Chapter 19
Diane inspected the contents of the small refrigerator in the annex she now called home. Wrinkled her nose.
In general, turkey sandwiches were fine for dinner. As were salads and Myrtle takeouts.
But this was Sunday—and back in happier days, she and Martin and Lucas used to sit down together for the bountiful dinners she prepared after church, their table ringing with laughter and conversation and catch-up.
Eating yet another silent, solo Sunday meal held zero appeal.
With a sigh, she closed the refrigerator door.
As she turned away, her phone pinged.
Could the incoming text be from Lucas? Maybe an update on the situation with Martin? Neither message he’d sent this week had indicated whether he’d decided to respond to his father’s outreach.
Hopefully he would. If nothing more than renewed communication between father and son resulted from her dramatic exit, her departure would be worth it.
But when she crossed to the table, picked up her phone, and tapped the text icon, the message wasn’t from Lucas.
It was from Lauren.
Not as good as a ping from her son, but Devyn’s sister was nice, and the two of them had clicked. A text exchange with her would help break up the monotony of this long afternoon before she had to go to rehearsal.
She skimmed the message
Hi, Diane. Sorry to bother you on Sunday. I’ve been reviewing the pix you snapped of items at the resale store you think might work for the show. Are you available for a quick phone call?
Perfect.
A conversation would be even better than a text exchange.
Yes.
When the phone rang fifteen seconds later, she answered at once. “Hi, Lauren.”
After returning her greeting, the other woman got straight to business. “I apologize for interrupting your Sunday, but I’m working on costumes and I had a few questions.”
“No worries. I’m free until rehearsal. What would you like to know?”
“I’m thrilled you found so much usable clothing, but it’s hard to judge sizes from a photo. And it’s difficult to picture the whole item just by looking at the front. Since you’ve seen these pieces in person, could I ask a few questions about each one?”
Diane’s brain began to click.
Spending a couple of hours with Lauren would be nice. Devyn’s sister was easy to talk to, and while their marriages had unraveled for different reasons, their situations gave them common ground.
And she could use a friend.
What could it hurt to broach the idea that had popped into her mind?
“I’ll be happy to answer your questions, but it might help you to see the clothes. If you have about two hours—and enough energy—I could drive us up to Coos Bay and show you what I’ve found.”
A beat ticked by. “I hate to monopolize your Sunday afternoon.”
“To be honest, I’d welcome some company if you’re interested in a short road trip.”
“In that case, I’d love to go. Devyn had a production meeting for the show this afternoon, so I’m here by myself. A drive up to Coos Bay would be not only productive but a pleasant change of pace.”
“Could you be ready in twenty minutes?”
“I could be ready in ten.”
“Let’s plan on fifteen.”
Fourteen minutes later, when she pulled up in front of Lauren’s house, the other woman was waiting on the porch.
Diane leaned over and pushed the passenger door open as Lauren approached.
“You’re punctual.” Devyn’s sister slid into the car, rested her cane against the seat, and buckled up.
“One of the few valuable lessons I learned from my mother.”
As the words spilled out, Diane frowned.
Family history wasn’t a subject she discussed with anyone, let alone a person she was barely acquainted with.
“Sounds like we have more in common than marriage problems.”
At Lauren’s grim reply, Diane gave her a quick appraisal. “Your mom wasn’t the best role model, either?”
She snorted. “Not even close. Before she and Devyn left for ballet school in San Francisco, she was too busy plotting her escape to pay much attention to me. I was just a kid, but I learned early on that Mom was all about Mom, and Devyn was her ticket to a different life. What’s the story with your mom? ”
Diane put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.
As long as Lauren was being open, what would be the harm in responding in kind?
The past was history, anyway. “She didn’t leave, but she was always subservient to my dad, who ran the house with an iron fist and thought a woman’s main job should be cooking, cleaning, and having babies. ”
“Ouch.” Lauren winced. “That had to be a tough environment to grow up in. At least I had a wonderful dad.”
“I wish I had. Tell me about yours.”
Lauren was happy to comply during the drive north, and when they reached the resale shop thirty-five minutes later, the conversation was flowing as if they’d been friends for years.
It was the most enjoyable exchange she’d had in ages.
And it remained so as they sorted through potential costumes for the next hour.
When they wrapped up, Diane waved a hand over their stash. “Mission accomplished. We found a lot of things that will work, including a wedding dress.”
“Yes. It was a good trip—on a number of levels.” Lauren fiddled with her cane. “May I be honest?”
Uh-oh.
A question like that usually didn’t lead anywhere positive.
“Sure.” Diane dredged up a smile.
“When I realized you were on the costume committee, I was nervous. I thought you’d be a snob. And I didn’t think we’d have anything in common. I mean, the closest I’ve ever gotten to purses like yours is looking at them in celebrity photos.” She motioned toward the leather Dolce & Gabbana bag.
Diane made a face. “That’s as close as I ever wanted to get to one too.
” She pulled out her keys and tucked the purse under her arm.
“Martin gave me this for Christmas about five years ago, but to tell you the truth, I think spending a fortune on a purse is obscene. Likewise on designer clothes.” She took a deep breath.
Released it. “I’m not a snob, but I suppose it may take a while for me to prove that to everyone in town. ”
“You’ve already proven it to me.” Lauren touched her arm, then picked up her own purse. “I guess we’re finished here.”
Yes, they were. But the outing had been fun.
Maybe they could extend it a bit.
She led the way out of the back room, flipping off the light as they exited. “Are you getting tired?”
“Not as much as I expected, which surprises me. My stamina seems to be increasing.”
“That’s great news.” She fiddled with her key fob as they walked toward the car. “You and Devyn probably have plans for dinner, but if by chance you don’t, would you like to stop at Frank’s and get a pizza?”
Lauren’s eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful. I haven’t had one of his pizzas in months.
And Devyn and I were only going to have leftovers.
She can carry on without me. I’ll text her and let her know about the change in plans.
” She stopped, pulled out her phone, and put her thumbs to work. “Done.”
Two hours later, after they shared a pizza and more personal information, Diane dropped Lauren off at her house, feeling more upbeat than she had in a long while.
While the situation on the home front remained uncertain, Lucas was coming around, she had a new friend, and she was getting involved in the community.
Not bad for barely two weeks into her new life.
And if the positive trend continued, maybe Martin would have a change of heart and they could find their way back to the earlier, happier days of their marriage when the mill didn’t dominate their lives.
A long shot, perhaps—but miracles did happen, as Lucas’s turnaround after his troubled teenage years proved.
Besides, if you lived in a town named Hope Harbor, how could you not wish for a happy ending?
Aaron had come to rehearsal.
Heart quick-stepping, Devyn paused to scan the Grace Christian fellowship hall as she entered Tuesday evening, dance bag on her shoulder, hair pulled into a ballerina bun.
Ben and Isabel were seated in the group clustered around the piano, listening while Shaun wrapped up the vocal portion of the rehearsal.
Aaron was off to the side, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, intent on his laptop screen.
Had he come to give Isabel moral support—or was it possible he’d wanted to see a certain choreographer dance?
The latter prospect seemed likely, since he hadn’t come to the Sunday evening rehearsal.
And that sent a flutter through her nerve endings.
Which was crazy.
She’d danced in front of thousands of people during her career—discerning ballet aficionados, government officials, celebrities of all stripes, including Hollywood stars. Those were adrenaline-laced performances . . . but that adrenaline was fueled by anticipation, not nerves.
Tonight, she was nervous.
As if sensing her scrutiny, Aaron glanced over. Lifted a hand in greeting.
She waved back, then continued toward the front of the room to put on her ballet shoes and give herself a stern talking-to.
Everything would be fine. There was no reason to be jittery.
She’d danced the two short pieces she’d planned for later tonight countless times in rehearsal and performance.
Her execution might not be flawless after three weeks without any serious dancing, but it was doubtful her small audience tonight would be too critical.
So for the next hour, she’d focus on teaching the Oklahoma chorus members the simple choreography she’d put together for them and worry about her mini performance afterward.
An excellent plan . . . if it had worked.
Trouble was, she found her gaze wandering on a regular basis to a certain lumberman, who was giving the dance rehearsal far more attention than he’d given the singing rehearsal.
Disconcerting, to say the least.
When at last the practice session ended and the cast members wandered out, she returned to her dance bag and pulled out her pointe shoes.
While Ben joined Aaron, Isabel trotted over, excitement dancing in her eyes. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did. I never break a promise.”
“Your shoes are pretty.” Isabel reached out a tentative finger and stroked the pink satin. “Why is the tip flat?”
“To help me balance on my toes.”
“Does it hurt to do that?” She touched the hard platform area.
“No. My toes are used to it by now. But when I dance for longer periods, like in class or performing, I wrap them.”
“With what?”
“Believe it or not, paper towels—but I won’t do that tonight, because I’ll only be on my toes for a few minutes.” She slipped the shoes on and pulled a chiffon rehearsal skirt from her bag.
“Ooh . . . that’s pretty.” Isabel touched the filmy pink fabric.
“Well, if I’m going to perform, I have to dress the part, don’t I?
” Why she’d thrown the skirt in her bag during her frenzied packing was beyond her.
Habit, perhaps. But it would come in handy tonight.
Along with the leotard and tights she’d worn to rehearsal this evening under her T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Do you have a tutu too?”
“Not with me. That wouldn’t have fit in my suitcase.
Besides, they’re all owned by my ballet company.
I can’t take them home.” She rose, turned her back on the two men, stepped into the skirt, and tugged it up.
Only then did she shimmy out of her sweatpants.
After setting them on the chair beside her, she pulled her T-shirt over her head and retook her seat.
Isabel sat beside her, watching as she tied the ribbons on her shoes.
Once she was ready, she stood again. “After I do a few warm-ups, I have two short dances planned for you. Sound good?”
“Yes.” The girl sat back in her seat to watch.
As Devyn crossed to the center of the room, she called out to Aaron and Ben. “Give me a few minutes to warm up, then we’ll get this show on the road.”
Ben smiled and settled back. “No rush on our end.”
She ran through an abbreviated warm-up—leg swings, lunge stretches, hip rolls, butterfly stretches, neck turns, shoulder rolls, splits—then moved on to a few relevés, pirouettes, jetés, chassés, and grand battements.
As she went through her routine, the tension flowed out of her.
This was her element. The familiar world where she’d spent her youth and adulthood. Where she was in control.
By the time she finished the warm-up, her unusual case of nerves had vanished.
It was time to dance.
When she started back to her chair to get the music prepped, applause broke out.
“That was beautiful, Devyn.” Ben grinned at her as all three Steeles clapped. “Graceful as a swan gliding across a lake. I’ve never been to a ballet in my life, but watching you makes me want to buy a ticket.”
She smiled at him. “You’re easy to please. That was only a warm-up.”
“But it was a terrific preview of what’s to come. Don’t you think so, Aaron?” He elbowed his grandson.
Devyn peeked at Isabel’s father as she continued toward the chair.
“Yes.” He glanced at the older man, his expression inscrutable. “I’m sure the dancing will be even more impressive.”
“Me too!” Isabel chimed in from her seat a few yards away.
Devyn pulled out her phone and scrolled through to the recordings she’d made for the two pieces that were a standard part of her repertoire since she’d become a principal dancer.
“Tonight I’m going to do the ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ from The Nutcracker and the title role Act 1 variation from Giselle.
I’ll do them back-to-back, with just a few seconds in between. Are you ready?” She surveyed the group.
“Let ’er rip.” Ben swept a hand toward the center of the room.
She handed her phone to Isabel. “When I nod at you, will you press the button to start the music?”
“Yes.”
Centering her mind on the dances ahead, she called up her performance persona and walked to the middle of the room as if it were the stage at Lincoln Center. Took her position. Dipped her head.
Once the music began, the magic would happen, as it always did. She’d become the character she was portraying, her movements joined to the melody, and the world around her would cease to exist.
As for the three people in her audience tonight?
She’d do her best to carry them along with her—but while she danced, it would be all about control and mastery and technique and oneness with the music.
Only after she finished would she focus on them again.
And hope her impromptu performance had given them something to remember.