Chapter Two
Two
Olivia
Isaid goodbye to my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, for probably the seventh time, made sure there was extra juice and her favorite pink unicorn in her bag, gave yet another kiss, then hustled out the door of the daycare’s toddler room before the crocodile tears could start.
At the front desk, I hesitated, eyeballing the hallway, where I could hear her whining protests.
“Go,” Mandy, the receptionist of Little Angels, said. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know, I just...” I stifled a breath. I was being extra. I knew that. I relented at Mandy’s sweet, understanding smile. “I know. See you later.”
She nodded and I pushed outside to my car. I knew my mom would love to keep her while I worked, and often did if I taught a weekend class or had to stay late, but it was too much to ask of her now that she was retired. Plus, where my folks lived, out on Lake Livingston, was too far out of the way from the studio. I didn’t want to have to get Elizabeth up extra early and drive that every morning.
As I slowed to turn from the daycare driveway, the sound of squeaky brakes gave me pause and I realized just how much life could change in such a short time. How your dreams could come crashing down around you in the span of a heartbeat. In the time it took for that fist-sized muscle in your chest to squeeze its blood supply once—exchange the old, deoxygenated liquid for the new stuff that is fresh and full of life—all that you thought you knew about yourself and what you held dear, could be altered irrevocably.
That happened to me over three years ago when I walked into the La Scala Academy Ballet School, a wide-eyed ballerina fresh out of my second year with the Houston Ballet and wanting to make a name for myself in the world of dance. Little did I know I’d leave Italy with... well... something else entirely.
Those thoughts haunted me as I drove. I wasn’t sure why. I thought I’d gotten over myself. Moved on. Made something new that I could be proud of. I was proud. Still...
“Jesus.” I shook myself from that thought and took a fortifying breath as I pulled into the studio lot and parked. I wiped under my eyes and glanced through the windshield of my four-door mom-mobile at my new life.
My better life, I reminded myself.
Colomba Dance Academy had been born of a necessity to survive and still contribute somehow to my love of the arts, though in the months leading up it its inception, I’d felt like my life was over. Ever since I was a little girl, all I’d ever wanted to be was a dancer. A ballerina, just like the ones I saw every year at Christmastime when my mom took me to see The Nutcracker ballet. I was over the moon when my parents signed me up for lessons, and I worked my ass off until I was the best in our little studio, earning myself a scholarship for dance at college, and eventually a spot at the Houston Ballet. I’d made it. I was living my lifelong dream. I didn’t care what I did, as long as I got to dance, but I worked my way up quickly to principal dancer within two years, then was recommended by my artistic director for the La Scala intensive—another dream come true. Until it wasn’t.
Coming home from Italy pregnant and ashamed, knowing I had to give up my career—at least temporarily, which in this world is often permanent—or give up my baby, the choice was clear, but still exorbitantly painful.
At least until I laid eyes on my daughter. Then I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had made the right choice. That while I had been grieving the death of my former life, I’d been missing the beauty growing inside of me. A new life. A new chance. So that sunny spring morning, as I held my squalling, red-cheeked infant in my arms, I realized my dreams had been reborn with her.
Now, thinking back on that day, I still got choked up. It felt so far away, yet sometimes just like yesterday. I wouldn’t change a thing, but sometimes, like when a certain song was played in the studio and the right memory hit, the longing for what I once had still hit me like a freight train. Such are lost dreams, I supposed—like friendly ghosts that didn’t usually bother you but, given the right circumstances, could sneak into the fracture lines of your heart simply to remind you they were still there.
Hand to my chest to hold in the invisible throb, I watched as a few students trickled in and out the doors of Colomba, including Rosa, the star student in my advanced pointe class, as well as a few of the younger ones there for Whitney’s jazz class and Sofia’s beginner’s ballet.
I stepped out and slammed the door, making a mental note to have my brakes checked as I shouldered my dance bag and headed toward the studio, the unseasonably warm fall sunshine bright on my face.
“Hey, boss lady!” Deanna chirped from behind the front desk as I pushed inside.
“Hey.” I couldn’t help but smile at her fitted and rhinestone-embellished number three San Antonio Spartans jersey with matching aqua-blue leggings and thick horn-rimmed glasses. At sixty-something, Deanna was not only unapologetic in her fashion choices, but she was also my brother, Camden’s, biggest fangirl. “Got a new jersey?”
She gave me a sassy spin. “Like?”
I plopped my bag behind the desk and set down my water bottle. “Love.”
She wiggled her brows and fluffed her gray bob. “Think Cammy-poo will love, too?”
An automatic laugh bubbled from my chest. “Cammy-poo will definitely love this one, same as he’s loved every other one.”
Her cheeks lit with a grin as she hustled to answer the ringing phone, but she struck a saucy pose for me as I snapped him a pic on my cell. As I hit send, I wondered what my goofy big brother had ever done other than run fast with a stupid football to garner this much attention from the female species. It honestly made no sense to me.
I waved at a few students and their parents as I moved down the hall toward my office and sat to trade my shoes for ballet slippers. Just that move alone had something that felt like home humming through my veins.
A quick knock sounded at my door, and I glanced up. “Hey!”
My best friend, Whitney, leaned in the doorway, her deep-mahogany hair spilling over one shoulder like a model as she watched me with those big gray eyes of hers. “You didn’t return my text,” she said by way of hello.
“What text?” I stood and began to stretch.
She quirked a brow. “Seriously? I text you to commiserate about the worst blind date in the history of blind dates and you don’t even see it? What kind of friend are you?”
“What date... wait. That was last night?” My mind scrambled to catch up through the fog of single momness and the general lack of sleep I seemed to always suffer from due to a combination of Elizabeth, owning my own business, and well, just being me.
Whitney tilted her head. “Yes, it was last night.”
“Oh, Whit, I’m sorry. I was... It doesn’t matter.” I pulled her in to sit and closed the door. “What happened?”
She sighed and sagged in the way I knew meant she’d gotten her hopes up—again—and had been let down. Again. “He was...”
“What? Was he rude? A manwhore? Does he talk with his mouth full?” As she kept shaking her head, I racked my brain. “Did he smell? He’s not... tell me he’s not a vegan.”
“No! Eric was perfectly nice, and he eats meat.”
I frowned. “Then what?”
“He’s too nice.”
I waited for the punch line. Apparently, there wasn’t one. “What?”
“I know,” she groaned. “What’s wrong with me?” She dropped her head back. “He was on time, he was a great conversationalist, we have a lot in common, he paid the bill, he walked me outside and said good night like a perfect gentleman.”
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “What a douche.”
She rolled her head to give me the evil eye. “That’s just it. He’s not a douche. I am.”
I stared at my friend, wondering if she was a closet serial killer, because this shit made no sense.
“The entire time he was talking so perfectly and ordering the perfect food and walking me outside like a perfect gentleman? All I could think about was him ripping off my clothes and slamming me against a wall and doing very ungentlemanly things to me. I was so frustrated when I went home, I had to take Bob for a long ride.”
Once that registered, I snort laughed.
“It’s not funny, Olivia!” But she was barely holding back her own smile.
“Right.” I sucked up my mirth and took a breath. “You want my advice?”
“Not really, but I guess I have no choice.”
“Right.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Call Gentleman Eric back. Ask him out again.” I lifted a hand when she began to sputter. “Take him out this time... something more relaxed. Hell, maybe he was worried he’d scare you off by pushing you. Did you give off any signals you were interested in that wall stuff?” At her blank stare, I shook my head. “I didn’t think so. Afterward, if you’re still feeling the same, kiss him. Throw the poor guy a bone... literally or figuratively. That’s up to you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I rose to head to the door since I was already a couple minutes late for my first class. “You do that.”
“Oh, hey.” She stopped me with a hand to my arm. “I forgot. We still on for girls’ night with everyone this weekend?”
“As far as I know. Vanessa confirmed, I’m still waiting to hear from a couple of my cousins’ wives, but Deanna and Jamie are for sure in, plus you’re bringing your sister, right?”
“Yes, and Sofia is babysitting Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
She stood to follow me. “Then I sense nachos, margaritas, and karaoke in our future.”
“As do I.”
We were laughing as we spilled into the hallway to head to our respective classrooms, just as Sofia strode our way, her face much more serious.
“Hey, Olivia,” she said, “can we talk after class?”
Whitney lifted a brow and stepped around us to go to her room. “See ya later.”
I nodded. “Sure. Is it important? We can chat now.”
“I...” Her dark eyes skated around, then back. “It’ll be fine. I’ll study up front while you go do your class.”
“You sure?”
She nodded and moved away, leaving me alone in the hall, so I jogged down to my studio.
In the time I’d owned the studio, teaching had become second nature. Giving up the professional stage had been a challenge, but I’d found a sense of calling in helping others learn and grow and experience the same joy I did on the scarred wooden dance floor I loved so much. I was also so proud of the progress my advanced pointe students were making.
“Good work on your changements today, Rosa and Becky,” I said as we finished up. “Keep practicing.”
“Can we go back to Grand jeté next week?” Rosa asked.
“Maybe. Let’s see how those legs look and we’ll decide.”
They nodded and headed out with their bags, then I closed up the room and left to find Sofia. She was huddled up alone behind the front desk in an oversized SHSU sweatshirt, the hood hiding her heavily highlighted dark hair and that flawless makeup that she shared came from all the social media tutorials I no longer had time for.
I’d hired Sofia as a promising dance major from the local college, and she’d proven to be an eager employee who not only had talent in spades but was sweet, and once I got to know her, was always willing to babysit if I needed her, which was amazing. Single mom with a toddler and a college kid who could use extra cash... it was a win-win.
I waved to get her attention until she pulled out her iPods. “What’s up?”
She set aside her textbook. “It’s nothing. I’m kinda feeling stupid for bothering you now.”
I sat next to her. “You’re not bothering me. What is it?”
She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, her dark eyes on mine. “I just... I didn’t mention anything earlier because I thought it was nothing, but the more I thought on it, I thought I better just in case...” She sighed, glancing down to her hand where she was picking at her thumbnail.
“Mention what?” Something in my chest began to feel tight as my mama bear instincts started to tingle.
“When I was watching Lizzy yesterday, we took a walk to the park by your house...”
“And?” I demanded, impatience poking at me.
Dark eyes lifted to mine. “And while we were playing and swinging, I noticed this guy watching us. He was kinda far away. At first I wasn’t sure if he was looking at us, but after a while, I was pretty sure. It felt really creepy, so I took her home right away and locked the doors and made sure I had my pepper spray.”
I blinked, processing. “Pepper spray.”
“Yeah. I got it after I had a bad breakup with a boyfriend who shoved me around.” Her eyes grew big. “You don’t think it could’ve been him, do you? Oh God!”
I put a hand to her arm. “No. How could he have known you’d be at my house?”
“Right. Okay.”
We sat there looking at each other for a long moment as I digested this and tried to decide if it was something to worry about or not. It could’ve been nothing other than her imagination. But everything my famous brother had just gone through with the paparazzi and relentless photographers rushed through my mind and I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d transfer their fascination with him to his family. It didn’t make sense... though his wife did just release her first single on the radio after years of being out of the limelight. Maybe...
“Are you mad at me?” Sofia asked, cutting into my thoughts.
“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?”
“For not mentioning it sooner.” She bit her lip.
“No. Of course not.” I offered her a reassuring smile. “Thank you for telling me now. And you did the right thing.”
She nodded, something in her eyes not seeming convinced. “Okay.” She stood and I watched as she shoved her book in her bag and waved before heading out to go home.
I watched her small frame climb into her old model sedan and drive away and I was bombarded with alternating images of her asking about Elizabeth’s father when she first started babysitting, and me dodging the question, then her being hurt by some punk kid, and angry that she’d need to carry around pepper spray.
That’s when it dawned on me how much you can think you know about a person, yet still know so little.