She turned on the record player and slid the needle into the correct groove and waited for the familiar strains of
corps de ballet
dances to begin.

She ignored the electric flashes of pain and rose
en pointe
as she played one melody after another
.
On and on she danced, embracing every move as if she danced in a ballet company performance. She circled with tiny, pecking
bourres
, her feet fluttering up and down fast as a hummingbird’s wings. She faced the mirror and inhaled, then performed
changements
, feeling the rise and drop of her center of balance as she jumped, allowing her feet to move from fifth to second to fifth position, again and again.
Pas
de bourres
carried her to one corner of the room where she completed her challenge by performing
chaine
turns
en pointe
diagonally across the room until she bumped into the counter where the record player was plugged in.

Marta bent over with her hands resting on her knees, panting, drawing in deep breaths. “That didn’t go well.”

She walked in circles then sat on the floor and removed the pointe shoes, brushing past newly-forming blisters. Her left ankle began to swell. Pain surged through her body as her career slipped away as if she’d never danced professionally. Time to move on.

She lay on the floor until the gray of dawn yielded to morning light. In four hours her Monday exercise class began. After she returned the
pointe
shoes to the lost and found, she wrapped her ankles in ice-filled socks, curled up on the small couch in the little upstairs apartment, and slept without dreaming.

For the entire day she moved through her classes on auto-pilot, then sat down to finish recital details with her mom. Neither mentioned last night until they’d crossed off the last chore and prepared to leave for the day.

“How are you feeling, hon’?”

“Tired, lost, confused; ready for the recital to be over. I never realized how much work this entails.”

“It’s worth every minute when I see the happiness it brings to everyone. I hope we can keep the studio running. Have you decided what you’ll do?”

Marta swiveled her head, releasing the knots that gathered in her neck. She looked down at her hands, which she grasped tightly together in her lap. She exhaled slowly before she spoke. “Last night I came here and danced e
n
pointe
. Even though I’ve practiced and danced most every day, I’ve lost so much strength and flexibility that my dream to dance is no longer an option. It’s time to walk away and not look back or regret any part of what’s happened.

“What will you do ?” her mother said.

“I love working with the students. The studio gives me the opportunity to remain creative, so my years of lessons still have value. But right now, I feel I’m unraveling.”

Her mom reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I know how hard you’ve worked on recovering. You gave it all you had. You’re a wonderful dancer, but you’re also a great teacher. I’m impressed with what you pull out of the dancers. I swear I can see them improve by the minute. That’s an amazing gift, Marta. When you teach you’re sharing your passion.”

“Teaching and helping dancers is better than most anything I could imagine doing with my life, now that performing is out of the question.” Marta stood abruptly and smiled as she pulled her mom to her feet. “Let’s see if we can stop the anonymous purchaser. With Mr. Gleason’s support and Lindsay wanting the studio to continue, what could possibly stop us?”

“That’s what I needed to hear. I’ll call tomorrow and schedule a follow-up meeting. You understand it might mean selling the house?”

“I do,” Marta said. “Once you and Robert are married, you’re moving to his home anyway, and I’m comfy on Corbett Drive.”

“You don’t mind? Because if you do, we can look for another way to gather enough money to buy the studio. Robert offered to help us, but he recently refinanced his home. He’s whittling away at his payments, so adding on the studio loan is out of the question for now. He’s offered to sell his car, but that won’t help. Plus, starting our lives together will be a big enough challenge on its own.”