But he dropped his hand from hers. She went into a spin but it fell behind the count; a triple step died beneath her; what may have been her next idea turned to blowing sand; she sank to the earth, heels and toes on the floor.
He looked at the fire, the cake on the coffee table, even at the ceiling, but not at her. “Anyway,” he said, “that’s how we did it.”
Her heart was falling out of orbit. She forced a smile, a little laugh. “That was great. I’ve never had so much fun.” She even squeezed his arm, her cheek touching his biceps.
But he wasn’t there.
“Guess it’s time we tackled those dishes,” he said.
chapter
29
She kissed him on the cheek as she went out the door, stepping carefully on the icy walkway to her Bug. She wore her hooded parka over her dress, her winter boots over her pantyhose. It made a great picture, sort of like Big Bird in black, just goofy enough to end the evening on the right note. They had a great time.
Dane carried his notebook computer into the living room. The lights were still low, the fire was down to glowing embers, the tree was the same cheerful clarion of joy. He sank into the couch, flipped the computer open, and waited for words to come.
Tremendous Christmas, spent in the company of …
His fingers hung over the keys, drummed in space, then went to the delete key and held it down. He folded his arms, stared at the tree, watched the glowing embers in the fireplace, and finally tapped:
I suppose I should have found a church by now and some friends closer to my own age.
Better talk to Arnie, get him up here, let him see the show, and get her working.
Maybe on a cruise line far, far away.
He closed the computer and went to bed.
He couldn’t sleep.
She would have kissed him. She really would have. If he’d turned his head just a little bit she would have gone for it, honest to God.
Ohhh, and that would have been so terrible. That would have ruined everything. He would have banned her from the ranch and never let her anywhere near him ever again.
She rolled over, fluffed her pillow for the umpteenth time, and buried half her face in it, not sleeping, not sleeping.
What time was it? Almost midnight.
She would think about tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. What were they doing tomorrow? Blocking out the second half of the show. They had almost an hour’s worth, the best of the Wallace show, the McCaffee’s show, and anything else that plays big. Those doves were really getting the hang of it. She’d have to warm them up in the morning, refresh them on release and return. She’d have to make sure they had enough greens …
Ohhh, the way he looked at her. Did she really see what she thought she saw—
No, no way, that was ridiculous. It was all in her head. He was an old man, a Daddy. Sixty. The big Six Zero.
She would think about curtains. Right. Curtains for the stage. Well, it was best not to need them, to find other transitions. She never knew where she’d have to perform.
But wow. His wife’s name was Mandy! Now, what kind of God thing was that?
“Mandy—I mean, Eloise, it’s nothing!”
But that had to be cool being his wife, dancing with him in every show, going home with him every night. Kissing him … being in his arms …
A thrill coursed through her and made her wriggle.
Oh, Lord, I’m terrible, I’m terrible!
She smelled something burning.
And I think it’s love …
Oh, cut it out!
Something wasburning.
She sat up and sniffed. The room was dark but didn’t seem smoky. She saw no haze in the amber streetlight coming through the windows.
But the windows were wavering like heat waves, shifting sideways.
Oh!She felt something that startled her, then made her wriggle again. Her right hand was resting in his hand—not here, not now, but somewhere and soon. She could feel the warmth of his palm, his embrace upon the small of her back. Another thrill coursed through her, feelings like colors, a trembling, and she reached as she sat in the bed, knowing she’d find his shoulder. She closed her eyes …
And saw herself, far away, circling, floating through the dimensions, the layers, the walls, windows, lights and sounds of several worlds passing by each other right in her apartment. She was gliding and turning like a princess, every sequin of a beautiful blue gown flinging jewels of light about the room.
Sitting on the bed, she could feel the floor under her, the air moving through her hair, the flight of her soul as music bore her aloft. She lifted the sheets aside …
Her feet alighted on the apartment floor and she danced through the dream, touching notes and rests with heel, with toe. She opened her eyes. All around her, the apartment was a carousel of colors, sounds, times, and places.
And she was the dancer wearing the gown, the center of a galaxy, dancing through dimensions, floating above worlds, embraced by strength, safety, and …
She was wandering carefree, lost in wonder, heart flooding with …
A song played inside her, a song that had waited for this time, this now, a song of …
Everywhere rushed inward, becoming here and now within her, drawn from afar by …
She knew herself, knit into one by …
The floor pressed evenly, steadily against her feet. She came to rest while multirealities swirled around her, and let herself think the word.
Love.
At home within her, gathered from her scattered worlds and now her very own, so new and still so known. She closed her eyes to seal it in, folded her arms about herself to hold it close like warmth inside a blanket.
This was God’s gentle, loving doing, speaking to her through the mystery, showing her a glimpse of a faraway light she had long and secretly hoped for …
There was a man in her bed.
She jolted with a yelp, which made him jolt and then start to curse, “Holy …” He clamped his fingers over his mouth, dumbstruck, staring, looking her up and down.
She covered herself with her arms, though she was modestly dressed—in thrift store pj’s.
He was young, probably in his thirties, not too bad-looking with curly black hair, a Tom Hanks kind of face. Now she could see that he wasn’t in her bed, but in a metal-framed single bed against a strange wall in a room she’d never seen before. She’d seen those blankets and sheets before—in the hospital.
“Who … don’t be afraid,” he said as if addressing a timid spirit.
Well now, just who was the ghost here? She could see him, but she could also see her own bed in her own room in the same place, all mixed together like a double image, and he was looking a little transparent himself. She didn’t move, afraid the whole jackstraw pile of dimensions would blow and flutter away, including this man, before she found out who he was.
“Can you see me?” the man asked, propping himself on his elbow.
She nodded.
“My God,” he said. “Oh, my God!” He sat up slowly, as if trying not to frighten her. “Who are you?”
Around her, worlds still moved, crisscrossed, swirled. Even her visitor, his bed, and as much of his room as she could see, were rippling, fading, reappearing.
The only thing not moving was she—and she felt that way, inside and out. She knew the answer to his question, the only answer, and she spoke it clearly for anyone in any world to hear her. “I am Mandy Eloise Whitacre.”
That seemed to horrify him even more. He couldn’t even manage another “Oh, my God!” He was about to say something …
His image got wavy, began to fade behind a tea-stained shadow. “No, wait!” he said, hand extended. “Wait! Don’t go away. I won’t hurt you!”
He was gone.
She was staring at her own bed, standing nowhere else but in her little apartment. The alarm clock said half past midnight. She looked down. Thrift store pj’s, bare feet, plain wooden floor in the amber streetlight coming through the windows.