Epilogue
Teddy could see the sadness on Frankie’s face that today would be her last scheduled physical therapy session, something he never would have expected she’d pout over all those months ago when they met.
“You’ll still need to come back for checkups,” Finn said. “Or if anything’s ever bothering you. Seriously, any time, you can always—”
“You remember you are literally riding with us to the studio?” Teddy broke in. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t still see each other several times a week.
“I know.” She scowled at Teddy. “But that’s with the whole class.”
Meaning she was losing her one-on-one time with them, not that she minded being able to move almost as fluidly as she used to before the accident.
Frankie was Teddy’s star pupil in the mixed dance class he’d started in conjunction with the health center and the local—and admittedly tiny—ballet studio.
The class catered to anyone from preteen to adult but was specific to those with mobility issues.
Finn’s original idea, though seeing Don Quixote had inspired Teddy too, as well as learning about Erina’s ballerina friend with a prosthetic leg.
Mona was coming into town next week as a favor to guest teach before their midseason performance. Frankie was beside herself with excitement—not that she looked it now.
“If you get cast in my play during next week’s auditions, you won’t believe how sick of me you’ll get,” Teddy said, “but don’t expect any special treatment.”
“I won’t need special treatment.”
“Then stop being a baby.”
“Teddy!” Finn scolded.
“Otherwise,” Teddy continued leadingly, “how can we possibly let you have any of the cake we brought to celebrate you being rid of this place?”
“Cake?” Frankie’s mouth had opened in protest until she caught up to what he’d said. Now she looked around the room in suspicion, pout successfully smoothed. “Really?”
“And it says: Congrats on starting off on the right foot.”
“It does not.”
“I never joke about a good pun. It’s in the break room fridge right now, but you’re not getting any until you show me you can perform the routine without a single wobble. Deal?”
Teddy’s dance class consisted of six students, all from Finn’s calisthenics class, including Frankie with her prosthetic leg, a teenager with meromelia in both feet, Finn’s needy seventy-five-year-old patient recovering from back surgery, a young man in his twenties with spina bifida on two hand-crutches, a middle-aged gentleman with MS in a wheelchair, and a young vet who’d sustained a brain injury and had chronic trouble with her balance.
They were an odd mix, which forced Teddy to think outside the box not only for what was possible for each of them, but how they could dance together. He’d focused more on modern dance than ballet, a medley of vignettes for their upcoming performance combining suggestions from everyone in the class.
Frankie was the center point of the final section: an adaptation from Teddy’s favorite scene in The Nutcracker, per her request.
The battle of the Mouse King.
Frankie was meant to go into a spin at the end using her prosthetic, which was difficult to come out of without falling, so she needed to purposely let herself fall—right into the arms of the Mouse King himself, played by the boy with meromelia.
The feint was a ruse to catch the Mouse King off guard for the killing blow, which Frankie had said:
“Isn’t very heroic.”
“Heroes don’t have to be pushovers; they just have to remember three things: mercy, kindness, and forgiveness. Now quit wasting my time and try again.”
Teddy ordered Frankie around the same way today, him being the stand-in for the Mouse King.
Frankie squared herself for the opening moves, a natural dancer, artificial leg or not. Teddy understood why she loved it so much, because when she lost herself in the motion, she got that look that reminded him of why he loved teaching—when his students were manageable and respected his methods.
Seamlessly flowing between twists and turns, Frankie let her real leg do most of the anchoring, while spring-boarding off her prosthetic when it made sense.
The Mouse King in this part mirrored her like a reflection, backwards but in synch until she finally pushed off into a rapid twirl on the tips of her prosthetic toes, and as the spin ended, she needed to trust-fall for Teddy to catch her.
In previous rehearsals, she’d always hesitated and stumbled away on her good leg. Now she did the move with confidence, and Teddy dipped her low after catching her, before she pulled up and pushed away from him to spin away on both feet in a dramatic flourish.
“Good. Do that in class tonight and you can have all the cake you want. Otherwise, the leftovers belong to me and Finn.”
Frankie pouted again, but he could tell she knew when he was ribbing her in good faith. It was the only reason he pushed her so hard; because he knew she could handle it.
So far, the rest of the class could too.
“Better hurry before anyone finds that cake,” Finn said, leading them out of the workout room. Frankie all but sprinted ahead of him.
“Are we sharing with the whole class or digging in right now?” Teddy asked, leaning in the doorway once they reached the break room and Finn carefully revealed the cake under Frankie’s scrutiny.
It really did say: Congrats on starting off on the right foot.
“Guess I better do the heroic thing,” she said after getting a look at the magenta buttercream, “but I get the biggest piece, right?”
“For saving the world from the Mouse King?” Finn said. “Absolutely.”
They gathered their things—and the cake—and prepared to head to the studio.
“Bye, Betsy! Bye, Meagan!” Finn waved as they passed into the waiting room.
Betsy barely looked up from her computer, but Meagan came out from behind the counter.
“Have fun tonight. Oh, and Finn? Ronnie said to remind you about replacing your windshield wipers?”
“Oh shoot, that’s right. I was supposed to do that tonight. It’ll take five minutes—”
“We’ll have time,” Teddy interrupted.
They didn’t only have Frankie’s final appointment to celebrate, after all, but the anniversary of their first date (after the initial failed one and Finn’s drunken beach fiasco).
Four months and counting.
Finn was also part of Teddy’s class, mostly as his body-double for moves he could no longer demonstrate, and for his skills as a medical professional should anyone have trouble.
Up to now, while a few times one or more students had ended up on the floor, no one had suffered any lasting damage, only laughter.
Teddy didn’t need physical therapy that often himself anymore either, only once a week when added to his twice-a-week dance class. Teaching didn’t pay much, but that had never been what he was looking for when debating options for his retirement.
Money he had; now he wanted purpose, direction, fulfillment, and he’d found it in ways he honestly loved, maybe more than he’d ever loved the high-profile stress of ballet in the city.
“You are amazing with them, Teddy. With all of them,” Finn said after class, on their way to Firestorm Garage. “You amaze me. Every day.”
“You must be easily impressed,” Teddy droned.
Finn smacked him in the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Teddy said seriously. “Not only for the compliment, but for the suggestion in the first place. I got so used to expecting perfect, I forgot that sometimes the best things don’t have to be. I mean, you certainly aren’t.”
“Asshole.” Finn laughed.
“Never denied it.”
“No, you didn’t.” As he shifted into Park, still chuckling, Finn looked at Teddy across the car with the same seriousness while never losing his smile. “A year ago, I was the opposite, always settling, always afraid to push for more than I thought I deserved, afraid of losing what I had.
“Sometimes it’s okay to strive for perfect, to believe you’re worth perfect. We just have different ideas of what perfect means.” He reached over and took Teddy’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m not perfect, Finn.”
“You’re perfect for me by being enough for you.”
Teddy’s breath caught at the sentiment. His father had never followed that philosophy, but Finn took him as he was.
“There you go again with that undue wisdom,” Teddy said.
“Well, one of us has to have some.” Finn grinned cheekily, pulling away to escape the car rather than steal a kiss like Teddy expected. “Come on. We have a million things to do yet, and I’m looking forward to getting you home.”
Home. They defaulted to Teddy’s house most nights if one of them was staying over, which was happening more and more frequently lately. Nora could go anywhere, but Smudge was more confined to his space, so it made sense to end up at Teddy’s.
And since it had been the location of their first date, it was fitting tonight.
Heading into the garage was Teddy’s daily reminder that he was in the smallest town imaginable, since everywhere they went, he saw someone that he, Finn, or both knew.
Ronnie at the auto shop, who helped Finn replace his wipers for the rainy season and invited them over for dinner sometime soon on behalf of him and Meagan.
Blaise at the bakery when they stopped to pick up cupcakes for dessert—even though they’d gotten Frankie’s cake from there earlier.
“I didn’t think of it then,” Finn defended.
“We had cake.”
“A snack and dessert are two separate things.”
Finn was bad for Teddy’s self-control, not that he hadn’t known that from day one. He’d been good lately, though, getting into a solid routine that left him maybe five pounds heavier than his choreographer days, but he could live with that.
Naturally, Rose arrived at the bakery before they could leave.
“Happy coincidence running into you two.”
“You forget your husband’s motto,” Teddy said. “There are no coincidences. Though I think I’ll be taking my small miracles to go.” He held up the cupcake box but didn’t hide that he also meant Finn.
“And how are you two celebrating tonight?”
“The usual.”
“Dinner,” Finn supplied, “bad action movie—”