Chapter Seven Claire #2
Of course. It may feel late to me, but my boyfriend is still at the office on a normal workday. I shoot him a flirty text about how I chose him over the 49ers quarterback, then lie there for a few minutes longer without moving before forcing myself to pull on joggers and a hoodie.
Other guests are sure to be dressed nicer at such a resort, but this is all I have. Even if I’d brought a skirt or slacks, I’d still wear my joggers. Based on my exhaustion, I might as well have just finished a marathon.
I follow signs to the elevators and push the Down button, then my gaze catches on the view outside the window.
I’m mesmerized, but not by the aquamarine pool below or the blue-gray ocean in the distance.
Rather, my attention is drawn to the grassy cliff between them, where a group of women in bright spandex spin and shimmy.
Nobody told me there were Zumba classes available to guests. My dipping energy levels soar once again, like a plane that missed its landing and must circle around.
The sun will set soon. Will the patio lights come on so the class can keep dancing in the dark? Would I have time to join them for a few songs before dinner?
It takes watching their routine for a few more seconds to catch the pattern. I glance around to make sure I’m alone before stepping into the cha-cha and rolling my hips. Slide right, arm circle, pivot. The sequence repeats, and I add my own little flair.
I don’t have much experience with salsa, but it offers the freedom of dance without locking up my big toe. If only I could hear the beat. Let it move me.
Cha-cha, slide left, arm circle, pivot.
The door dings behind me, announcing the elevator’s arrival. I chacha, slide right, arm circle, and pivot to enter the waiting lift.
Nathan leans against the far wall, ankles crossed, hands in pockets, head tilted in amusement.
I freeze, my arms in the position of a bullfighter.
“Olé.” He plays along.
I drop my arms and laugh. I’m used to performing in front of people, so I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Not to mention, this isn’t the first time Nathan has seen me in an awkward position. Though my cheeks burn, my only regret is that I didn’t get to dance longer.
I join him, and the doors slide closed. I hadn’t considered the fact that with Nathan’s room one floor above mine, we had a good chance of running into each other on the way to dinner.
I shrug off my humiliation. “There’s a Zumba class outside. Made me want to dance.”
“Sure you don’t just like making grand entrances?”
I picture myself leaping into a packed elevator for a curtain call. The crowd goes wild. I take an imaginary bow. “Since I’m not performing on a stage anymore, I should make that my thing.”
“You do have impeccable timing.”
I couldn’t have timed the dance routine to match the opening of the elevator doors if I’d tried. Not that I would have wanted to. “Or the absolute worst timing.”
Said doors release us into a fancy lobby with arched windows facing the sea. There’s nothing not fancy about this place. Even their glass dispenser of drinking water is infused with flowers and fruit.
We cross a walkway toward a restaurant entrance.
The stucco building, topped with a traditional red tile roof, is surrounded by patio tables interspersed with umbrellas to protect from the sun’s rays during the day and space heaters to keep patrons warm at night.
Currently the air temperature has settled into a moment of perfection between the two.
I squint toward the glimmering ocean and point out dancing silhouettes on the grassy cliff. “See? They’re real.”
Without his aviator glasses, Nathan has to hold up a hand to shade his eyes.
“So they are.” He drops his hand to open the carved wooden restaurant door, releasing the scent of sizzling beef, yeasty bread, and smoky fish.
I might order the fish, since it can’t get any fresher than straight from the ocean right outside.
My stomach growls louder than it did on the plane. It would seem Angel’s belly isn’t the only one with issues.
Nathan faces me, and his lips do their little quirk that tells me he’s holding back a smile. I’m not sure if he always finds life this entertaining or if I’m particularly hilarious to him. “I’d ask whether you want to dance some more if I didn’t hear your stomach rumble just now.”
Despite my obvious hunger, my attention returns to the group of women, now chatting, chugging water, and toweling off. They might be between songs or might be done for the night. Either way, I’m not part of their group.
I’m going to dinner, of course. It’s my first day as a flight attendant, with my first crew. I just hate the idea of choosing between my new job and my old dream. It’s a reminder of what I’ve already left behind.
“They have a spot by the windows for us,” a deep voice calls. Vincent.
I nod thank you to Nathan, who is still holding the door for me, then enter and smile at the waiting couple. A black-clad waiter leads us through a maze of shiny wood tables toward a stucco fireplace accented with turquoise tiles.
Desiree offers me a seat facing the ocean so I can have the best view, but it also angles me toward the Zumba class starting in on another song.
This time I can hear the music through open patio doors.
I sway to the melody, then roll my arms like I’m joining in the flamenco-inspired moves. Olé, as Nathan would say.
Desiree sings along. I didn’t expect her to be a big fan of Latin music, but this song is titled “Baby,” so it makes sense.
Vincent unfolds his napkin. “Dinner and a show.”
Nathan chuckles. “You should have seen the show I got in the elevator.”
He tells the story, and I can’t help laughing at myself.
Desiree sips her water, then turns to me. “You used to be a dancer, baby?”
A sigh slips out. “Ballet. But then I got trigger toe, which is—”
“Your big toe locked up when you danced en pointe? Huh-uh.” She shakes her head as if a passenger tried to give her their trash while she was still serving drinks. I’m surprised she understands. “Did you do physical therapy?”
“I did everything. Even surgery.” I wince at the memory of having to use crutches for a month on top of not being able to dance anymore.
“Ooh . . . That’s bad.”
Very bad. But how does she know? “Were you a dancer?”
“Our daughter was,” Vincent answers.
Desiree nods. “Her instructor had trigger toe but still taught. You ever think of teaching?”
“I tried.” I shrug, as if something so life changing could ever be shrugged off. “I do enjoy teaching, but not being able to demonstrate proper form hurt my heart too much.” I look away for a distraction. I don’t want pity from others or even myself.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s hard to have your life reflowed.”
“Reflowed?”
Desiree chuckles. “I forget you’re new enough that you haven’t experienced being reflowed yet, but you will.”
Vincent takes her hand, as if being passed the baton to continue her conversation.
They’re a team. “Reflowed is when you have a flight plan, but because of weather or mechanical issues or airport traffic, Crew Scheduling updates your trip sheet with a new plan that will work better in the grand scheme of things.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t realize they could do that.”
Nathan presses back in his seat. “Yeah. Sometimes you’ll get a longer overnight at a resort like this, but other times you’ll miss the football game you were planning to watch.”
I give him a half smile because both scenarios would be win-win for me.
Desiree nods. “You’ve got to take the good with the bad and trust that the smaller sacrifices are worth the greater good.”
My smile slips at the realization of her analogy. “Ballet wasn’t a small sacrifice.”
Desiree pats my hand with compassion. “That’s when it helps to see God as the control tower. He could be protecting you from something. Or even leading you somewhere better.”
I glance at Nathan to see if he’s also on board with the idea. If he believes in God.
His eyes soften. “Remember what I told you about how your goal isn’t to make passengers happy? It’s to keep them from harm? I believe that’s what He does for us too.”
Vincent chortles as he reaches across the table to slap Nathan on the back. “And he knows because he’s been very unhappy about it at times.”
Nathan shoots him a warning scowl. “It’s not an easy lesson to learn.”
Desiree cups a hand around the side of her mouth, as if to hide her stage whisper. “He’s still learning.”
Nathan turns to narrow his eyes at her. “We all are.”
Vincent shakes his head at them before addressing me. “All that to say, we’re sorry you’re hurting. And we believe God will use it for good.”
Desiree gives a funky shoulder roll. “And there’s always Zumba.”
I smile my appreciation, though I’m not sure I’m ready for either Zumba or the faith to fly blind. I’m afraid both would leave me longing for more.
Nathan rubs his jaw. “Sorry about teasing you earlier. I didn’t know what you’d lost.”
I sniff in surprise at his word choice. It’s more accurate than I’d realized. I’ve been lost. But his mirth in the elevator helped distance me from the longing to return to my old life. Lightened the burden so I can move forward again. “It’s okay. You made me laugh.”
His lips slide up on one side, but his dark eyes remain as soft and sweet as melting chocolate.
Dinner arrives, looking more like artwork than a meal, and the cedar-plank salmon practically melts in my mouth.
The sunset lights up the sky in an unexpected shade of bright pink. Vincent waves it off as the result of air pollution, and since he’s paying for everything, we let him.
This sort of camaraderie with colleagues is seriously what I’d hoped for when heading off to flight-attendant training.
It’s my best-case scenario. These moments are worth catering to first-class passengers with no class.
Worth early shows and flight delays. Worth sharing a crash pad with nine roommates.
I’d like to think that what I get from this career will become so fulfilling that one day I’ll look back at my time as a professional dancer and not ache over how it was cut short. But at the moment, the sadness remains.