Epilogue
J essa smiled at the cluster of photographers as she and Caleb took their place on the red carpet. The dramatic arch of Houston’s Wortham Theater stretched high above them, and she clung a little more tightly to his arm, grateful for his strong, steady presence.
The photographers were from the local press, the red carpet shared with the other choreographers whose pieces had been chosen for the statewide youth ballet showcase, but for Jessa tonight was bigger than any Lincoln Center opening she’d danced in. This was her work, and her dancers, and she was far too proud to be nervous.
Well, maybe she was a little nervous.
Fern lasted a week at the Larson Academy. She hated the commute, the competitive atmosphere, and the obsession with perfection over artistry. Jessa was trying to persuade her to give it a second chance, emphasizing its reputation as a pipeline to top professional companies, when Caleb—who’d left Fort Stockton and gone straight to her house, where he belonged—pulled her into the hall.
“She wants to dance here. Let her. ”
“I can’t do what they do. The dancers they turn out have perfect technique, perfect preparation. I can’t give her that.”
He’d shrugged. “So don’t give her perfection. Give her happiness.”
Fern was back in class the next day.
And now she had the starring role in Feathers , Jessa’s retelling of the swan maiden folktale. She’d so enjoyed developing an audition piece for Fern that Jessa decided to go out on a limb and contact the composer she’d met years ago. She had no real training as a choreographer and was half-convinced she was setting herself up for failure—but decided a little failure might be a healthy addition to her dwindling drive for perfection.
The composer had been delighted to hear from her, and together they’d shortened his original work. At Jessa’s request, he’d also written her a new ending. Instead of leaving her husband as soon as he gives her back her feathered garment, the swan maiden and her human beloved live happily ever after, compatible and content in their true forms, neither needing to change for the other.
Which made the swan feather tucked in the band of Caleb’s gray, felt cowboy hat all the more apropos, even though he’d had it in there for months. She beamed up at him as they stepped aside to speak to a local news reporter. Her handsome, honey-haired husband, gussied up and smiling for her big night in the city.
The reporter asked Jessa a few questions about her studio, her students, and her background as a professional ballerina before turning to Caleb.
“Are you also involved in the dance world?”
“I change all the lightbulbs in the studio,” he answered seriously, prompting a laugh from the reporter. “No, she’s the creative one. I’m a tractor mechanic.”
“And here I thought you might be a rodeo cowboy, given that belt buckle.” The reporter nodded to the ornate, gold-and-silver championship buckle he’d brought home from Fort Stockton.
“I was a bull rider. Might be again. We’ll see.” He smiled, and Jessa pressed closer into his side.
For the most part Caleb’s transition from living on the road to laying down roots had been surprisingly smooth. His book of business as a mechanic seemed to thicken every day, and he truly enjoyed it—putting his skills to use, figuring out complex problems, meeting people, and building friendships. Of course Jessa liked that he came home to her every night, and that tractors weren’t likely to fling him in the air and stomp on his head.
But sometimes he got a little wistful, missing the excitement, wondering aloud if he could ride through the Texas Swing when it kicked off in January. Red Spur had left their sponsorship offer on the table, and she’d made it clear that she supported him either way.
Whatever he decided, they’d figure it out. Together.
The reporter grinned. “The bull rider and the ballerina. That has a nice ring to it.”
“Sure does.” Caleb beamed at her. Then he leaned down and kissed her, softly, sweetly, full of love, and in absolutely no hurry to finish.
And Jessa didn’t care who was watching.
The End