Chapter 2
Fayetteville, Arkansas
The dance studio smells like hairspray and floor polish. I love it. Mirrors line the walls, the wood floor squeaks under our shoes, and the bass thumps softly from another classroom. I burst through the door, hair in a tight ponytail, my glitter backpack bouncing behind me.
“Sorry we’re late!” Mama calls, handing my dance bag to Miss Allie.
Miss Allie is the coolest. The kind of dancer you could only dream of becoming. Long brown hair that fades into a violet ombré, edgy outfits—joggers, cropped tanks, and Nikes that squeak when she hits her turns just right. Mama says she’s like fire and poetry. I just think she’s magic.
“She’s right on time,” Miss Allie says with a wink.
I plop onto the bench to change shoes, already chatting with the older girls about school, dance, and Mr. Piggles. We laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
When the music starts, everything else falls away.
My body moves like it remembers something older, like rhythm had lived in my bones before I ever learned to walk. I don’t just dance. I tell stories. I cast spells. I become light and fire and feeling. Every flick of my wrist, every breath, every turn is a part of something bigger.
Through the observation window I catch a glimpse of Mama. One hand on her chest, the other curled in her lap. Her eyes are glassy but she smiles.
???
Dinner is pizza tonight. Two boxes on the counter, still warm when Daddy opens them. Mama didn’t have the energy to cook tonight, and nobody asked her to. We don’t care. Pizza and paper plates on the couch is sometimes even better.
She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in her favorite quilt, half-eaten slice on her plate. She smiles as I recite the routine move by move, but her eyes aren’t shiny anymore. They look like the Christmas lights at the square after you unplug them, still there, but dark.
I notice that. I always notice.
After bedtime, with Mr. Piggles tucked under my arm, I hear them outside on the back patio.
“You didn’t eat much,” Daddy says softly.
“I wasn’t hungry,” Mama whispers.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
“Something’s not right, Henry. The fatigue. The chest pain. I feel like I’m slipping. Like I’m here, but barely. Like I’m screaming underwater, but no one can hear me.”
Daddy’s voice shakes. “You’re just tired. That’s all.”
“What if I’m not here when she needs me? What if he finds her and I’m not strong enough to stop it? What if I’ve already failed her?”
“I don’t care what it takes,” Daddy says, voice low and lethal. “Hospitals, specialists, even goddamn voodoo. I’ll chase every miracle this world has to offer. I’ll knock on the devil’s door if I must and make his ass listen.”
His voice cracks. “And him? That bastard doesn’t get near her. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care if I have to burn every system to the ground. You and Bella are my whole life, Elise. My breath. My purpose. If the universe wants a fight—”
He leans closer.
“I’ll give it one it’ll never fucking forget.”
“Henry,” Mama whispers. “Watch your mouth.”
He exhales. “Sorry, baby.”