“Why not kill me, then?” A shiver tickled down my spine as I said it.
“It was a stupid idea,” Maurice said, collecting the mugs and taking them to the sink. “I’d be happy to sleep here for a couple of nights, despite the smell”-he forced air noisily out of his large nose-“if you would feel more comfortable.”
I was touched. “Thanks, Maurice,” I said, rising to hug him. “If I get nervous, I can go to Danielle’s or my mom’s. But I appreciate the offer.”
“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow,” he said, “and we can talk about where we’re going to hold classes in the interim. The YMCA may have space we can use, and one of my ladies mentioned that her church would be happy to let us use their basement.”
“You’re approaching this a lot more intelligently than I am,” I told him ruefully. “I don’t suppose you’d like to buy Rafe’s share and be my new partner?”
“Alas, dear Anastasia,” he said, “but no. I’m past the age of wanting the responsibilities that come with owning a business. Dancing and teaching-yes. Billing and recruiting students and worrying about insurance and taxes and payrolls-definitely no.”
“It was just a thought.”
I closed the door behind him.
The doorbell dinged at a ridiculously early hour the next morning-six thirty, I saw when I cracked an eye open. I pulled the sheets up over my head, ostrichlike, hoping whoever it was would go away. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! With a sigh, I flung my legs over the side of the bed, thrust my arms into the sleeves of my ratty green terrycloth robe, and shambled toward the door. Peering through the peephole, I was surprised to see Taryn Hall and Sawyer Iverson standing there.
I pulled open the door. “Is anything wrong?” I asked. The fresh breath of morning wafted in.
“We came to say good-bye,” Taryn said, and Sawyer nodded. “You’ve been so kind to us… well, we didn’t want to disappear and not have you know what’s going on.”
“Come in.”
They crossed the threshold and Sawyer looked around curiously.
“Coffee?” I offered. “It will only take me a moment to make some.”
“No, thanks,” Taryn said, patting her abdomen. “I’m off caffeine.”
Remind me never to get pregnant if you have to give up coffee.
“Do you have a soda maybe?” Sawyer asked. “Mountain Dew?”
“Didn’t you have some in the fridge upstairs?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “Let’s go up and get some.”
I led the way up the staircase to the locked door leading to the studio. Undoing the dead bolt, I pushed it open. The smell of charred wood overlaid with cleaning solvents and sawdust smacked us.
“Shit!” Sawyer blurted. “Uh, sorry, Miss Stacy. What’s that smell?”
“You didn’t hear?” I told them about the fire. “The only thing damaged was the ballroom floor, so it’s perfectly safe to be up here.” I ducked into the bathroom and opened the fridge. It seemed less crowded than usual and I stared into it for a moment, the cool air chilling my bare feet, and realized all Vitaly’s grapefruit juice was gone. Huh. I tried to remember if he’d taken them with him when he got sick. I didn’t think so. I sighed. It must be time to post a little reminder about the honor system. Pulling out the lone Mountain Dew, I crossed the hall to where Taryn and Sawyer hovered on the ballroom’s threshold, looking at the floor stripped mostly bare by the refinisher. It looked naked, defenseless without its shiny coats of polyurethane, and I hugged my robe more tightly around myself.
“Geez,” Taryn said.
“You’re lucky you didn’t burn up in your sleep, Miss Stacy,” Sawyer said, pulling at the hoop in his ear.
“Sawyer!” Taryn punched his shoulder.
“What? All I said was-”
“Let’s go back down,” I said, interrupting the squabble and handing Sawyer his soda.
The teens sat side by side at the kitchen table, perched on the edges of their chairs, obviously ready to go. I busied myself dumping Kona coffee into the machine and adding water. When the strong scent began to filter through the room, I joined them and said, “So, what’s this about good-bye?”
“I’m taking Taryn down to South Carolina today,” Sawyer explained. “She’s going to live with the people who are adopting the baby until it’s born.”
“What’s your dad think of that?” I asked Taryn.
She shook her head and I wasn’t sure if she meant he didn’t know or he wasn’t in favor of the plan.
“He kicked her out,” Sawyer said, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“I think he was really hurt that I thought he might have killed Rafe,” Taryn said in a small voice. “When we got home from the competition, he marched me down to the Holborns’ house-they live down the block-and Mr. Holborn told me they were playing poker the night Rafe got killed, until past midnight. Daddy told me I was disloyal, and a liar. He called me an ‘ungrateful whore’ and… and-” She began to weep quietly and Sawyer stroked her hair.
I sighed inwardly, not knowing what to say. I looked at Sawyer. “And you?”
“I’ll come back and finish high school. I graduate in June, you know. Then I’ll get a summer job in Sumter-my folks are okay with that-and then we’ll see.”
“I need to finish high school; I’m hoping I can earn my GED over the summer,” Taryn said. “And then we both want to go to college, but I won’t have any money, so I may have to work awhile first.” The resolute look on her face made me think she’d carry through.
“We’re going to look into all the financial aid options,” Sawyer put in. “And my folks say they might be able to help Taryn some. They really like her and they’re pissed about the way her dad’s treated her.”
“Marriage?”
They both shook their heads. “Not now,” Taryn said, reaching up to squeeze Sawyer’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “We’re too young. Maybe later.” She gave the youth a shy smile.
“Well, if you end up back in this area, you could always come teach at Graysin Motion,” I said.
“Really?” Taryn’s eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Miss Stacy.”
Sawyer rose and helped Taryn to her feet. A lump formed in my throat at the sight of his tenderness with her.
I walked them to the door. “Good luck.” I hugged Taryn tightly. Sawyer, looking teenage-boy awkward, leaned down to give me a hug. I waved from the portico as they climbed into Sawyer’s Honda and drove away. Somehow feeling both sad and inspired, I headed back into the house to get dressed, giving a cheery wave to a neighbor heading off to cubicle hell.
After showering, dressing, and breakfasting, I marched upstairs, determined to get some work done in my office. I had students to contact, arrangements to make for temporary lesson locations, calls to make related to Blackpool, and a host of other tasks I’d ditched yesterday for the abortive trip to West Virginia. Throwing open the windows in my office, I hesitated only briefly before crossing the sanded floor of the ballroom to open all the windows in there, too. At one window, the sheers were nothing but burned strips of fabric and I pulled them down easily, leaving them in an ashy pile on the floor. The familiar scents of Old Town-car exhaust, the Potomac, and the sweet fragrance of blooming fruit trees-began to chase away the odors of fire and restoration.
A clanging noise behind me made me whirl, but it was only the cleaning team clanking their metal buckets up the stairs. “You need to see about the lock,” the white-overalled supervisor said after we exchanged good mornings. “It doesn’t latch properly.”
“That’s because the fire department had to bust the door in,” I said. “I’ll call a locksmith today. Thanks.”