Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“She’s here!” shouted Zoey’s high voice. She was all kitted out in spangly leggings and an oversized Taylor Swift T-shirt.
Martha came out the kitchen with a tray of juice boxes. “Where have you been?” she said exasperatedly as soon as she saw Willow.
Willow slammed the door of the truck and went over to where they all stood. Her mom clearly didn’t know where her dad had found her.
“I’ve brought all my friends, Aunty Willow! Look this is Mindy…” Zoey was pulling at Willow’s hand to introduce her to her friends, which she listed one by one.
It was only minutes later that Emmett pulled into the drive next to where Willow had parked.
She couldn’t help but turn and look, all her muscles rigid, her eyes warily defensive.
But Emmett didn’t so much as glance her way.
Instead, he paused for a second or two at the wheel before putting his hat on and getting out.
Zoey was still chattering away, but over her head Martha said in a low voice, “We called and called you, Willow. Where were you?”
All Willow’s awareness was on her dad as he trudged toward the house, up the veranda steps.
Her heart pounded with a nervous fear of what he was going to say, whether he’d shout or just accuse her, slow and steady.
She had all her answers ready, how she had every right to be wherever she wanted to be, that he couldn’t carry his grudge over onto the next generation, that Dylan had changed, how she was only there to help with Thunder, that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was ready and braced.
But her dad just pushed open the door and went inside.
“Emmett?” said Martha, clearly expecting him to say something or join them. She turned to Willow. “Is everything all right?”
Willow nodded absently. She felt suspended, as if she was being held on the start line, all the bubbling tension inside her ready to explode but having nowhere to go. How did she fight against that?
“Are we starting, Aunty Willow? Can we play Taylor Swift?” Zoey tugged on her hand.
All the kids clapped and cheered at the idea. Rocky wagged his tail with excitement. He was in his element, the children all lavishing him with attention.
Willow clearly looked bamboozled by the whole thing because Martha said, “Why don’t you take them over to the studio?”
Willow couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less.
She wanted to run in after her dad, force him talk to her.
She wanted to drive back to Dylan’s and apologize.
She wanted to pack her bags and fly back to New York.
She did not want to teach fourteen grade-school girls and one boy how to dance to Taylor Swift.
“Aunty Willow?” Zoey’s voice had a plaintive edge to it, clearly concerned that Willow might be about to disappoint her and all her friends.
At the sight of her, Willow forced herself to hold Zoey’s hand tighter and say brightly, “Yes! The studio, let’s go!”
“Willow?” said her mom. “Do you need any help?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, slapping the kind of wide, practiced smile on her face that she wore on stage.
She marched the kids like ducklings down the path by the side of the house that led past The Silver Pantry and wound through the neatly cut grass to a wooden cabin under the trees that had seen better days.
The kids chattered on excitedly while Willow slipped into her stage persona. Professional and enthusiastic. It was the only way to get through it.
The key to the studio was where it always was on top of the door frame.
The handle needed an extra push to open because no one had been in there for some time.
Willow’s visits home were usually fleeting and she did most of her training in the house so she could gossip with her mom, or at the dance studio in town because she much preferred it when there were other people around.
The studio at Silver Sky held too many memories to want to spend too much time there alone.
It wasn’t a big space. It started life as a barn, one where her brothers would sometimes do their band practice.
Willow would sit on the rafters and watch them with various girlfriends of the boys—Bella sometimes, a whole host of girls who Brodie would bring to watch, Noah’s lovely, late-girlfriend Livvy—there would always be someone to talk to, someone’s hair or makeup to do.
The girls always indulged her whatever whim took her fancy.
When the boys weren’t using it, they begrudgingly let Willow dance in there.
As long as she didn’t touch any of their stuff.
Sometimes she’d dance when they were playing but Ethan found her annoying and would make her leave.
She’d watch through the window then, and maybe Brodie or Noah would take pity on her and sneak her back in.
Walking inside now with the kids, she heard them go, “Eww,” at the spiderwebs and the musty smell.
“It’s okay,” Willow called, walking over to throw open the windows.
“It’ll be fine in a second.” She found a broom and gave the dusty floor a quick sweep, dispensed with the spiders.
Some of the girls ran over to the barre and the wall of mirrors, taking their places and immediately trying out their pliés and poses, collapsing into giggles as they attempted pirouettes.
Willow tried to sort out the music. She found her fingers fumbling her phone as she searched through for songs. She kept seeing Dylan’s face when her dad had insulted him. All she could think was how gentle he was with Thunder, yet there was her dad curling his lip at him with distaste.
“Willow, is this right?” “Willow, can we do the thing when they throw each other in the air?” “Willow, Mindy pushed me!” “Willow, I dance every Saturday and I’ve won competitions.” Willow, Willow, Willow!
She had to pause, take a breath. Her head was pounding.
She couldn’t make a decision what music to play.
The kids’ voices kept rising. What would she teach them?
What was her dad doing? What was he thinking?
Was she annoyed with him or was she afraid?
Afraid of having been caught or afraid of being a disappointment?
So many questions were going around in her head that she wasn’t quite sure if she could make it through the session.
Then the door opened and her mom was there, holding a tray with a plate of cookies and a big jug of milk. “I thought you could have these when you break,” she said, tentative, so as not to interrupt, clearly aware that Willow might well shoo her away. She placed the tray on the table.
“Can I have one now?” one of the girls asked.
“No, you may not,” said Martha, politely firm. Then she went to leave the room, taking a look around and frowning at the disrepair, her eyes landing on Willow as she got to the door.
Willow swallowed. She knew she couldn’t do this alone. “Mom,” she said, forcing down her pride. “Would you mind playing the piano?”
Martha beamed. “I would be delighted to.”
Willow exhaled, long and slow. Her mom took her place at the old piano, pressing a key and wincing at the sound. “It’ll have to do,” she said.
“What about Taylor Swift?” whined a little black-haired girl.
“Basics first, then Taylor,” Willow replied. She could feel her heart rate lessening as her mom adjusted the piano stool. She retied her hair high on her head then looked properly at her students.
What seemed like a million pairs of eyes stared back. Like ants—they were everywhere. Some had bows and glitter gel in their hair and wore full dance uniform, some wore track pants and T-shirts.
It was like staring at a bunch of little Willows. She saw the eagerness in their faces. The joy. The potential. It made her heart lurch. She wanted suddenly to be like them. To have no care in the world and be dancing just for the fun of it.
“Right!” She clapped her hands together, trying not to think about what Dylan was doing right then, how ashamed she was of how he’d been treated, but perhaps more than that she was annoyed that they had been caught. It was only ever meant to be a little fun. “Everyone ready?”
“Yes, Willow!” they chorused.
“Then let’s begin.”